CHAPTER 448: THE LASAGNA DISASTER INCIDENT

August 14, 1998, marked the kickoff of a new Premier League season.

The kind of London morning that dawned crisp and overcast, the air in the newly built Canary Wharf was unusually tense for a district normally filled with suits, briefcases, and the distant clatter of construction. For Manchester City, this day was supposed to be a routine start: a season routine, a travel day, and a night at a luxury hotel to prepare for their first away match against Tottenham Hotspur.

Manchester City were set to begin their campaign with an away match against Tottenham Hotspur. As usual, before the match, the team arrived a day early and stayed at one of London’s high-end hotels.

This time, they chose the Marriott Canary Wharf, the first hotel built in London’s financial district, Canary Wharf. It was also the first five-star hotel in London’s Docklands, conveniently located near White Hart Lane. Richard, eager to make the trip special, wanted to enhance the team’s experience and comfort during their stay.

Check-in went smoothly. Players were assigned rooms, and trainers carried bags to each door. By early evening, the team gathered in the private dining room. The menu had been specially prepared: classic English fare with a touch of continental sophistication — roast chicken, fresh vegetables, and, most prominently, the lasagna that the hotel chef had selected for the evening’s buffet.

At first, everything seemed perfect. By 10 PM, players began retiring to their rooms to rest before the morning light training session.

Richard, this time, followed the team closely, accompanied by Andreas Schlumberger and Dave Fevre, tagging along as part of the High Performance team. He himself took pride in observing the running and training sessions. He knew the team was operating on thin margins in the race for the championship, so every minor improvement mattered.

But on this day, the morning training turned into a disaster.

The sun hung low over the training ground as Manchester City’s players ran through their final session. The training had been shorter than usual due to the upcoming schedule, but all the staff wanted every player tactically and physically prepared.

Then it happened.

First, it was Zinedine Zidane — a sharp turn, and suddenly he was clutching his stomach, his face twisted in pain.

A few minutes later, Henrik Larsson went down after an awkward landing on his knee. He didn’t even try to stand back up. Something was clearly wrong.

Then came Fabio Cannavaro, doubling over, followed by Claude Makélélé, who staggered toward the sidelines, pale and weak. Even Gianluigi Buffon showed signs of distress, clutching his stomach.

"Stop the training!" Richard stood up and barked, his heart hammering.

But before the words had even left his mouth, three more players collapsed. Zanetti clutched his stomach, as did Thierry Henry and William Gallas, who rolled on the ground, gripping his abdomen.

It was chaos.

Schlumberger and Fevre acted immediately, rushing onto the pitch as Richard stood frozen, watching what felt like his entire season unravel in front of him.

Players groaned and doubled over, clutching their stomachs, while the physios shouted instructions. Assistants scrambled to bring water, electrolyte drinks, and anti-nausea medication to treat the sudden event. Makeshift beds were set up on the sidelines, and ice packs were handed out for comfort, though nothing could stop the waves of cramps and weakness that swept through the squad. The sight of six stricken players sprawled across the training ground made Richard’s stomach sink.

"This can’t be happening."

He turned to O’Neill, who stood beside him, just as stunned — his eyes wide, his expression caught between disbelief and dread.

"Tell me this is a bad dream," Richard muttered, his voice barely steady.

O’Neill exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "It’s real, boss."

The words hung heavy in the air. Around them, the chaos continued — players hunched over, medics shouting, the faint echo of groans cutting through the morning haze. The Premier League hadn’t even started yet, and already, Manchester City’s campaign was falling apart before it began.

Richard clenched his fists. The season hadn’t kicked off, and their race for glory was about to become a whole lot harder.

The Injury Report – A Nightmare for Richard

"Food poisoning?" Richard repeated, stunned.

The words didn’t come from the medical staff — they came from Pirlo, who stood at the doorway. He had been the first to connect the dots.

"It’s the food, boss," Pirlo said, his voice rough. "The lasagna... and the spaghetti bolognese. They were on the menu last night. We all ate, and then in the middle of the night—" He paused, pressing a hand against his abdomen. "—it started. Cramps, nausea... actually, it began last night, but we thought it was nothing and just went to sleep. No one expected it to hit everyone at once this morning."

Richard stared at him, unable to believe what he was hearing.

Schlumberger and Fevre had just finished examining the players, while Richard waited anxiously to hear what was really happening.

"We can’t be a hundred percent sure yet," Schlumberger said carefully. "We still need to take blood and urine samples to the hospital for testing. Only then can we confirm what caused the sickness."

After that, Richard asked Pirlo to repeat everything he knew about the previous night — what they ate, when the symptoms began, and who was affected first. When he finished speaking, both Schlumberger and Fevre fell silent, exchanging a troubled glance.

"Judging from the symptoms — vomiting, cramps, muscle spasms — it’s very likely food poisoning," Fevre finally said.

Hearing them all agree that the cause was food poisoning, Richard’s face turned grim. There was no room for hesitation — he had to act fast.

"Call the Premier League," he said sharply. "Ask if we can postpone the match."

Without wasting a second, Richard phoned Miss Heysen to explain the situation.

"Also," Richard added, his tone grave, "contact the police and report the incident to the Marriott Canary Wharf. I suspect there might be foul play involved."

That morning, Miss Heysen was woken up at 7 a.m. by Richard’s urgent call. Within minutes, she had filed an official report to both the Premier League and local authorities.

The result came quickly — the request was rejected.

They had no choice but to play on.

Richard himself was beginning to feel the effects. His stomach churned as anxiety mixed with nausea, but he tried to stay composed. News of the crisis spread quickly to the media, and Richard instructed O’Neill to handle the press.

Later, O’Neill recalled, "We had eight players still in bed. We asked the Premier League to delay kick-off by just three hours — until one o’clock — but they refused."

That day, Richard was pulled in every direction — coordinating with doctors, managing the press, and fielding endless phone calls. The team bus was silent, filled with weak, pale players who could barely stand.

A few hours before kickoff, Richard — through Miss Heysen and under the banner of Manchester City — officially contacted the police. Detectives arrived at the hotel to investigate possible tampering or contamination. Rumors of conspiracy — sabotage by a rival club, or even intentional poisoning — spread rapidly across news outlets.

Of course, it was nothing more than a media fabrication — a sensational story designed to boost headlines and sell papers.

After all, this incident was connected to one of the rising football clubs, Manchester City, as well as the Marriott Hotel and the Tower Hamlets Council & Health Officials.

And of course, Richard wasn’t the type to stay silent. As a billionaire and a highly influential figure in English football, he immediately mobilized every resource at his disposal. Within hours, Adam Lewis, his lawyer from Maddox Capital, was on the phone coordinating a formal investigation.

A consultant in communicable disease control was brought in, and even the North-East and Central London Health Protection Unit stepped forward to handle the case alongside the local authorities.

Richard was convinced that the culprit was the hotel’s food. The media, however, had other ideas. Rumors began swirling that this was foul play — a deliberate act to sabotage the club.

Some tabloids even floated a sensational theory that the head chef at the Marriott was secretly an Arsenal season ticket holder, allegedly seeking revenge after their recent loss in the Community Shield, fanning the flames of conspiracy in the heart of English football rivalry.

But when the dust settled, the truth turned out to be far less dramatic. After an extensive investigation, environmental health officers from the Tower Hamlets Council cleared the Marriott Canary Wharf of any wrongdoing.

Their findings suggested that the outbreak was not caused by contaminated food at all, but by viral gastroenteritis — a highly contagious stomach virus that could have spread through contact rather than cuisine.

So, while the lasagna took all the blame, it turned out to be just bad timing and even worse luck. Richard was speechless — honestly, how Manchester City could get hit by disaster before even kicking a single ball was beyond belief.

"Bad luck City" had truly outdone themselves this time — eight key players were taken down by an invisible stomach virus. Their strongest skill now? Synchronized vomiting.

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IRL

On May 7, 2006, Tottenham Hotspur were preparing for one of the biggest matches in their modern history — sitting in fourth place, just one point ahead of Arsenal, and needing a win against West Ham United to secure qualification for the UEFA Champions League for the first time.

The team stayed overnight at the Marriott Hotel in Canary Wharf, East London, but several players — including Robbie Keane, Michael Carrick, Edgar Davids, Michael Dawson, Lee Young-Pyo, and others — suddenly fell violently ill, suffering from vomiting, stomach cramps, and extreme weakness.

The event quickly became known as "Lasagna-gate." It became a running joke among fans, but for Tottenham, it was a tragedy — they lost their Champions League dream because half the squad was too sick to perform.