AROUND THIS time last year fans of Chelsea football club were on the streets protesting against the European Super League, a ham-fisted attempt by the owners of Europe’s richest teams to usurp the sport’s existing competitions for financial gain. It was a rare success for the lowly supporter: Roman Abramovich, the Russian oligarch who owns Chelsea, backed down. Other clubs also rapidly retreated, and the plan collapsed spectacularly within 48 hours. Perhaps emboldened by this victory, Chelsea’s fans hope to wield their power again, this time to influence the decision about who will take Mr Abramovich’s place.

The sale of Chelsea, triggered by sanctions imposed on Mr Abramovich over his relationship with Vladimir Putin, has attracted several suitors, ahead of the deadline for making a final offer on April 11th. Despite making regular losses, the club’s valuation has soared to an estimated $4bn. Owners of American sports franchises are involved in all four bids reportedly in the running.

One of them, by a consortium led by the Ricketts family, has met particular resistance from some fans. Many are unhappy with the Americans’ politics and views. The Rickettses are regular contributors to the Republican Party and, more worrying for some Chelsea supporters, Islamophobic emails sent by Joe Ricketts, the head of the family, surfaced last month.

Some fans, looking at the Rickettses’ unpopularity among fans of the Chicago Cubs, the American baseball team they also own, are concerned about the family’s intentions: would they invest in footballing success or look to squeeze the club? Rival fans, too, are viewing the contest for the club with trepidation, albeit with different motives. If Chelsea’s next owner is as free with money as was Mr Abramovich, who spent $2bn taking the west London club to the top, their teams would find it harder to compete.

The ownership of English football clubs used to be far less contentious. The Football Association (FA), the game’s national governing body, prevented owners from taking money out of clubs and limited dividend payments. Consequently, owners, usually local businessmen, though sometimes colourful characters, were little more than custodians. But many were custodians with tight fists, reluctant to invest. This resulted in a more competitive league but other aspects of football, such as the quality of stadiums, suffered.

That changed in the 1980s. Owners were permitted to circumvent the FA’s restrictions by using holding companies to extract money from clubs. Some clubs even went public. The launch of the Premier League in 1992 accelerated English football’s already growing global appeal. Television revenues rocketed, flooding the clubs with new money. Lured by lucre and prestige, new types of owners came hunting.

One sort just wanted to be part of the party, regardless of cost. Mr Abramovich said he bought Chelsea because he “was bored”. (However, Catherine Belton, in her book “Putin’s People”, suggested that the Russian president instructed him to buy the club, as a way for Russia to gain legitimacy in London. Mr Abramovich has denied this, and brought a libel claim last year, which has led to some amendments being made to the book.) The royal family of the United Arab Emirates sees Manchester City, which it bought in 2008 and in which it has since invested billions, as a tool of soft power more than as a financial investment. Both clubs have clearly benefited at rivals’ expense. No wonder fans of other clubs crave similarly deep-pocketed owners. Newcastle United’s supporters celebrated last year when Saudi Arabia’s sovereign-wealth fund purchased their club, despite the kingdom’s pitiful human-rights record.

Another type of owner sees football as a financial investment, pure and simple. In 2005 the Glazers, another wealthy American family already in the sports business back home and looking to get wealthier, bought Manchester United. They financed the purchase with debt, which they plonked on United’s balance-sheet. Fans have grumbled ever since; and United’s run of success has lately dried up. Other forms of private equity are wading in too. But steady, assured revenues are hard to come by when competition is fierce (and, for smaller clubs, the threat of relegation looms). That can result in penny-pinching or ideas like the European Super League, which would have brought more revenue to Europe’s biggest clubs partly by limiting competition—an approach that antagonises fans who consider their teams to be cultural institutions rather than businesses.

Unsurprisingly, many fans think the ideal ownership structure would involve themselves. They can point to Germany’s Bayern Munich, and Spain’s Real Madrid and Barcelona, three of the most successful clubs in Europe over the past decade—each combining footballing excellence with fan representation. Yet this model too has its flaws. The supporter-elected board at Barcelona, for instance, racked up $1.5bn of ruinous debt. In Germany, “the 50+1” model requires more than half of the voting shares in a club to be owned by members. This empowers fans but limits external investment. Bayern apart, German clubs struggle to compete in Europe—or even at home. Bayern, who earn far more from commercial revenues than their domestic rivals, are on course for a tenth successive league title.

Financial prudence, healthy competition and fans’ interests are often at odds. So far the right balance has eluded governing bodies. Leagues are increasingly dominated by a handful of well-heeled clubs (even in England, which is more competitive than many, just eight clubs have won the top division in the past three decades, against 14 between 1950 and 1980). Fans often feel left out. Attempts by governing bodies to rein in reckless and excess spending have been feeble. In Britain, a fan-led review commissioned by the government has recommended setting up an independent regulator and introducing measures (such as a “golden share”) to protect fans’ interests. But that will mean overcoming the interests of existing owners and the reluctance of administrators. No one should hold their breath.

Back at Chelsea, the Ricketts family have promised to heed supporters’ concerns should their bid succeed. Among other things they have vowed never to join a European Super League. But their best hope of winning supporters over lies in delivering success on the pitch. Victory washes away many sins. Just listen to the Chelsea fans who chanted Mr Abramovich’s name after he departed, despite his connection to the Kremlin. ■