Money always talks. Particularly when it comes to men of a certain mind-set.
People like Mike Ashley. Phil ‘BHS’ Green. And Ipswich Town’s reclusive owner Marcus Evans.
It’s always just business. Flogging Wimbledon hospitality packages for a couple of strawberries in a suburban garden down the road.
That kind of business.
So as City boss Alex Neil continues to hunt high and low for a new No9 after today’s 1-1 derby draw, here’s one to ponder.
A third Murphy to add to his promotion hungry pack.
Six-foot three and 33, the Town striker is not exactly one for the future, granted. He’s one that will do someone a job. Right here, right now.
The kind of big-hearted job he did on Timm Klose and the rest of the City defence this lunchtime – proving big, strong and thoroughly awkward all afternoon; not least in the run-up to Jonas Knudsen’s 46th minute leveller after Cameron Jerome’s earlier opener where the watching Chris Sutton looked on with admiration.
A fellow striker who knew – just like Sutton himself did – what his body was for, ball-wise.
Dig a little deeper and Murphy’s goal-scoring record of 50 goals off 120-odd appearances for Town is hardly shabby – particularly given the invariably shabby, second tier service he’s been asked to feed off.
More importantly, he gives a side a focal point. Something strappy and stroppy to punt at in true Championship-style.
As importantly, he must already live relatively local; his Mrs probably shops in Norwich.
And as far as Marcus is concerned will be worth sweet FA next summer when his latest, two-year contract expires in 2017. Marcus does discount deals; he doesn’t do frees.
Daryl Murphy will walk out on Marcus next summer. Unless someone greases his palm with more silver.
Let’s keep the thought-process running.
Norwich need a short term fix. If only – politically – to stem the growing tide of message board and the straw-to-clutch-at belief that Kyle Lafferty may, somehow, be fashioned belatedly into the answer.
Someone comes in, does a job for 12 months; gets you to yo-yo, and then you have Premier League football as bait. Not a night out in Burton.
City need a workhorse; not a show pony. They need a new Grant Holt. An old-fashioned No9.
Again, let’s put it into supporter thinking as we ponder the unthinkable – of a player crossing the great divide. Of having to drive north through Diss every morning.
Because, played right, a Murphy exit ought to prompt a delicious frisson among the more open-minded of the Canary faithful; of potentially prising Town’s prize strike asset out of their hands and putting a large spanner in their own promotion works.
Larger than dropping two home points against the auld enemy.
A spanner thrown – ideally – so many minutes before midnight.
Giving Big Mick little or no time to replace.
How many problems would that cause Ipswich? As parachute money talked. And got Murphy (Daryl) to walk.
Anyway, enough – where were we?
Jonathan Douglas did open the scoring for the home side, only to be ruled – wrongly – offside.
Second-half substitute Steven Whittaker slammed a decent effort against a post in an all-too rare piece of joined up play from the visitors. Wes did the odd party piece; Murphy (Jacob) caught sight of goal before the end.
And that was largely it.
“A sloppy goal killed our momentum and they were unlucky not to get three points but we’ll take a good draw,” was Wesley’s immediate verdict to Sky Sports afterwards.
He had a point. In many senses.
Four games in; unbeaten; just two goals conceded. It’s still not the worst start in the world.
Even if it does come with the frustration of knowing the Canaries could have been top this afternoon if they had been a little less sloppy a minute into first-half stoppage time; a little surer in front of goal as Whittaker found the woodwork for the third time in two games.
Fine margins and big calls.
The same big calls that the club will need to make in the transfer market over the course of the next ten days.
Someone, somewhere, fits the bill.
So why not look at someone plying their No9 trade right under your nose, right on your doorstep?
Maybe, just maybe, one answer is staring you in the face.