Is it one fight too many for Reynolds the battler?

From Chelsea's Roman Abramovich down, the game is littered with millionaires who have sought to transfer their success in business to success on the pitch.

For many of them, football offers a short-cut to adoration, a way to tap into the passion which only the beautiful game can excite. No longer satisfied with earning money, buying big houses, flying by helicopter, they search instead for love.

And so it seemed to be for George Reynolds. From the moment he first appeared at Feethams to be welcomed as a hero, he was smitten. He basked in the attention, revelling in his new-found role of saviour.

Finally, he was getting the respect he deserved, and the affection which had been denied him since childhood.

At the age of eight, George had been sent to an approved school, sold into slave labour by his local authority for the sum of £100. There he was constantly told he would never amount to anything, he was useless, he was destined to become nothing more than a petty criminal. It would be hardly surprising if he became deeply insecure.

It would also be hardly surprising if he constantly felt the need to prove himself. To this end, he seems to have created a world of adventure, making him not just a criminal, but a colourful criminal.

His autobiography tells of jumping off cliffs to escape police; of tumbling into lion enclosures in the zoo; of seeing the paint washed off his disguised greyhound just as it surges into the lead. Some of this may be true; all of it serves to create the myth of a George who is worth something.

He also painstakingly constructed an image of someone who was not to be tangled with. His enemies found themselves on the receiving end of late night visits.

The message was clear: if you crossed George, it was at your peril.

This was not a man to be taken lightly. This was a somebody. He was not useless, he was not to be despised, as he had been in that approved school. He was a man who should be given respect.

But for all his boasting, he never seemed to become the master criminal. He was a safecracker, and probably a very good one, but it was not enough to feed his hunger to be a man of substance.

It was while serving one of his many stretches in prison that George decided to leave his life of crime and go straight, setting him on a path which would lead to a chipboard factory and the fortune which had eluded him in his days on the other side of the law.

It seems to have been almost through sheer force of will alone that George made himself into a success, working tirelessly to build his business from nothing into a multi-million pound operation. True, he was not above a little skullduggery if it meant winning a contract or undermining the opposition, but it was all in a good cause.

But here again, it was not enough to be a rich boss, he had to be a popular one as well, so he decided to pay off the mortgages of seven of his employees who had stuck with him when the factory burned down. It cost him £250,000, but the returns must have been much greater. So much greater, that six months later he bought them all a Mercedes as well.

It may have been a noble gesture by a generous employer, but it's difficult not to see an element of trying to buy their affection.

But it was through Darlington Football Club that George received his greatest reward. After rescuing them from bankruptcy, a near-miss at promotion set the seal on the love affair.

Chairmanship of a football club also gave him a respectability he had previously been denied. He may be a former convict, but now he was a pillar of the community. He was a man of some standing, a somebody. How those approved school teachers must have laughed on the other side of their faces.

But his elevation to football mogul did not temper the strength of will which had seen him become a millionaire businessman. He was still a man who would brook no compromise; who would allow no other opinions than his own.

Not only was George always right, but those who disagreed with him did so because they wanted to belittle him, perhaps even to ruin him. Just like those teachers, they were acting out of spite and jealousy.

Now at last he was free from their carping. He did not need them anymore: he had an audience which loved him and which chanted his name. Now he had both a fortune and love.

But like many love affairs, this one turned sour. The promised success never materialised - the ambitious signings turned out to be hot air and promotion started to seem a sick joke. George transformed from the fans' saviour to their tormentor. Instead of adulation, he received only abuse.

Towards the end of his autobiography, George recounts the scene at the opening of the stadium which bears his name, when he is received in adoration by the fans and thumbs his nose at his critics. By the time the stadium actually opened, this fantasy was long since destined to remain just that: a wistful vision of a man whose dreams have been shattered.

George was not only baffled - how could the fans treat him this way after all he had done for them? - but saddened. He had lost what he had craved and his reaction was to lash out at those he held responsible, from supporters' associations to journalists.

Somebody must be to blame and they must be made to suffer. The tactics he had used as a petty criminal, and then as a businessman, were now back in play.

But sadly for George, will-power was not enough this time, and instead he has watched the club slip away from him, just like the love of the fans.

Now the club has gone into administration, George has promised to fight to keep it alive, and, if his past history is anything to go by, fight he will.

He may have alienated many otherwise natural supporters, but George is not someone who gives up.

This George is a success, he is a somebody and he is not going to let those predictions come true. Now it is George against the world, just like it was all those years ago.