Clive Toye was General Manager at the New York Cosmos and was the single most instrumental figure in luring Pelé to play out an Indian Summer in the United States. Here Toye recounts one of his myriad encounters with the man he tracked across the globe in a bid for his signature.

Alone at last, just the three of us, Pelé finished packing, bent down and split his pants right up the back. Pelé, whom nothing seems to bother, calmly wrapped a towel round his waist and Mazzei called for the maid to come and repair the pants.

When she came into the room, this elderly lady burst into tears as soon as she saw Pelé and in a mixture of English, French and lord knows what, we got the story out of her that her husband had been a fan of Pelé's but never seen him play; had bought a ticket for last night's game but had then died of a heart attack. It was a pitiful scene, so when she asked if she could have a photograph taken with Pelé, who could say nay? Not even me, with the minutes ticking away and all my nerves at high tension.

So off she went to mend the trousers, get a camera from somewhere and return later with pants in one hand and camera in the other and during those peaceful moments, at last, at last, I made my final pitch. With knowledge that Juventus and Real Madrid were sniffing around, I said to Pelé - if you go to them, all you can win is another championship; if you come with me, you can win a country.

Whether that worked or not, I do not know, but I thought it was a pretty good line and, in any event, the response had the blood rushing around every vein in my body. OK, he said, I will play for you for two years for so much and so much and some more here and there and elsewhere. It all came to something over $3 million US.

Wonderful, I said, but that's not enough, and it wasn't. I needed him for three years because in the third year Giants Stadium would be built, we would be playing there and thus it would be the perfect place for Pelé's final farewell. We rushed him to the airport, I drank more than I should have done, in total exhaustion and exhilaration, returned next day to New York; now brought in the lawyers and accountants, not to mention the bosses, and flew back to Rome two weeks later with a three-year proposal in hand.

We dined on the Via Veneto - with interruptions from so many to ask for an autograph, praise him, thank him, touch him - and I made the offer. He smiled and said: Toye, my English is not so good. Oh, but it is fine, I replied. No, he said. In Brussels I asked for so much for two years, now you offer me less for three years. My English is not so good.

Well, we had a good laugh about it, he went for his physical the next day and the next two months were a bedlam of final negotiations, minor issues, a major issue or two, so many flights to São Paulo and back and then it was done.