Josh Wander is still trying to blame everyone but himself for the 777 mess

The revisionist history of a failed takeover

Josh Wander’s recent attempt to rebrand 777 Partners’ failure at Everton as a victim of media sensationalism is the kind of gaslighting usually reserved for failing tech startups or politicians in mid-scandal. According to Sky Sports reports, the 777 co-founder is now pointing the finger at a 'media firestorm' for the collapse of his bid to take control of one of England’s most historic clubs. It is a convenient narrative, but one that collapses under the slightest tactical scrutiny of 777’s actual balance sheet from that period.

To suggest that journalists caused the collapse is to ignore the fundamental mechanics of how 777 operated. This wasn't a case of mean-spirited tabloids scaring off a shy billionaire. This was a systematic failure of a business model that relied on opaque capital structures and the hope that no one would look too closely at the source of the funds. When the media did look—specifically at the lawsuits in New York and the mounting debts in Belgium—it didn't start a fire. It simply turned on the lights.

By April 2026, with Everton finally moving into Bramley-Moore Dock and looking toward a future under stable ownership, Wander’s comments feel like a desperate attempt to salvage a reputation that was incinerated by his own hand. The 'firestorm' he refers to was actually a series of verified reports regarding unpaid wages at Standard Liege and legal challenges from creditors like Leander Capital. If your business model cannot survive the public reporting of its own public court filings, the problem isn't the reporting; it’s the business.

The myth of the media-driven collapse

Let’s look at the timeline Wander wants us to forget. 777 Partners agreed to buy Farhad Moshiri’s 94 per cent stake in September 2023. For the next nine months, the Premier League’s Owners’ and Directors’ Test (OADT) became a theatre of the absurd. The delay wasn't caused by a 'media firestorm,' but by 777’s inability to provide the basic proof of funds required by any modern regulatory body. They were asked for audited financial statements and couldn't provide them. That isn't a PR problem; it’s a liquidity problem.

During this period, the media reported on very specific, very tangible issues. There were the sixteen lawsuits involving 777-controlled entities that were filed before the Everton deal even reached its final stages. There was the spectacular fallout at Vasco da Gama and the protests at Hertha Berlin. These weren't 'narratives' cooked up in a newsroom in London. They were the lived experiences of fans and creditors across three continents who were watching their clubs being used as collateral for a wider financial play.

Wander’s claim that the press 'poisoned the well' assumes that the Premier League is a sensitive flower that wilts at a negative headline. In reality, the Premier League has historically been criticized for being too lenient, not too harsh. For the league to stall for nearly a year suggests that the information being provided by 777 behind closed doors was even more concerning than what was appearing in the Sunday papers. The media didn't invent the missed payments to the Australian Basketball League; they just noted them down.

Tactical insolvency and the house of cards

The 777 model was built on a 'multi-club' strategy that promised efficiency but delivered only contagion. When one part of the machine failed to produce cash, the others began to stall. To call the reporting of this 'unfair' is to fundamentally misunderstand the duty of financial journalism in sport. Everton were in a precarious position, facing multiple points deductions for Profit and Sustainability Rules (PSR) breaches. The club needed a savior with deep pockets and transparent records, not a firm that seemed to be playing a game of three-card monte with its assets.

At the height of the saga, 777 were reportedly pumping in working capital loans to keep Everton afloat—loans that eventually topped 200 million pounds. Wander uses this as evidence of his commitment. A more cynical analyst would see it as a desperate attempt to keep the 'host' alive while trying to secure the financing to complete the purchase. It was predatory lending disguised as a rescue mission. Had the deal gone through, Everton would have been the crown jewel in a portfolio that was already showing signs of structural rot.

The critical observation here is that Everton’s survival as a Premier League entity was despite 777, not because of them. The resilience shown by Sean Dyche’s squad during the 2023/24 season, navigating eight points of deductions across two separate rulings, was a human triumph over boardroom incompetence. While Wander was complaining about his press coverage, Dyche was figuring out how to win 1-0 games with a depleted squad and the constant threat of administration hanging over Finch Farm.

A failure of governance on both sides

While Wander deserves the brunt of the criticism for his revisionist history, the Premier League and Farhad Moshiri cannot be absolved. Moshiri’s decision to enter into an exclusivity agreement with 777, despite the red flags waving from every corner of the globe, was an act of gross negligence. He prioritized the first group willing to pay his asking price over the long-term health of the institution. This created a vacuum where 777 could embed themselves into the club's finances, making them 'too big to fail' in the short term.

The Premier League’s OADT also proved itself to be a toothless deterrent. By allowing the process to drag on for nine months, they left Everton in a state of paralysis. The club couldn't plan for transfer windows, couldn't renegotiate commercial deals with any certainty, and was left at the mercy of Wander’s monthly loan injections. The 'firestorm' Wander hates was actually the only thing providing any accountability in a process that was otherwise happening in a black box of non-disclosure agreements.

In today's football, where state-backed wealth and private equity firms are the primary buyers, transparency is the only defense fans have. Wander’s complaints are essentially a demand for the right to operate in the shadows. He wants us to believe that if the media hadn't mentioned the fraud allegations in the US or the seized planes, the deal would have worked out fine. It is the logic of a man who thinks the thermometer is responsible for the fever.

The 2026 perspective: Life after the 777 nightmare

Standing in 2026, the contrast between what was promised and what was delivered is stark. Everton’s new ownership has brought a level of boring, clinical professionalism that Wander’s 777 could never emulate. The move to the new stadium at Bramley-Moore Dock has been successful not because of 'disruptive' financial models, but because of old-fashioned capital investment and clear communication. The club is finally operating like a business rather than a distressed asset.

Wander’s continued presence in the news cycle, trying to relitigate 2024, is a distraction the game doesn't need. His assertion that the media 'colluded' against him ignores the fact that different outlets across different countries were all reaching the same conclusion: 777 didn't have the money. In the end, that is the only metric that matters in a takeover. You either have the 500 million pounds required to stabilize the club and finish the stadium, or you don't. Wander didn't.

The negative reality of the 777 era is that it nearly cost Everton their 120-year stay in the top flight. The uncertainty hampered recruitment, leading to the panic-buying of players who didn't fit the system and the forced sale of homegrown talents like Anthony Gordon and Amadou Onana just to keep the lights on. It was a period of managed decline, dressed up in the language of 'synergy' and 'global branding.'

Why we must reject the Wander narrative

If we allow figures like Josh Wander to rewrite the history of their failures, we invite the next wave of charlatans to try the same thing. The 'media firestorm' defense is a blueprint for future owners who want to bypass scrutiny. It suggests that the press should be a cheerleader for any investment, regardless of its source or stability. That is a dangerous precedent for a sport that is already struggling to maintain its soul in the face of rampant commercialization.

The lesson of the 777/Everton saga isn't that the media is too powerful. It’s that the media is often the only barrier between a historic football club and a predatory financial entity. Wander’s bitterness is the ultimate proof that the reporting worked. It exposed a vacuum where there was supposed to be a fortune. As Everton fans look out over the Mersey from their new home, they should remember that they are there in spite of Josh Wander, not because of him.

Ultimately, the collapse of the 777 bid was a victory for the game. It showed that even in an era of astronomical TV deals and global expansion, you still need to be able to show where the money is coming from. Wander can blame the firestorm all he wants, but he was the one who walked into the room with a pocket full of matches and a suitcase full of empty promises.