Chapter 17
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 17
Chapter Title: Hell Week, Our Depth is Too Thin
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After securing a 3-1 victory over Aston Villa, we were set to lock in our spot above the relegation zone.
But urgent business at Daeyang Global pulled me back to London, where I threw myself into work.
"How much stock is tied up?"
"Steel products worth $300 million, stuck because of the port authority strike."
"Damn it. We barely made the deadline as it was."
A trading company had chartered a ship for a multi-billion-won steel delivery, but the blocked port meant it couldn't unload. A French port union strike was the culprit, so I scrambled every which way to sort it out.
It was nonstop chaos, and after pulling an all-nighter begging and pleading, we finally got approval for penalty-free delivery.
"Vice Chairman, they've agreed to accept it."
"Phew."
"Their factory's on strike too, so even if it arrives on time, they couldn't process it anyway."
"Their union's a nightmare."
Somehow, we turned it around, and I handed the documents to Representative Kim.
"Send this up to headquarters."
"Yes, Vice Chairman."
Late that night, I finally stepped out, having missed checking today's match. Of all days, it was an away game in London against Chelsea, so I headed back to Blackburn to face Sheffield.
"Kenny, how'd the game go?"
[I don't usually say this... but it was a disaster.]
Kenny Dalglish's voice was tense.
[You missed it for work? Probably for the best.]
"What the hell happened?"
[Chelsea got Vialli sent off, we lost Blooms, and Henchoz is injured too.]
"!!!"
This was insane.
Our Swiss friend Henchoz was the core of the defense now, and Blooms was backup. Losing both central defenders was brutal.
"Any immediate fixes?"
[We'll keep starting Martin Taylor and try Yoo at right back for a bit.]
"He's always been solid on the right wing and right back anyway."
Company work wrapped up, and now the football team's a mess again.
Back in Blackburn, Section Chief Park greeted me at the office with a beaming smile.
"Vice Chairman, good news."
"What's up?"
"A Korean broadcaster called. They'll air the remaining home games of Blackburn Rovers this season."
"Oh!"
I'd dragged myself in feeling down, but this was a bright spot.
I checked the fax Park had received right away.
"TVi Gyeongin Broadcasting? That's definitely..."
"Yes, the station that co-broadcasts Park Chan-woo's Major League games with MBS Sports."
"They do WWF, WCW pro wrestling, import Chinese dramas, and now football?"
It was a local station that'd fade into history later, but famous for bold programming.
"Mom's been hooked on their Chinese historical drama lately. 'Daughter of the Emperor' or something?"
"Oh, my wife loves that one too."
"Profiting from foreign imports must've given TVi some breathing room."
About six home games left—broadcasting those in Korea would be plenty. With the government planning early IMF debt repayment next year, stations would come crawling with cash for the 99/00 season.
"Handle it all, Section Chief Park. Blast it to the Korean press, run separate marketing for Yoo Sung-chul, and hit up headquarters for an affiliate CF if we can."
"Got it."
"How many years as section chief?"
"Five... sir?"
"Expect a promotion this fall."
One line, and the Blackburn office morale shot up. Another win to report back home.
But life has a way of...
Beep—
Final whistle.
Sheffield Wednesday 3-1 Blackburn Rovers.
We'd beaten Aston Villa 3-1, but got thrashed 3-1 at home this time. If right back Yoo Sung-chul hadn't desperately cleared the ball over the line after keeper John Filan went down, it'd have been a 4-1 catastrophe.
The Korean press corps looked grim, and the fans' boos grew louder.
Round 27.
Upton Park, London.
The West Ham away game was a disaster.
2-0 loss.
West Ham's goal machine Paolo Di Canio unleashed a wondergoal and roared, burning me up inside.
West Ham, battling Leeds for fourth and up to fifth, were unstoppable. That made it two losses in a row.
Henchoz wouldn't be back for two weeks, Blooms—who could play next—was unreliable. Martin Taylor hustled hard in the first team but just collected yellows body-checking everyone.
Then Everton.
2-0 final.
I wished it were us, but Everton's Ibrahim Bakayoko bagged a brace.
"FXXXXXX!!!!!!!!!!!"
Three straight losses.
I spewed every curse I knew from the VIP box and couldn't even go down to the locker room.
Three losses dropped us back to 18th in the relegation zone.
[Blackburn's shelf life has expired.]
[Robbers can't get it together after one stumble from their hot streak. 'Back to the relegation zone.']
[Kenny Dalglish: 'We'll quickly shore up the defensive collapse.' Firm resolve.]
The defensive meltdown hit hard.
"Next year, we sign two defenders. Swap the keeper. Clean house."
We had to hold on.
If we dropped points against Coventry City next, all our efforts were for nothing.
Thud—thud-thud—
Late at night, Yoo Sung-chul was practicing shots under the floodlights.
'Premier League? This team's a pushover.'
'Yoo Sung-chul, ratings tanking since your debut goal?'
'If we go down, where do you go? Stick it out in the second division?'
He kept responses short with the press.
'I'm just repaying the faith Vice Chairman Lee Dae-hyun showed bringing me here.'
"Huff... huff..."
Heart pounding like it might burst, legs shaking—a shadow approached quietly.
"Just running hard won't cut it. No matter how much you practice alone, you need teammates to receive it."
"!"
Ian Wright turned up grinning, with his son Shaun in tow.
"Like spuds?"
He handed over a chip butty—fries and buttered bread, British style—with hot tea from a thermos.
Sitting on the bench munching, Yoo casually said,
"I... no good... English."
"Oh, no worries. I'll speak ve~ry easy."
Ian kindly broke it down word by word.
Ian had changed the most since joining Blackburn.
Captain was Jason Wilcox, but the veteran Ian led by example in every crisis, enduring Van Basten and Brian Kidd's brutal drills first and foremost.
"Our... ranking... okay?"
"Oh, ve~ry difficult. But we can do it."
Yoo smiled over warm British tea and potato sandwich. Ian laughed big, calling his son.
"Shaun!"
"Yes, Dad."
"Go on."
Ian tossed Shaun the worn ball Yoo had been using.
Ian wasn't tall, but Shaun was shorter at 167cm and slight.
Blinking big eyes, he trapped it.
Thud—thud-thud—
"Oh."
"My boy."
Ian Wright's son, Shaun Wright-Phillips, 18, had come from Manchester City youth with Dad.
A few traps, then he dribbled—blazing speed across the dark pitch lit by one streetlamp, like a squirrel.
"Wow!"
Insane pace into a solid shot. Small frame, but quick with good power—a prospect.
"What do you think?"
"Very good. Good player."
"Kid's right wing, you right wing too."
Pointing between Shaun and Yoo—both right wingers.
Yoo nodded, stretched, and stood.
"Shaun! Wanna play uncle?"
"Yes!"
They went 1v1, Ian reffing, till midnight—three of them running till their feet blazed.
"Listen up. Coventry's in 15th—our spot—and gunning higher. We're 18th."
Kenny Dalglish in the locker room.
I joined naturally, listening.
"Let Coventry bolt past first? Get laughed off as fools losing to Sheffield, Everton, and now Coventry?"
"No sir!"
"No way, boss!!!"
"Let's go—make Coventry fans cry blood today!"
Everyone fired up.
Yoo starting today; Ian flashed white teeth at me.
'Trust me' face, whispering on the way out.
"Mr. Lee, my boys watch Dad's games on TV from Blackburn."
"Gotta show 'em something special?"
"Damn right."
Kickoff.
Blackburn players charged desperately, resolved. Everyone but the keeper pressed Coventry, hunting chances—but Duff lost the ball suddenly.
"What?!"
Duff breached then robbed; Gattuso and Yoo chased frantically from midfield, but Coventry's midfielder lofted a blatant long cross central.
John Aloisi took it... oh no...
First goal conceded in the 4th minute.
Couldn't take it—stepped out, lit a smoke.
"This is bad. Winning mentality's gone."
Angry puffs burned it fast; lit another.
"Hoo—"
Winter window closed—should've signed one more? Liverpool's McAteer, even knowing it'd flop? Needed more attackers beyond Ian, even overpaying?
Did I slack on the winter prep? Right then...
FXXXXXXXXX!!!
"!?"
Stadium shook like an earthquake—curses and boos everywhere. I ditched the cig and ran.
Back at VIP: scoreboard read 1-1.
Ian Wright equalized fast.
Strolled the pitch, shushing Coventry home fans finger-to-lips.
Assist to Yoo Sung-chul.
"Ha... fuck, missed it!"
Yoo from right back bombed a cross; Ian buried it. His historic first Premier League assist since debut goal—and I missed it.
Halftime 1-1. Draw won't cut it—we needed three points now.
Current bottom rankings:
15th Coventry City
16th Everton
17th Charlton
18th Blackburn
19th Southampton
20th Nottingham Forest
Tied with Charlton on points—a draw wouldn't help.
50th, 60th, 70th, 80th minute—into stoppage.
Thud—
Ian rolled it in the box.
Van Basten and Kidd's project kid, Kevin Davies—league one goal still—took Ian's pass and smashed it.
Perfectly into the net.
"GOAL!!!!!!!!"
43rd minute winner.
Held till full time: 2-1 away win, three points secured.
Dopamine exploded—we climbed to 16th, out of the drop zone.
After three losses, away win.
This is why you can't quit football.