Chapter 19
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 19
Chapter Title: Highbury Stadium, vs Arsenal Led by Bergkamp and Anelka
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After the victory against Wimbledon, a truly grueling schedule awaited us.
"Middlesbrough is one thing, but the opponents after that are ridiculous."
"It's like cramming for exams all at once."
Kenny Dalglish lit a cigarette and shook his head.
31st Round (Home) vs Middlesbrough
32nd Round (Away) vs Arsenal
33rd Round (Home) vs Manchester United
34th Round (Away) vs Southampton
35th Round (Home) vs Liverpool.
How were we supposed to face Arsenal and Man United back-to-back, with Liverpool waiting right after?
It was easy to see why Blackburn collapsed so spectacularly in the second half of the original season despite their crazy run, plummeting straight to relegation.
"Kenny, are you confident?"
"We need at least 5 points minimum."
Dalglish had his eye on the 34th round against Southampton.
"Even if we lose to Arsenal and United, beating the Saints will lock in our escape from the relegation zone. It's tight, but that's the situation."
"Out of the three relegation spots, Southampton's nailed down at 18th."
"That's what we have to make happen."
I decided to solidify Nottingham, Charlton, and Southampton in the drop zone and let them sink.
"If we stay up, we'll overhaul the squad big-time for next season."
"Everyone's thinking that. Some are planning to leave Blackburn even if we survive, and plenty of teams are circling our players."
I pointed to Southampton and Charlton in particular.
"We'll snag one from each."
"Bringing in players from relegated teams? Got anyone in mind?"
"First off, after signing Kevin Davies, we grab the prodigal son they sold off."
"James Beattie... Shame to lose a prospect like that."
England back then was brimming with promising talents, and Beattie was one of them.
England boasted famous stars and the title of soccer's homeland, but the league was full of solid players who got buried under the "only use the best" policy. There had to be a whole bucketload of them.
Especially up front—the national team sang the blues about a striker shortage until Wayne Rooney emerged, stubbornly sticking to "Owen again" and "Heskey again"...
"I don't know how many will leave or come in, but one thing's for sure: we need to finish the remaining games strong."
"Kenny, it all rides on you. I'm just laying the groundwork."
Dalglish nodded with a smile.
Sluuuurp—slurp—
"Hey, Eastern buddy. What's that black goo?"
"You drinking some kinda potion?"
Defenders Kenna and Blomqvist, and midfielders Wilcox and Marcolini stared weirdly at the tube drink Yoo Sung-chul was sucking down.
"Ugh, what’s that smell?"
"What the hell are you even eating?"
"Korean tonic."
"Jesus, does Korea actually drink that stuff?"
What Yoo Sung-chul was chugging was the mild red ginseng extract that Professor Cha had personally provided.
Here it was called "Korean ginseng"—a rare Eastern health supplement that wasn't easy to find, and the FA had no issues with it as a legit medicinal product.
"Recharges your energy. Got a whole box. Wanna try?"
"I'd sooner eat eel jelly."
"That stuff stinks worse. Brush your teeth before training."
Yoo Sung-chul polished off the last drop as the bickering players wandered off, then tossed the empty tube.
"Hoo—"
He'd made history as Korea's first Premier Leaguer, with 6 appearances so far: 1 start, 5 sub.
8 games left—he wanted at least 4 more to hit double digits in league outings.
Yoo Sung-chul toughed it out by throwing himself into everything. Whenever he missed home, he steadied himself with international phone cards from Daeyang Global and the rice and kimchi airlifted just for him.
'I'll survive for sure. And shine in our World Cup three years from now.'
Back home, media hype around him was explosive. Some outlets sent correspondents claiming, "Yoo Sung-chul, you'll be the ace for the 2002 World Cup."
The pressure on his shoulders was a hundredfold, but he was dead set on overcoming it, no matter what.
The Middlesbrough match ended in a dull 0-0 draw after a tedious back-and-forth.
Disappointing, but solace came from Yoo Sung-chul playing a full 90 for the first time and securing a clean sheet without Henchoz.
The real trouble started now.
Good old Arsenal,~~
We're proud to say that name.
And while we sing this song~
We'll win the game~!!!
"Way more brutal than I thought."
The 40,000 fans packed into London's Highbury Stadium unleashed a thunderous chant, the pressure overwhelming.
I'd come to watch Arsenal with my own eyes from the VIP seats, clenching my fist at the sight of their manager in the distance.
Arsène Wenger.
A towering figure over 190 cm with piercing eyes like a hawk.
To survive in the Premier League, he'd be an iron wall we'd clash with repeatedly, alongside Manchester's "gum-chewing old man."
—Anelka—Bergkamp—
Overmars —Vivas—
—Petit—Vieira—
Winterburn—Tony Adams—Keown—Dixon
—David Seaman—
Bergkamp-Anelka up top, Petit and Vieira in midfield—that central battle would drain you dry.
And kickoff.
"Hm?!"
Surprisingly, Dalglish went on the attack first.
Duff and Wilcox charged down the flanks into the center, while Gattuso and Yoo Sung-chul in midfield rushed the ball-possessing Bergkamp.
Screeech—
Rooooar!
Gattuso slid in with confidence, but Bergkamp evaded like a graceful swan.
The short blond dribbled leisurely through the center.
Yoo Sung-chul blocked, but Bergkamp slipped away with a few deft touches.
"Ahh!"
Still, Yoo Sung-chul chased relentlessly.
Boosted by every buff Professor Cha recommended—red ginseng, this, that—he lunged desperately, stretching for Bergkamp's back.
"Watch it!"
Tweeet!
He grabbed and tripped Bergkamp, earning a whistle and foul call.
But Yoo just nodded and hustled back to join Taylor and the returning Henchoz in defense.
He leaped full-tilt to punch away Bergkamp's free kick.
From then on, Yoo hounded Bergkamp nonstop whenever he targeted the center.
Personal skill aside, against one of the EPL's top attackers back then, the class gap was two levels at least.
But Yoo never quit.
"Has Kenny assigned Yoo Sung-chul to shadow Bergkamp full-time?"
If so, it'd go down as the original chase-down classic in Korean soccer history, predating Park Ji-sung vs. Pirlo.
Thwack—
"That—that's bad!"
After repeated breakthroughs and blocks, Yoo collided with Bergkamp in a dangerous spot.
Tweeet—
Yellow card for Yoo. As the fallen Bergkamp lay there, a massive black player charged him.
"Hey!"
"Whoa, dangerous!"
Vieira barreled into Yoo, shoving his chest. Taylor and Henchoz rushed in instantly.
A scrum erupted around Yoo and Vieira, with Blackburn and Arsenal players piling in until the ref broke it up.
Eventually, Arsenal legend Ian Wright intervened to pull Vieira and Anelka away. On our side, Yoo raised a hand in apology to Bergkamp and helped him up.
Desperate foul to stop a goal threat, but the free kick spot sucked.
Left-footer Petit took it; everyone blocked, but suddenly Bergkamp popped free among our defenders... Oh no!
Goal!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Goal!!! Goal!!!! Goal!!!!!!
The scoreboard flashed GOAL relentlessly like a taunt, igniting the 40,000 at Highbury.
The ground shook; my heart burned.
'Mr. Lee, official letter from the FA.'
'Man United's Champions League and FA Cup schedule shifts their next match—33rd round vs. United now becomes 34th vs. Southampton first.'
The hellish schedule eased thanks to United's other commitments.
Meaning we had to grab points here against Arsenal.
League standings: United 62, Arsenal 60 in a fierce title race. Arsenal could hit 63 and take first if they beat us.
They'd be desperate too.
Tweeet—
"Damn it!"
Halftime, and a cigarette was all that went in my mouth.
Then the second half kicked off.
Wenger subbed out right winger Vivas for a stocky, blue-eyed white player.
"Ljungberg's coming on..."
Freddie Ljungberg.
A Swedish hard worker who could play left/right wing, second striker, central mid—just like our utility man Yoo Sung-chul.
As second half began, when Yoo chased Bergkamp, Ljungberg pounced right away.
"!"
The sly fox Wenger—seeing Yoo glued to Bergkamp in the first half—threw in Ljungberg to hound Yoo and disrupt the marking.
No matter how hard Yoo ran, Ljungberg matched his stamina in the chase. Abandoning the right flank, they surged centrally with Anelka and Bergkamp leading.
Anelka and Bergkamp's pinpoint shots barely kept out by John Filan.
Henchoz pushed higher than usual; Gattuso roamed central like a bloodhound, crashing into Anelka, Vieira, or Bergkamp alike.
The slugfest dragged on until the 87th minute.
Yoo and Gattuso ran their asses off centrally, holding firm. Arsenal's Bergkamp tired, no more dazzling first-half dribbles.
Ljungberg stepped up to support Anelka up front instead; Vieira locked down central defense.
That was when it happened.
Gattuso charged Ljungberg's dribble, body-checking him. The ball rolled loose—Arsenal players raised hands expecting a whistle.
"K-keep going! No whistle!"
I yelled from VIP; Dalglish surely screamed the same from the bench.
In that split second, Yoo beat Vieira to the ball and dribbled.
Prime Vieira tried bulldozing with monster physicality, but Yoo fired a pass.
"!?"
Duff was on the left.
Duff took it and sliced centrally with his signature dribble, smashing a shot...
Splash!
Bergkamp had ghosted into our box for that earlier tap-in.
Conversely, Ian Wright slipped naturally into Arsenal's defense, leaping for a header goal.
"Yes!!!!!"
Arsenal's greatest legend clubbed them over the head in their title push.
89th-minute equalizer.
Scored by ex-Arsenal legend Ian Wright in Blackburn colors. No celebration—he yelled at charging teammates.
"Hold position! Game ain't over!"
Blackburn skipped the ceremony, roaring back to defend per Wright's bellow.
The match ended 1-1.
Arsenal failed to grab 3 points and leapfrog us in the title race.
We notched 2 straight draws vs. Middlesbrough and Arsenal for 2 points.
This game shook up the table.
Arsenal stumbled in the title hunt; we solidified our survival.
And next up: Southampton... Championship, you're going down! The relegation execution awaited.