Chapter 27
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 27
Chapter Title: Preseason Ends, League Kickoff Away Match
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Blackburn Rovers set off for Scotland for their preseason practice matches.
"First up is Aberdeen, huh?"
"Ferguson would be pleased to see this."
John Williams nodded as he spotted the Aberdeen team bus arriving as their friendly opponent.
Alex Ferguson had once led that team to ten championship trophies, turning a Scottish side into one of Europe's top powerhouses.
And so, their first practice match against Aberdeen kicked off.
With over 5,000 spectators gathered, Dalglish shook hands with Aberdeen's manager Ebbe Skovdahl and got the game underway.
Treating it as a practice match for plenty of experiments, Dalglish opted for a 4-5-1 formation instead of his usual 4-4-2.
He lined up Ince-Gattuso-Parker in central midfield, with Duff and Shaun Wright-Phillips on the flanks, and Kevin Phillips up top.
Bridge at left-back, Yoo Sung-chul at right-back—the defensive line of Henchoz and Southgate clearly needed time to gel.
Though they were playing a casual preseason game just to shake off the rust, the new signings were showing some serious promise.
Scott Parker, in particular, was dashing around central midfield like a mad dog—right up there with Yoo Sung-chul and Gattuso—desperately showing off his stamina with every "Look how fit I am!" sprint.
In their first real action since training camp, a few dangerous moments started to emerge.
Thwack!
"Focus!!!"
In the midst of it all, Southgate in central defense and Schmeichel were shining brightest.
Both were incredibly quiet off the pitch, but once the whistle blew, they were clearing balls from danger zones and bellowing at the other defenders and midfielders to shape up.
With captain Wilcox out, Dalglish had been torn between former Liverpool skipper Paul Ince and ex-Aston Villa captain Southgate for the armband. Southgate seemed the better choice.
The defense was a bit shaky, but they held firm somehow, while up front, Shaun Wright-Phillips stood out.
True to his lineage, the kid had a compact, springy physique that let him bounce through dribbles like a pinball.
He charged forward and whipped in a cross from central, but unfortunately, today's lineup lacked aerial presence.
After a tedious midfield battle, Dalglish made a string of second-half subs in the latter stages.
He pulled Duff for Barry on the left wing, swapped Henchoz for Martin Taylor, took Parker off and pushed Ian Wright up as shadow striker.
And that's when the real magic happened that day.
Thud—
The ball flicked on by his son on the right wing!
Crack—
The father smashed it home with vicious power, ripping the net.
"Goal! Goal! Goal!!!"
The son assisting, the father scoring—it was the kind of absurdly perfect scene you dream of seeing in the real league season.
Aberdeen ended 2-0 that day.
Ian Wright and Duff each grabbed one, kicking things off on a high note.
The next friendly was against Hibernian.
That day's hero was Kevin Phillips.
"In it goes again!"
Kevin Phillips bagged a brace on his own, James Beattie struggled, but Ashley Ward chipped in to seal a 3-0 romp.
Dalglish tested a Beattie-Phillips small striker pairing that day. Phillips thrived compared to the last game, but Beattie flopped.
Next up, Hearts of Midlothian. He stuck with the two small strikers again, and finally Beattie found the net, with Ian Wright adding one after subbing for Phillips in a 2-0 win.
The final opponent was Rangers.
For Celtic FC legend Dalglish, they were the ultimate old rivals, and Rangers fans unleashed thick boos.
"Kenny! Kicked out of Celtic and playing for an English team now?"
"Your Celtic gets smashed by our Rangers every time."
"'99 champs Rangers~ Loser Celtic~"
A Blackburn match, but Rangers fans treating Dalglish—and us—like we were Celtic.
I settled into a seat behind the bench and watched it unfold calmly.
Rangers were SPL kings last season, nabbing the league, Scottish FA Cup, and Scottish League Cup for a treble.
Sure, Man United's proper treble in England stole the "best in Britain" crown, but their quality was legit.
And their manager was no slouch either—a seasoned pro.
Short stature, stocky build, slightly receding hairline, pacing the touchline like a caged tiger, barking sharp orders at his players.
A little one-man army.
Dick Advocaat.
The current Rangers boss.
"Giovanni! Don't get pushed out of midfield! Rino's yours to handle!"
He targeted ex-Rangers man Gattuso, tasking Giovanni van Bronckhorst with owning the middle.
Man, I'd love to snag that guy. Winter window if not, definitely next year.
A tense midfield scrap ensued, and as we started getting edged by van Bronckhorst, Yoo Sung-chul joined from the right, teaming with Gattuso and Ince to contain him.
With midfield deadlocked at halftime, Dalglish switched to the wings.
Yoo Sung-chul burst down the flank and crossed; Beattie cushioned it expertly, and it fell to Kevin Phillips' feet.
And Kevin Phillips slotted home with ice-cold composure.
"That's it!"
Kevin Phillips proving his worth right from preseason.
The game restarted, and Rangers subbed big bruisers early in the second half, surging forward like a tank battalion on physicality and mobility.
Even Phillips and Ince were getting shoved off the ball.
As their entire line pushed up and the ball reached van Bronckhorst's feet, he unleashed a full-power rocket from distance. Schmeichel leaped instinctively and parried it.
"Whoa!"
A 0.9-goal screamer, and it only got heavier as time wore on.
The tense back-and-forth dragged on until van Bronckhorst finally beat us with another long-range beauty.
But we hit back with James Beattie's goal for a 2-1 win.
Post-match, everyone caught their breath, shook hands, and swapped shirts.
Van Bronckhorst approached Yoo Sung-chul and handed over his jersey—Yoo now had another top player's kit after that dodgeball game last time.
"Good work."
"Fine match."
As Dalglish and Advocaat shook hands, I slipped down to greet them.
"Everyone played great. Rangers are the real deal."
Advocaat shot me a puzzled look at my comment.
"...And you are?"
"Blackburn owner Lee Dae-hyun."
"Ah, right! Pleasure. Dirk Advocaat. Call me Dick."
We'll cross paths plenty in the future.
Plus, this era's Advocaat is one of the Netherlands' elite coaches, up there with Hiddink and Van Gaal.
"Kenny, Blackburn's gonna cause some chaos this year."
"Last season of my career—might as well."
"Retiring already?"
"Planning to hang it up at 50."
I tossed it out casually amid their chat.
"Dick, fancy EPL someday?"
"If a team calls, gladly."
His eyes lit up.
Makes sense—top of the SPL, now eyeing the Prem.
We wrapped up the Scotland friendlies that way, crammed in solid final training, and headed home.
99-00 Premier League kickoff.
Championship odds had Manchester United as runaway favorites.
Arsenal, Leeds, Chelsea followed, with dark horses like Aston Villa and Liverpool chasing Champions League spots.
For reference, the press pegged us for 9th to 11th.
We've bulked up smartly with B+ to A-grade talent, and if Kevin Phillips explodes... just watch us climb.
The opener was an away game against Coventry City—fond memories from before.
From my VIP seat, I shouted as the 4-4-2 opener got underway.
"Away win for the first match!"
After kickoff, we bullied from the middle.
Fightin' Gattuso and England's heartbeat Paul Ince charged in rough, dominating central and linking with the wings.
But Coventry had grit and toughness of their own.
Slashhh—
"Guh!"
Tweeeet—Tweet!!!
Kevin Phillips went down hard on a nasty tackle while dribbling.
Poor guy's small-framed, and on opening day too—clutching his leg.
Ref flashed yellow immediately; team doc checked him out.
Luckily, they loosened his ankle and massaged it, and he was up shaking it off soon enough.
Anyway, Paul Ince and Barry stepped up for the free kick.
Left foot? Barry. Right? Ince.
Ince struck first.
Blasted it hard, but it cannoned off the post—and Beattie pounced on the rebound.
"Whoa!"
Van Basten's words echoed in my head.
'Head, foot, ass—whatever! Charge at loose balls! For strikers, goals are everything.'
James Beattie stuck out a leg, connected, and the ball bulged the net.
"Goal!!!!"
"Oh! Jesus! Blackburn's goal! The prodigal son from Southampton returns home and gifts one in the opener!"
James Beattie raised a finger confidently, strutting the pitch, as Coventry's promised land rang with cheers from the traveling Blackburn fans.