Chapter 28
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 28
Chapter Title: Full Steam Ahead After the Opener
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Finally, Blackburn Rovers' first home game of the 99/00 season kicked off.
33,000 fans packed the stands, belting out the anthem in a raucous, joyful atmosphere.
Savoring the ever-thrilling Wild Rovers chant that never failed to stir the soul, I watched the match alongside the front office crew.
Leeds had sold Hasselbaink to Atlético but still went all-out attack with Harry Kewell and Michael Bridges up top.
Kewell tore through our defense, and Southgate had to make several desperate clearances.
Dodging a direct challenge, Kewell slipped a pass through, leading to a tussle between Henchoz and Bridges.
Thwang!
The powerful shot ricocheted off the post and in.
It was the 11th minute of the first half.
Schmeichel had read the direction perfectly, but the ball took a freak deflection.
Conceding first was always painful, but we hit back relentlessly.
Blackburn kept pressing, and with Duff sidelined, left midfielder Gareth Barry picked up the ball.
Unlike Duff, Barry wasn't the type to dazzle with endless dribbles.
Crack—
Instead, at just 18, he bulldozed through with the physique of a tank—184cm, 80kg of solid muscle that shrugged off collisions.
Leading with tireless stamina and that rock-solid build, Barry terrorized Leeds' flank defenders before cutting inside. His left-footed strike rocketed goalward.
James Beattie controlled it but opted against a shot, laying it off sideways instead.
It fell perfectly to Kevin Phillips' foot.
Tap—
"Goal!!!!!!"
No need for venom—just a cheeky chip through the keeper's legs that infuriated the opposition.
A first-half equalizer to level the score.
Leeds grew increasingly physical after that.
Thud!
"You bastard!"
Tweet!!!
Right-back Yoo Sung-chul took an elbow to the face while defending.
The ref sprinted over and yellow-carded David Batty for the blatant elbow on Sung-chul.
A yellow? He swung that elbow right at his face after losing the ball fair and square?
Even for the brutal EPL of that era, this was over the line.
Then Shaun Wright-Phillips burst forward on a dribble, only for midfielder Bakke to lunge in with a sliding tackle.
Gattuso charged in instantly, grabbing his collar as tempers flared.
"FXXX! You Nordic prick, who do you think you are?!"
"What's that? Say it again, you Italian wop!"
"Hey hey hey! Stop, stop!"
The ref pulled apart the collar-grabbing duo and booked them both.
And that was halftime.
I'd agreed not to enter the locker room during matches unless necessary, so I lit up a smoke and waited.
"That Gattuso kid's got a temper like no other, gotta give him that."
"See that Norwegian thug from Leeds? Who the hell slides in like that?"
"Even Vieira or Roy Keane would get their collars grabbed by Gattuso. Hahaha!"
Blackburn fans chuckled away in the corridors, puffing on cigs by the trash bins.
Here and there, I spotted fans decked out in Gattuso's No. 8 jerseys—he'd insisted on it this season.
Seeing supporters in jerseys with the numbers of players I'd brought in filled me with pride.
I finished my smoke and settled in for the second half.
Leeds ramped up the aggression, keeping the ref's whistle busy.
Bam!
Tweet!
Finally, their third yellow sparked mocking chants from the stands.
"Dirty~ Leeds~ Dirty Leeds~"
"Dirty Leeds Scum! Dirty Leeds Scum!"
Woooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!
Dirty Leeds.
Nicknamed for their thuggish, physical style full of reckless tackles—even rivals in the Premier League jeered them for it.
They called it "gritty football," but it just pissed off everyone watching.
Shaun Wright-Phillips grabbed the ball again and drove forward, with Yoo Sung-chul and Paul Ince in support.
Shielding the physically lighter Shaun from challenges while aiding his carry, they pushed the ball into the penalty area.
James Beattie rose first, but this time 170cm Kevin Phillips leaped acrobatically into a bicycle kick.
The ball ripped into the net.
"Take that, Leeds! That's football!"
Kevin Phillips' wonder goal.
Blackburn won 2-1 that day.
[Blackburn's Rampage: Back-to-Back Wins!]
[Kevin Phillips: 3 Goals in 2 Games Since Debut. A New Star is Born?]
[Division 1 Top Scorer Shines Unabated in the Premier League.]
[Blackburn's Lee Dae-hyun: 'Arsenal's Henry? We've Got Phillips.']
The papers sang Kevin Phillips' praises daily, and I was thrilled with the bargain signing.
Blackburn had started strong on the road and at home.
I handled company business but never missed a match at Ewood Park.
Newcastle: 1-1 draw.
Everton: 2-2 draw.
Sheffield Wednesday: 2-0 win.
Leicester City: 0-1 loss after Henchoz's red card and a penalty.
Sitting ninth with 11 points, we now faced big clubs in a row.
Round 7: Liverpool.
"This will be Michael Owen versus Kevin Phillips."
Ahead of the game, I told the press it was Owen vs. Phillips showdown.
"Michael Owen is England's pride, back-to-back Premier League Golden Boot winner. Can Phillips keep scoring against his team?"
"Of course. He bagged 18 last season. Mark my words—he'll hit 20+ and take the Golden Boot from our squad."
Reporters scribbled furiously, while Liverpool's Gérard Houllier fired back sharply.
[Treating our discarded Spice Boy leader Paul Ince like a star starter? And Schmeichel, Ian Wright? Did Blackburn's Asian owner grow up watching football from 10 years ago?]
Houllier, puffing cigarettes in the press room, jabbed at the cameras.
[Blackburn's perfect for boosting my young Liverpool lads' confidence. Owen, Gerrard, Carragher, Hamann, Hyypiä, Smicer! Remember those names. They're the golden generation set to eclipse 'Fergie's Fledglings' and restore Liverpool's glory.]
Credit where due—he'd nurtured that lineup.
Liverpool's young squad, with fresh-faced Gerrard and Carragher, had ditched last season's captain Paul Ince for a youth revolution. They carried a different weight from previous opponents.
But still.
These sprouts needed to weather some storms, right?
I awaited Liverpool at home.
Round 7: Liverpool.
After United, Ewood Park's stands surged with a second red tide.
As Liverpool's YNWA echoed, our fans countered with Wild Rovers.
The anthems rocked the stadium as Liverpool's lineup emerged.
3-5-2
---Michael Owen-Eric Meijer---
-Gerrard-Smicer-Jamie Redknapp-
Steve Staunton----Vegard Heggem
--Carragher—Hyypiä-Rigobert Song--
---------Brad Friedel------
Our Blackburn countered with 4-4-2
----James Beattie-Kevin Phillips---
Duff—Scott Parker---Paul Ince—SWP
W. Bridge-Southgate-Henchoz-Yoo Sung-chul
-------Peter Schmeichel--------
Tweet—
Kickoff with the whistle.
Dalglish launched the attack against his old club.
Scott Parker traded blows with Gerrard in midfield, possession seesawing back and forth.
Liverpool's standout was Owen.
At just 20, he'd claimed back-to-back Premier League Golden Boots—England's pride.
He exploded forward with blistering pace; Southgate barely blocked and cleared to midfield.
Gerrard and Smicer pinged passes targeting Owen, but Southgate stuck to him like glue, denying space.
Then Gerrard drove forward himself.
Paul Ince blocked, but he glided past with ease, drawing our fullbacks.
"Oh no!"
Gerrard was flying; with Owen marked, he took matters into his own hands, reaching the arc.
Henchoz lunged as Gerrard wound up for a long-range screamer...
Tap—
A feint! The "shot" was a pass, landing at Owen's feet.
Non-stop volley—straight into the net.
"Damn it!"
Gerrard's assist, Owen's goal—conceded early.
Owen celebrated arms wide; Gerrard taunted Ince and Southgate openly, hopping mad.
Dalglish stormed the pitch yelling, while Houllier flashed double thumbs-up and a thigh-slapping jig at Gerrard and Owen.
That pulled Blackburn's trigger.
"Hoo—"
Paul Ince, subbing for the injured Gattuso in training, had prepared meticulously for this.
He'd joined Liverpool to spite United and Ferguson, who discarded him like trash.
Leading young England internationals as captain, only for the manager to blame him for slumps and boot him out as a "Spice Boy."
Then planting Gerrard—whom Ince had mentored—in his spot.
To get revenge on Liverpool, Ince had hyped his own PR to land at Blackburn.
'You bastards, I'm not letting this slide.'
Tweet—
He passed to Beattie at kickoff and scanned Liverpool's players.
Just one slip-up, and he'd show them hell.
Especially that cocky Gerrard from earlier—he'd crush him.
Opportunity came quick.
"Paul!"
Bridge intercepted Smicer's pass to Parker, who fed Ince.
Ince dribbled, spotting Redknapp and Gerrard closing, then saw Beattie behind.
"James!"
Ince lofted a deliberate long cross toward Gerrard, who leaped desperately but missed.
Beattie rose high, chest-trapping it. Gerrard twisted awkwardly post-landing and chased.
Overreaching?
Gerrard caught Beattie's heel but slipped and tumbled.
Splatter—
"Ugh?"
"Idiot."
Beattie smirked at the solo-cover flop, then rifled a long-range shot.
Friedel dove, but it hammered the net.
"Goal!!!!!!"
Beattie eyed the dirt-caked, scrambling Gerrard before celebrating.
"Slippy~"
"Y-You...!"
Gerrard trembled at eating his own slip-up goal.