Chapter 32
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 32
Chapter Title: Father and Son
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Ian Wright had played a miraculous role last season in helping Blackburn Rovers avoid relegation.
However, this season he was coming off the bench behind James Beattie and Kevin Phillips.
Currently, Phillips had 11 goals in 17 matches.
James Beattie had 5 goals in 14 matches.
Ian Wright had 2 goals in 8 substitute appearances.
"Unlike last year's completely barren season, it's encouraging that our starting strikers have reached double digits this year."
"Ashley Ward must be disappointed."
He'd been used effectively as a sub last season, but now he wasn't even getting on the pitch, let alone scoring.
Ward knew his situation and had requested a transfer. I'd promised, "I'll let you go as soon as this season ends."
As the first half of the season drew to a close, the league table looked like this.
1- Manchester United 36 points
2- Leeds United 35 points
3- Arsenal 35 points
4- Liverpool 34 points
5- Blackburn Rovers 31 points
6- Leicester City 29 points
7- Chelsea FC 28 points
In this era, the Premier League had three Champions League spots.
It felt like just one more push should do it, but reality had a way of keeping things just out of reach.
And as the season hit the halfway mark, injuries started piling up subtly.
Despite investing in medical facilities, aiming to create something like Milan's Lab or Munich's Medical Center, here we were.
"When will Gattuso and Yoo Sung-chul be back?"
"They should be ready right after skipping the next cup match, in time for Boxing Day. Southgate will take a bit longer."
"Sigh..."
"Still, the spa and ice therapy machines are more effective than usual. Even with the same injuries, our players recover much faster."
Kenny Dalglish cited examples one by one, consoling me by repeating that our players healed quicker even from identical injuries.
"Mr. Lee, honestly, no team goes through a season without injuries. I've seen plenty of clubs rely on a few aces, only for sudden injuries to ruin not just the season but the club's future."
"That's exactly why we invested."
"Blackburn did the same after their '95 title win. No one saw Chris Sutton crumbling like that coming."
Chris Sutton, sold to Chelsea this season for 10 million pounds.
Ken Bates had brought him in at a premium hoping to revive him, but he had just 2 goals in 10 first-half games.
"What's our biggest problem right now?"
"The new signings are all performing well, but in their first year gelling together, the physical toll of the schedule is inevitable."
It wasn't just about bringing in good players or prospects; they had to sync up, play full matches under the manager's tactics, and each one's stamina drain varied.
"To be frank... Goalkeepers like Schmeichel or Paul Ince aside, I thought the young ones could handle full shifts no problem."
"We've built their bodies, but match fitness is different. Still, with your continued investment in the training center, the expensive equipment, and top trainers, we're improving."
"What do we need in the winter window?"
"A center-back. Ideally someone with Henchoz-level experience."
I decided to look into Dalglish's request.
Leeds, who I'd said would sign Rio this season, had agreed to a deal with West Ham for Rio Ferdinand—20 million pounds including options—for a post-season transfer.
It was the highest fee ever for a European defender, even pricier than Henry.
For now, I'd grab a stopgap center-back in the winter window, but within 1-2 years, we needed someone Ferdinand-level or better—a world-class defender.
Of course, with Wayne Bridge on our team, John Terry was a pass.
After wrapping up with Dalglish, as I strolled the training ground, I spotted Ian putting his son through drills.
Thud-
"Ow!"
Shaun Wright-Phillips, small-framed, went flying from a full-force tackle by his father.
Ian strode over and pulled his son up by the hand.
"Again."
"Dad."
"Listen up—this is just a 1v1 situation. I'm not even a pro defender, and you know from playing that the Premier League is full of midfielders and defenders way bigger and faster than me. You especially need to evade players better, Shaun."
"Ugh."
"One bad tackle can change your career as a footballer. Avoid getting hurt at all costs—move first and get away."
Ian Wright wasn't the type to sulk when benched.
Instead, he gladly helped train the youngsters even on non-playing days, and spent his free time coaching his son like this.
"Come at me again!"
Shaun Wright-Phillips charged at his father—the Premier League legend—with his skinny, scar-covered body.
He tumbled, collided and flew, but rose each time, desperately trying to break through.
Ian never went easy, shoving hard, but always lifted him up to charge again.
"Huff... huff..."
"Take it easy, you two."
"Ah, Mr. Lee."
I handed them two cans of sports drink.
Shaun bowed deeply in thanks and chugged his down.
"You've been all over the papers lately. Ian's son playing for Blackburn—father and son side by side."
"This kid needs to grow up quick and surpass my career."
Ian shrugged and handed his own drink to his son too.
14-year-old Bradley was still grinding in the youth team, while Shaun in the first team was getting deliberate minutes from Dalglish alongside Parker, Barry, and Bridge to build experience steadily.
Shaun Wright-Phillips might not reach his father's heights, but he'd leave his mark on England someday, so I was confident we could build him into a franchise player.
Dalglish was already eyeing him for the next cup match against Leicester.
"Shaun, you play center or left too?"
"Dad's been making me practice my left foot."
"Mm, ambidextrous players are rare. Keep at it."
I made a lap of the training ground, looking forward to the next match.
EFL Cup 4th Round
Leicester Filbert Stadium.
Our players took the field away at Leicester City, flags waving with their striking fox emblem.
Today, Ian Wright started over Kevin Phillips, with son Shaun alongside.
Blackburn fans cheered wildly at the father-son duo lining up together, and the match kicked off.
"Let's go, fox hunt!"
"Catch those Leicester foxes today!"
The away supporters who'd traveled far roared as our players charged.
Today we went with Duff on the left and SWP on the right for dribble-focused wing play, supported by wing-backs Gareth Barry and Jeff Kenna.
That era's Leicester, under Martin O'Neill with his full head of hair, ran a 3-5-2, clustering midfield and back three into a rock-solid defense.
Dalglish countered with "break them down the flanks," so we kept probing wide while Leicester swarmed to block.
Especially standing out for Leicester was Steve Guppy.
"Whoa, again?"
Insane dribbling skills, pinpoint forward passes—Guppy was on fire today.
"Steve Guppy's the key man for Martin O'Neill."
"Is this his day? Guppy or Guti?"
His play evoked that Real Madrid namesake on one of those days.
Leave him unchecked, and we'd concede from his toes.
Parker rushed to mark him tight; full man-marking orders went out, sticking to Guppy like glue.
The half ended in a stalemate of attack and defense.
Ahead of the second half, Dalglish called Ian Wright over.
"Ian, can you keep going?"
"Plenty left in the tank."
"You sure?"
"Boss, I ain't old yet."
Kenny Dalglish smiled and nodded.
'Gotta give him 20 more minutes. Time to bring Ashley Ward on around then.'
Kenny predicted a goal around the 50th minute of the half.
The Ian-Shaun combo was clicking subtly, and once Shaun broke through, it was a goal.
"Alright, let's do this!"
The second half kicked off. Parker headed a clearance to Shaun, launching a right-wing counter.
"Where you going?!"
Scrrch-
"Go tattle to Daddy, kid."
A Leicester midfielder hacked him down rough, charged forward, and unleashed a long-range shot.
Schmeichel snatched it prayerlessly and launched a long kick—right side again.
Shaun Wright-Phillips claimed the dropping ball first and surged.
'Little Bullet Man'
True to his team nickname for the small, speedy kid, Shaun rocketed forward like a bullet.
Leicester's burly defenders closed in again, but Beattie, running parallel, shouldered one aside. Right in his path, his father raised a hand high.
"Shaun!"
Amid the rough tussle, only Dad was in view. Perfect pass fired.
A risky ball, but Ian stretched and controlled it.
Then, in one fluid back-turn motion, Ian Wright rifled a clean shot.
Leicester's keeper was Tim Flowers, Blackburn's starter last season.
The shot dropped right where he knew Ian's style from training friendlies—and Flowers couldn't stop it. The net rippled.
Goal!!!!!!
Son broke through for the assist, father slotted it home—father-son magic.
"Shaun!"
"Dad!"
Ian rushed over, hugging Shaun tight in celebration. The away fans screamed themselves hoarse.
[What's with all the racket? What the hell are you doing over there?]
"Hello? Yeah? I'm at the stadium right now!"
I was enjoying the match when the phone rang—my father calling from Korea, no less.
Stepping outside to take it, Dad cut straight to it.
[Get back to Korea right now.]
"What? What's going on all of a sudden? No company memo."
[Got a ton for you to do here. The pro league federation stuff from before, and Seol-ah brought home a guy—need to do the formal meeting.]
"Whoa, just leave that to my brother...!"
Suddenly the stadium shook like an earthquake, curses mixing with cheers.
A goal—more curses, so our away team conceded.
Who scored? Had to check now.
[Hello? Hey, Lee Dae-hyun! You planning to just watch soccer in England forever?]
"Dad!"
[Dragging your ass here for this business deal! You who just tossed the plan and did zero legwork!]
"Okay, okay, got it. I'll go. Call you back in 5!"
Rushing back in, the scoreboard flashed GOAL, breaking the 0-0 deadlock at 1-0.
As: Shaun Wright-Phillips
Goal: Ian Wright
The black father-son duo embracing on the pitch—it was their combined effort.
"Damn it! Missed that one!"
I'd thought watching Shaun would lead to fireworks someday.
And when they exploded, I missed it again.
Then my phone buzzed wildly again.
Incoming international call.