Chapter 36
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 36
Chapter Title: We're Going to Wembley
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Halftime ended at 2-2, and the second half kicked off again.
Especially heated was the clash between Henry and Phillips. The usually composed Thierry Henry reacted with uncharacteristic irritability this time.
[Woooooooooooo- Wooooooo-]
"Phillips, you country bumpkin!"
"Push 'em, Arsenal! Stuff Blackburn in the cannon and fire away~"
Arsenal fans, true to their club crest, chanted cannon-themed cheers, urging their team to blast the opponents away.
Whether he'd gotten an earful at halftime, Vieira no longer charged aggressively into our defense. Instead, Ljungberg and Parlour started focusing on wing play.
In response, Dalglish shifted away from the flanks, massing in the center to blatantly target Vieira and Petit with the ball.
That's when Gattuso picked up the ball and collided head-on with Vieira.
"Guh!"
Tweeeeeet!
Whoa, shit!
Gattuso took a clean stud to the knee and clutched it in agony.
"No!"
The moment I shot up at Gattuso's injury, the ref approached and flashed a yellow card at Vieira.
No, the card wasn't the issue.
He'd been stamped on the knee with studs, and Gattuso couldn't get up.
Dalglish erupted from the bench, gesturing furiously.
"That bastard!"
Gattuso staggered to his feet and lunged at Vieira, but teammates held him back.
In the end, Gattuso hobbled off for substitution. No clue how bad it was, but they rushed him straight to the treatment room in Highbury, not even the bench.
"This is the worst."
I'd figured anyone but Gattuso could go full ninety no problem, but he clashed with Vieira and got hurt.
Scott Parker came on in a hurry. After recent poor form in back-to-back games, he looked burdened as a sub.
Unlike early season, his eyes were sunken, face gaunt.
Last season's seven first-team appearances were all he had; now, after about twenty games including cups, fatigue was showing.
But we had to push through.
With Parker on and Paul Ince suddenly playing full time, he hustled anyway.
Vieira, now cautioned, couldn't press as aggressively, so Arsenal shifted to a defensive setup.
The match ended in a draw after the brutal first-half slugfest.
Arsenal, nipping at United's heels, saw their win streak snapped and slumped. The one grinning ear-to-ear would be that old fox Alex Ferguson.
"Rino, how's the leg?"
"I'll be running in no time."
Gattuso, his right knee wrapped in bandages and a brace, shrugged and tried to stand, but the team doctor hurriedly stopped him.
"Knee injury—looks like four weeks."
"Four weeks? Get real. This? Two weeks tops, I'll be flying."
"Gennaro!"
The doctor tried to intervene, but Gattuso's fire was blazing.
"Young Boss, honestly? You've got the spa in the med center, ice machines, even that stinky herbal smoke. Way better than Italy or Scotland. I'll heal quick."
"Glad to hear it..."
"Plus, my Beyoncé and Papa are here. Bit of rest, and boom—back up."
Gattuso flashed a thumbs-up: no problem.
Meanwhile, on the training pitch, Scott Parker sweated buckets, grinding through drills.
He knew his weakness was stamina for full games, so he hounded the coaches relentlessly.
Parker, dubbed an oxygen tank in his prime for his work rate, would shine brighter with growth.
And so, Blackburn headed to Elland Road to face Leeds.
(Watching on TV while working at the company.)
Current standings: 1st Man United, 2nd Arsenal, 3rd Leeds.
First half locked in 0-0 with solid defense. Today's Leeds packed tighter than usual, pounding us physically.
They knew it too.
With only three Champions League spots, 4th-placed Chelsea and 5th us climbing, they were desperate.
Leeds hammered our goal relentlessly, but...
[Oh, Berg! Saves it again.]
[Henning Berg, back at Blackburn, filling Gareth Southgate's void brilliantly.]
"Picked him up, and he's killing it."
Far better than inexperienced Taylor, Berg adapted in two games, leading the backline.
Jeff Kenna, subbing for Yoo Sung-chul, was rock-solid unlike usual. Wayne Bridge meshed perfectly with the center-backs—growth plain as day.
Deep into stoppage time, defending Leeds' onslaught—counter!
Injury-returnee Damien Duff blazed down the wing, finding waiting Kevin Phillips.
Cross up, short Kevin volleyed an overhead kick instead of header!
[O!!!!!!! Overhead kick!]
[Kevin Phillips cuts Leeds' throats in the 46th minute of stoppage time.]
"That's it, Kevin—I knew you'd deliver!"
Over 20 goals now, Phillips laughed off the race with Alan Smith and Thierry Henry.
Three points banked.
If I'd been at Elland Road, envelopes stuffed, golden envelopes all around!
[Blackburn follows Arsenal 2-2 draw with 1-0 Leeds win!]
[Alex Ferguson smiles. Blackburn strikes down 2nd and 3rd in title race.]
[Blackburn to Worthington Cup semis: Dalglish 'Our goal is the title.']
League alongside cups now underway.
We breezed through sponsor Worthington's EFL Cup and FA Cup.
EFL Cup: two legs vs Aston Villa. FA Cup: Newcastle ahead.
Teams we face? Unreal.
EFL Cup pits us vs Aston Villa over Barry and Southgate. FA Cup rematches Alan Shearer post-Blackburn.
League matters, but I prioritized cups, telling Dalglish: "No trophyless season."
Someone we must lift a cup for this year.
Villa Park.
[Big Gareth, Little Gareth~ Both traitors back at Villa Park~]
[No place for you here—off to hell! Gareth family!]
Thick abuse and mocking songs for returning Gareth Southgate and Gareth Barry.
Barry looked rattled; Southgate took it stone-faced.
He'd been public enemy after Euro '96 penalty miss, drowned in hate.
This? Lullaby compared.
Tweeeeet—
Kickoff: Blackburn went full attack.
Parker-Barry duo owned midfield post-Gattuso injury, young hounds dashing everywhere, scrambling Villa's brains.
Southgate, back after ages, ran his legs to dust.
'I came to this team for trophies.'
Year 12 pro.
His hardware? One Second Division title, this Villa's EFL Cup.
Then club sold risers for cash, no reinforcements. Barry sale rumors? He requested transfer, future bleak.
Now, playing with Barry, this day arrived.
Villa's Beni Carbon charged; Southgate met him tackle-first, clearing the ball.
Thud—
"Dream on."
Wooooooooooooooooooooo—
Southgate cleared, any contact drew 30,000 Villa boos crushing down.
But he never shrank, fulfilling defender duties to the letter.
Attacking? He surged up, battling Villa's backline.
Tweeeeet—
Traversing the pitch, up front: Phillips' shot deflected by Enckelman, looped back.
Corner.
Left corner: Barry to take. Crowd behind flashed two-finger V's and jeers.
"Piss off!"
"Can the kid even take a pen?"
"Rookie, you ain't kicking shit."
Barry gritted teeth, whipped a big arc.
James Beattie leaped, Kevin Phillips grabbed—but Villa marked the strikers tight.
Beattie shoved off, Phillips backed into defender... then an unexpected Blackburn defender soared highest.
Mightiest leap, header goalward—Peter Enckelman dove, no chance.
Goal!!!!!
Southgate knifed his parent club Aston Villa.
Celebrated mutely, jogged back.
"Gareth, you scored!"
"Defender headers for goal?!"
"Backline, hold positions—Villa charges on kickoff!"
Goal in, straight to defense.
And it stood as winner.
Home-and-away EFL Cup semis: Blackburn's precious away win.
Villa needs two-goal swing at Ewood Park for final; else, Blackburn Rovers advances.
Reporters spotted me leaving Villa Park, swarmed.
"Mr. Lee, can Blackburn win the EFL Cup this season?"
"Of course!"
"First full season under you shows clear improvement over last. Thoughts?"
"Credit to Kenny Dalglish and the players. I just believe in them."
"How far this season?"
That, I could answer firm.
I beckoned reporters close with both hands, then bellowed:
"Listen up, folks! We won the away first leg, and we'll win the home second too. We Go Wembley! Okay?"
We Go Wembley.
Cup final at Wembley, named outright.
"And Wembley's not once-only. Eyeing FA Cup Newcastle too—thrice we go. We Go Wembley!"
My declaration.
And 'We Go Wembley!' headlined sports papers next day.