Chapter 37
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 37
Chapter Title: Black and White
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After clinching victory with a payback goal against our parent team right in the heart of enemy territory, our Blackburn.
The second leg after that wrapped up quite smoothly.
James Beattie! Two goals and an assist today earn him Man of the Match.
Aggregate score 4-1. Blackburn Rovers head to Wembley first for the EFL Cup final.
After that clean win, we geared up for the next cup competition: the FA Cup.
Our opponents were Newcastle United, now managed not by last year's Ruud Gullit but by the veteran Bobby Robson, who'd seen it all.
"Mr. Lee, you're cruising through the EFL Cup and now the FA Cup. Care to comment?"
"You should be asking the manager, Kenny, about that, not me."
"How many trophies do you predict this season?"
"Once you're in the final, you have to win it. Blackburn has no history of runner-up finishes."
Some reporters jumped in with questions about the next opponent, sounding confident.
"It's Sir Bobby Robson's Newcastle. Newcastle and Blackburn have quite the history, don't they?"
Newcastle... Alan Shearer had spawned so many stories there.
As I scratched my cheek, facing the journalists eager for that narrative, I just said what came to mind.
"You mean the team with the black stripes?"
"!"
The reporters, who'd asked about Newcastle, stared at me in bewilderment.
"Well, the only black-and-white striped kit that scares me is Juventus from Italy."
"!!!"
"Ah, but I have a lot of respect for Sir Bobby Robson, who's just taken over at Newcastle."
The room buzzed for a second before erupting in laughter.
"Mr. Lee, headlines might read, 'The only team we fear is Juventus.'"
"Not all black-and-white striped teams are the same."
"The Lancashire Trumpet really dishes out the most baffling jokes."
And sure enough, the next day's papers ran with it.
Think black-and-white stripes make you Juventus? Newcastle's no threat.
Mr. Lee: 'The only team we fear is about Juventus level.' Bold ambitions.
These headlines were hilarious.
Even the staff and coaching team back at Blackburn were doubled over, pointing at the papers, and soon the press nickname "Lancashire Trumpet" spread through the club.
"They're calling you the 'Lancashire Trumpet,' Mr. Lee. Sounds like it's going nationwide."
"Hey, it gets my name out there, so we should milk it for marketing. Every time I talk and the press runs with it, Blackburn's image gets a boost."
I said that, gesturing to the training ground still under expansion and the youth academy being built out.
Kenny Dalglish laughed heartily and gave me a thumbs-up.
"I said I'd head home after this season, but this team's set for ongoing success. You're building it steadily, Mr. Lee."
"In that spirit, beat Newcastle for me? After running my mouth like that, a loss—especially a Shearer's winner—would make us the laughingstock of England."
"Of course. We'll win for sure."
Thinking back, my first match after hiring Dalglish was against Newcastle.
And now we faced them again.
The manager had switched from Ruud Gullit to England's legendary veteran Bobby Robson, and Shearer was still going strong.
But I'd approach it without a doubt of losing.
FA Cup Fifth Round proper.
Win here, advance to the sixth round, narrow to the final four, then the two winners duel in the final at Wembley Stadium.
We'd declared we'd visit Wembley twice, and I was confident we'd claim both the EFL Cup and FA Cup.
"Alright, everyone, let's fight! Catch that black magpie!"
Channel Islands.
St. Helier, Jersey.
In a grand mansion on the small island between England and France, Britain's steel magnate was gasping for breath.
"Hoo, hoo—cough, cough!"
"Father."
"I'm fine, I'm fine."
Linda Mattiessen supported her coughing father, Jack Walker, dabbing a handkerchief to his mouth, but he brushed it off, sipped his tea, and kept heaving.
"Isn't it time for the match? Turn on the TV."
"Father..."
"This old man's not dead yet. I never miss a Rovers game."
Chairman Jack Walker had stopped life-prolonging treatment after his cancer diagnosis.
He knew his time was short and spent his days calmly at his private villa on St. Helier, watching football and tying up loose ends.
When Linda switched on the TV, the FA Cup broadcast was on.
Blackburn Rovers vs. Newcastle United.
Goal! Alan Shearer gives Newcastle the lead with the opener.
"If only that lad hadn't gone to Newcastle..."
Jack Walker's fist trembled at the sight of England's top striker, Alan Shearer—a lingering regret.
Newcastle led 1-0, but Blackburn pushed even harder with attacking football.
Dalglish barked endless instructions from the bench, and the players followed silently.
In the fierce back-and-forth, Shaun Wright-Phillips broke through, and James Beattie nodded in a beauty.
Goal!!!! James Beattie answers Alan Shearer right in front of him for Blackburn!
Squeeze—
Jack clenched his trembling, weak fist.
He wanted to leap up and cheer, but his body wouldn't allow it.
"Father, James Beattie scored."
"Sending that lad to Southampton was my mistake."
Then the cameras caught Lee Dae-hyun cheering from the Blackburn bench and VIP seats, clapping wildly.
The young Easterner—name and face unknown—who'd offered £10 to buy his Blackburn Rovers felt like yesterday.
"That young man's carrying my will, leading the Rovers..."
Soon after, Blackburn's defense snuffed Shearer's run and switched play wide quickly.
Damien Duff took Wayne Bridge's pass and charged; amid interplay between center and flanks, Kevin Phillips scored.
Kevin Phillips fires after league form carries into the FA Cup.
Thrilling turnaround.
In the second half, Ian Wright, subbing for Kevin, added one more.
Beep—beep—
That's it. Blackburn beats Newcastle 3-1 and advances to the sixth round.
With the EFL Cup final locked in, Blackburn takes another step toward the FA Cup final.
Clap, clap, clap...
Jack Walker clapped weakly from his bed, smiling.
"Linda, bring the phone."
"Yes, Father."
What did I say?
Black stripes and white tones? Not Juventus—Newcastle's a team we can catch!
Basking in Ewood Park's anthem high, my phone rang.
International call from the Channel Islands?
"Hello?"
[Mr. Lee, it's Jack Walker.]
"Oh, Chairman!"
Jack Walker was reaching out after ages.
He'd mentioned recuperating in the Channel Islands due to illness.
[You're putting on quite the show this season. Two or three more FA Cup games left?]
"We'll win them all and invite you. Starting with the EFL Cup final in two weeks."
[Hahaha, I'd love to go to that one.]
Even over the line, Jack Walker's voice sounded frail.
[Feels like I made the right call handing it to you. The Rovers will thrive under new ownership.]
"It's just new trees growing on the land you cultivated."
[Good. See it through to season's end.]
Taking Jack Walker's call felt surreal.
He was the man who'd trusted me with the club and handed it over willingly—a titan whose footprint in British business stood alone.
This season, I'd snag at least one trophy to honor that promise—no trophyless end.
"Whew—the season's nearly wrapped. Shall we head out?"
Second Division miracle: Tranmere heads to Wembley.
Tranmere legend John Aldridge as player-turned-manager eyes FA Cup and League Cup glory.
Will the underdog uprising succeed? Aldridge's Tranmere faces Blackburn.
After a 1-0 league win over Sheffield Wednesday, the media suddenly painted us as the villains facing underdog Tranmere.
"John Aldridge—he was one of my players when I managed Liverpool."
"Famous, huh?"
"Sent him to La Liga."
Dalglish's quip cracked me up.
"Not exactly a romantic mentor-protégé reunion, then."
"He probably holds a grudge against me."
And so, against Tranmere, we became the final bosses atop their fairy tale.
Of course, I had no intention of playing the villain for public opinion.
Our Blackburn Rovers had a story too.
"This cup final is the last match at Wembley Stadium. It's getting demolished after this season, new one's going up."
The so-called final game of the 20th-century Wembley.
Hearing that only fueled my greed more.
Blackburn Rovers would be the protagonists closing out the old Wembley.