Chapter 64
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 64
Chapter Title: Gattuso Transfer Saga (1)
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"Let me ask you plainly. It's AC Milan's offer, right?"
"Yeah, Adriano Galliani called. Twice."
"And you turned it down both times?"
"That's right."
Gattuso's eyes widened, his body starting to tremble with rage.
Yeah, AC Milan was a powerhouse, the dream club for any Italian player.
And Gattuso's DNA was linked to Milan in the original history.
"Why did you turn it down?"
"Rino, you can achieve even greater results and build a bigger career here at Blackburn."
"Mamma mia! No Italian player would turn down offers from the two Milan clubs and Juventus!"
Knock knock.
The timing was perfect.
I'd called in another player before Gattuso arrived.
The door opened, and another Italian player approached Gattuso, who was fuming about the rejected Milan offer.
"Milan sucks."
"!?"
"I played there. One year under Capello, one under Sacchi."
"Roberto, big bro!"
Big bro, huh?
Well, most Italian players called Baggio "Signore" out of respect.
Anyway, Baggio sat down and spoke up about the situation.
"Looks like our boss Mr. Lee landed a solid hit on Silvio Berlusconi at the Ballon d'Or ceremony. Now Silvio's targeting our squad, and you're the bullseye."
"Th-that..."
"Rino, you've got real talent. You'll be Italy's future. But you can grow even more here."
"Roberto, big bro!"
"Rino, I want you to stay here."
Gattuso's eyes wavered at Baggio's words, even with Milan's offer on the table. He was torn.
"Rino, this season we're in the title race with plenty of trophies up for grabs. Premier League glory beats Serie A any day."
"B-but..."
"Win some silverware this season, and I'll offer you a new contract. Double the salary sound good?"
"!"
"Come to think of it, we haven't had a meal together lately. Baggio and I will join you—how about dinner at your father-in-law's restaurant tonight?"
I had to coax and persuade Gattuso into staying somehow.
Sure, we were doing well this season, but with Paul Ince aging and seeing reduced minutes, Scott Parker still developing, Gareth Barry and Yoo Sung-chul drifting between center and flanks like Holland, Gattuso was our rock-solid midfielder.
I had to hold onto him.
Even if he left later, not now.
At least until we lifted the league and a big cup—he needed to be here.
Milan, Italy.
In the club president's office, Berlusconi lit a top-shelf Cuban cigar with a match.
"Hoo— so they rejected 20 million?"
"They said NFS, sir. Gattuso's promising, but 20 million is a stretch. Why not go for Ambrosini and scout other Serie A prospects I've got my eye on?"
"No, that kid's going to be our team's 'campione.' He reminds me of old Rijkaard."
'Here we go again...'
Berlusconi was obsessed with signing players he fancied, always calling them 'campione' and forcing them into the lineup regardless of form.
Gattuso at 20 million was a massive overpay; with smart negotiating, 10-12 million would've sealed it.
Plus, that Ballon d'Or jab had probably irked this Lee Dae-hyun guy.
"Adriano, we have to get Gattuso no matter what. This is for Milan's future."
"I'll do my best."
Galliani wiped cold sweat with a handkerchief as he left the office, barely containing his frustration.
The owner's orders were clear. If money wouldn't work, other methods had to.
He headed to his own office and made a call.
To Giovanni Trapattoni, who'd taken over as Italy coach after Dino Zoff resigned post-Euro 2000.
[What is it? Galliani?]
"Giovanni, long time no talk."
[What business do you and I have? I won't pull strings for young Milan kids into the national team.]
"No, no. Just curious about your plans for overseas players in the national team."
[What are you getting at?]
Galliani tossed Trapattoni some bait.
"Serie A is the world's best league, Italy's pride. The national team should be built from its stars, right?"
[Even without you saying it, that's the plan.]
"What about players abroad? Like Roberto Baggio or Gennaro Gattuso...?"
[Those guys who went to that backwater England? Wait, aren't both doing well now?]
Galliani smiled and nodded.
[Looks like a familiar face in the stands for today's Blackburn vs. Aston Villa match.]
[It's Italy's Giovanni Trapattoni. Here to scout Baggio and Gattuso, who both started?]
"Wh-what?!"
I was in Manchester on urgent business, working with the TV on.
I cranked up the volume. The camera showed a white-haired, grumpy old man in the stands.
"Why's that geezer here?"
"To check on Baggio and Gattuso? World Cup next year, national team scouting..."
"I get that, but the coach himself?"
Section Chief Park had come over with documents and confirmed Trapattoni's stern face on screen.
"Vice Chairman, the Manchester City Council meeting on expanding inter-city buses between Blackburn and Manchester is in 20 minutes."
"Damn, I need to go ask why he's here..."
Tied up with business, Trapattoni shows up.
Finish this and rush back to Blackburn.
Have to ask Gattuso what's going on.
Late evening, I drove straight to Blackburn.
We'd won 2-1 today, but anxiety outweighed the joy.
Floored the accelerator and barely made it. In the dark evening, players were still training.
"Coach."
"Mr. Lee, you're here."
"Where's Rino?"
"He left first. Probably at his father-in-law's by now."
As I turned to go, Hitzfeld grabbed me lightly.
"Giovanni came and said some dangerous things."
"What'd that old man spout?"
"He wants Gattuso on the Italy national team, but says he needs to prove it on an Italian stage. 'True stars shine at home.' Gattuso seemed half-swayed."
Blood boiled in an instant.
"Milan's using the national team coach for tampering!"
I'd expected it, but Milan was playing even dirtier.
True to his "fixer" nickname, Galliani shook Gattuso's resolve through back channels when cash failed.
I rushed to Gattuso's house. His wife and father-in-law, Mario Romano, let me in.
"Rino!"
"Boss, perfect timing. I wanna go to AC Milan."
"No!"
"If I don't, I won't make the national team!"
"You can play for Italy from here. Grow your game even more!"
"Dae-hyun Lee!!"
Gattuso shot up, lunging like he wanted to grab my collar, but his wife and father-in-law held him back.
"Rino, what the hell are you doing?"
"Stop it, Rino!"
Gattuso raged like fire, dead set on Milan. We held him and talked it out.
"I promised double salary. And I'll pull strings for your national team spot."
"Mr. Lee, you're not Italian—you don't get it. Giovanni said only players on Italian soil make the team."
Like hell.
Sure, Italy's blood-and-soil league loyalty was strong, but bullshit.
"Vieri was a starting scorer at Atletico Madrid, Panucci's at Real now and still gets caps."
"!"
"Rino, you're no worse than them. Miss the World Cup, and Italian fans will lynch Giovanni. Why? You'll win multiple trophies here as a key player!"
"Eeeek!"
"Plus, your wife doing TV back home, your father-in-law expanding business in the UK—what about them? Ditch it all for Giovanni's sweet talk?"
"Eeeeeek!!!"
Mario Romano held Gattuso and spoke.
"Mr. Lee, let me convince him. Give Rino three days off. I'll talk sense into him."
"Honey, please calm down! You gonna hit your boss?"
With wife and father-in-law intervening, Gattuso slumped.
I left after that talk, barely soothing him.
Milan, you bastards.
I'll get you.
Premier League Italian Set to Return Home?
Gattuso Benched, Blackburn Advances in EFL Cup. Next Opponent: Arsenal.
Jupp Hitzfeld: 'Gattuso is Core of Our Midfield, We'll Never Let Him Go.' Firm Resolve.
The press was in a frenzy, while Hitzfeld and I sighed in the chairman's office.
"We're trying to hold on, but Giovanni's meddling was too much."
"Germany used to be the same. Players leaving the Bundesliga were 'draft dodgers,' no matter their class."
I thought that league-pride, anti-overseas culture was dying out, but an old Italian coach pulls this national team stunt.
"Can't let it slide. Time to hit Milan where it hurts."
"Sign a Milan player? Winter window's still open, but..."
"Coach, if I 'impulsively' snag one of their keys, think we could use him?"
"Anyone with class, we'd make it work."
"Who's Milan's most vital?"
"Has to be Maldini. Paolo Maldini."
"Maldini, Maldini..."
"But he's 33. Same age as Baggio."
I grabbed the receiver.
And dialed that Italian club I hated calling.
[Hello, Mr. Lee. Galliani speaking.]
"Calling about a transfer."
[Oh? Gattuso sale agreed?]
Galliani's voice dripped with glee over the line.
[Two offers: 20 million cash, or 11 million plus our defensive mid prospect as sweetener. Ambrosini, just a year younger than Gattuso.]
Gattuso's real-history backup to Pirlo-Seedorf.
"Not selling Gattuso. And we're countering with an offer for a Milan player."
[Stubborn as hell. Who're you after? Make it Gattuso-included if it fits.]
"Maldini."
[Wh-what?]
"Paolo Maldini. 30 million euros transfer offer."
[L-look here!]
"Great captain or not, he's 33. 30 million euros cash, straight up. We'll announce officially. UK press first, Italian media can't ignore it."
[Hey, Blackburn owner!]
"You eyed our guy, we eye yours. Decision's made. Don't know Maldini's wishes, but 30 million euros. Tell Berlusconi. Lump sum."
I said my piece and slammed the receiver down.
"..."
"No chance, but if some lunatic bites at 30 million, it'd be fun."
"That'd cause an earthquake in Italian football, way bigger than Baggio."
"Let's see the fallout. Anyway, when I jawed with the Leeds chairman, I already bluffed the press: 'I'll buy classier than Ferdinand.'"
Might as well call the UK press while I'm at it.