Hero in the Shadows, Big Fish in a Small Pond
After wrapping up business in London early, I met up with Alice. She looked stunning in a bright dress and subtle makeup, her arm linked through mine, turning heads even from the local Brits. We had an intimate date at a café overlooking London's landmarks—Big Ben and the Thames—sipping milk tea and sharing strawberry cake. And somehow, the conversation circled back to soccer.
"You're looking for a striker?"
"Kevin Phillips left, so we need someone who can bag at least 15 goals a season with plenty of hustle."
"Hmm~"
Alice listened with a relaxed smile.
"When you're hunting for a good forward, either they won't sell or they've already gone elsewhere. We need a reliable guy up top we can trust."
"Like van Nistelrooy or Dwight York?"
"If they score, size doesn't matter—even short guys like Phillips or Owen are fine."
"Hmm~ But strikers should be tall, like Banny."
She mentioned Banny with a grin, clearly still regretting we missed him. I liked him too, but last year he suffered a major knee cartilage injury and was sidelined. When I reached out during recovery, his agent flat-out said, 'If it's the EPL, Manchester United is the only option—drop it.' No room for negotiation. That's how United snatched him up, still dealing with knee issues, using Stam's transfer funds. Well, he had class and a bright future, but clear weaknesses too…
"Must be tough competing with other clubs as owner to land your targets."
"Very."
"Still, this transfer window's been fun—Thuram joining Mr. Lee's club, Campbell to Juventus, Stam…"
"To Arsenal from United."
"Well, with France's great captain Laurent Blanc coming in, they'll do fine."
I wondered if she meant Deschamps or Zidane for France's captain, but let it slide. Alice knew a lot about that team—had to be a fan…
"Speaking of which, you'll be off to Monaco soon?"
Her mention of Monaco jogged my memory. We had to play Munich, the Champions League winners, in the Super Cup at Monaco's Stade Louis II, thanks to our UEFA Cup triumph.
"Think you can beat Munich?"
"We'll see. Never faced them before."
"Fingers crossed~ Especially if you stick three past that blond gorilla in Munich's goal…"
"!"
"Heh heh heh."
Did she have a grudge against Oliver Kahn? Anyway, we spent our date chatting soccer, had a great time in London, and headed back.
Back in Blackburn, Heynckes approached me like he'd been waiting.
"Thought about Ebbe, Neuville, Pizarro from my country's league, but the path was closer to home."
"If you've got an eye on a striker, Don Yupp, I'm all ears—who?"
"Chatted with my predecessor Kenny at Celtic, and they've got a gem."
"!"
"Won the European Golden Shoe like Kevin Phillips, twice SPL top scorer. Henrik Larsson."
It had been ages since I last heard that name—his face popped right up.
"Will Kenny Dalglish negotiate? Sounds like he's been busy as Celtic's director."
"He's turning 30, broke his leg once—thinks this is his peak. They're open to talks."
Larsson had class, exactly Heynckes's type. Average height but great work rate and jumping—versatile striker who fit any system, no drama with coaches or teammates, straight-arrow guy.
"Off to Glasgow, then."
"Our head chef's checking the Glasgow main pub anyway—let's all go up together."
Decision made. Kevin Phillips's replacement would be Celtic's Henrik Larsson.
We arrived in Glasgow, Scotland, and toured Celtic Park. Our Ewood Park was expanding stands too, but this was another level.
"They say the Scottish Premier League's a small pond, but Glasgow's two teams are its sharks…"
"Old Trafford-sized stadium—not quite Munich's Olympiastadion, though."
Heynckes and I toured the 60,000+ seat Celtic Park, watching players train hard at the center. Solid squad like Neil Lennon, Thompson, Maloney; even Chris Sutton, who passed through Blackburn before Chelsea, was there. Sutton and I exchanged a quick wave, but my eyes went to Larsson beside him.
His dreads shaved clean, ignoring us visitors, laser-focused on shuttle runs. Broke leg once, but he looked in top shape. No wonder—he won SPL top scorer right after returning from the fracture.
"Well, if it isn't you two! Good to see familiar faces!"
"Kenny!"
Celtic legend, current director, and the manager who shared Blackburn's glory—Kenny Dalglish. We shook hands warmly and hugged.
"Welcome to Glasgow."
"Kenny, how've you been? Celtic's making waves even in England."
"Hahaha, yeah yeah."
He invited us to his office for tea.
"Yupp got you into the Champions League and UEFA Cup win."
"Ha, predecessor built a hell of a team."
"Too bad—Blackburn won the league under me but always choked in Europe. Kept dropping in qualifiers. Yupp, break that curse."
"Working on it. Just need one solid striker."
Kenny sipped his tea and cut to the chase.
"Here for Larsson?"
"Of course."
"He's our core—did the heavy lifting for League Cup and SPL wins, boosts jersey sales too."
"But he's turning 30."
"Class is eternal. Like Baggio at Blackburn."
"Kenny, you've been drained by transfers too long. Let's negotiate."
"10 million euros."
"Too steep."
Could afford it, but no need to blow the budget.
"Without Larsson, our season's tough. Deserve that."
"Kenny, when did you get so sly? Sutton bombed at Chelsea with two goals, but back here he's scoring again?"
"Ha, hahaha!"
"And you got John Hartson from Coventry for 6 mil? Building behind Larsson already?"
"Thought you were busy at Blackburn—how do you know Celtic inside out?"
To his cheeky question, I lifted my teacup.
"Ask Mario Romano when he returns from the Glasgow pub. Sitting in Blackburn, he spilled Glasgow intel like radio waves."
"That Italian chef's the problem!"
"Our team head chef."
Kenny laughed heartily; Heynckes, who'd been quiet, clapped loudly.
"Let's compromise. Base 6 million euros, plus 1 mil for 15+ goals, 2 mil for league title. Preseason friendly in Glasgow hosted by Blackburn, profits skewed to Celtic."
Dalglish pondered Heynckes's 6M + add-ons, then asked:
"Trade possible?"
"Who?"
"Got Thuram, Yoo Sung-chul from Holland, now a 16-year-old right-back youth? Jeff Kenna available?"
"!"
"6 mil + Jeff Kenna. Drop other add-ons."
"If Kenna goes to Celtic, maybe—but 5.5 mil + Kenna."
"Then 500k as goal bonus."
"…Deal."
We wrapped negotiations over tea time. He grinned, extended his hand; we shook from the sofa. Heynckes called Blackburn—OK soon after.
"Kenna's been benchwarmer, begging for loan anyway—happy to go to Celtic."
So Dalglish sent us Larsson, gaining old pupil Sutton and Kenna.
"Alright, we're here—drinks on me. Romano's pub tonight."
No refusing that. Tour Glasgow, seal Larsson deal, then head back to Blackburn together.
"Introducing Blackburn Rovers' new number 9, Henrik Larsson!"
Larsson stood before English reporters, flashing his striker's badge—number 9. He'd always worn 7 at clubs and requested it, but ours was Luis Figo. Explained the situation; he agreed to 9 with the condition of taking 7 if Figo left later.
Not just Larsson—three prospects joined: James Milner from Leeds, Glen Johnson from West Ham, Richard Dunne from Man City. Low profiles, still youths, so reporters focused on the striker. Larsson grabbed the mic, smiling amiably, fielding questions.
"Henrik, from Scottish stage to Premier League—your thoughts?"
"Grateful to Celtic for raising me; promise to shine at new home Blackburn."
"SPL called you 'Hero in the Shadows,' 'Big Fish in a Small Pond'—too small for you?"
"My team is no small pond. If I'm the big fish, they made the deepest waters for me to thrive."
"Can you dominate England like Scotland—top scorer, titles?"
"If team chemistry clicks and the manager trusts me, I'll deliver."
Textbook answers—respect for old team, ambition for new. Perfect interview. He handed me the mic; I pointed to the trio behind.
"Folks, Larsson's the star today, but check those prospects back there."
"!?"
"Ireland's future Richard Dunne, England's James Milner and Glen Johnson. Their simultaneous signing? It'll make history in five years."
Hyped the bargain trio at Larsson's unveiling; reporters perked up, quizzing the kids.
Managed to navigate the hectic window successfully. Bolstered attack, midfield, defense—all solid. Heynckes said no need for another GK class, so stick with Friedel.
And soon after.
"Casper, say hello. This is our team boss."
The blond boy, tall and lanky like dad Peter, bowed deeply.
"Casper Schmeichel."
"Spitting image of your father."
"Thank you."
Casper Schmeichel, trained in Danish academy, followed dad to England at 15—now officially Blackburn youth academy. Long road ahead, but our future keeper. With Schmeichel's son, our summer window closed.