85 - Countering Real's Figo Rattle

[Blackburn's Boss Slams Spain's Galactico Policy.]

[Zidanes-y Pavones? Real's Youth Pavon Can't Hold a Candle to Blackburn's Youth Taylor.]

[Mr. Lee's Piercing Jab at Perez for Shaking Luis Figo.]

"Following Man United's Ferguson, Munich's Heynckes, and Juventus's Agnelli, now Blackburn's Mr. Lee is stepping up."

"What?"

"I mean the man who can stand up to a club like mighty ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Real Madrid."

John Williams, the consultant, said this while showing off the articles.

"It all depends on Luis Figo's will, but it's pissing me off that they're already stirring things up."

"Real's been sluggish early in La Liga, that's why."

John Williams explained the current situation.

"Last season, they signed Mendieta instead of Figo. This season, they shelled out a whopping 78 million euros for Zidane. But the results aren't matching the investment."

"So they're shaking things up externally? Like 'It's all because Figo's gone,' or 'It's because we couldn't sign so-and-so,' spewing that crap?"

"Exactly."

The raccoon-like old man had blamed poor results on the chairman during his tenure—it was just laughable.

"What an impatient bastard. Has half the first half of the league even passed?"

"At this rate, Real won't win the league this season. They've signed a bunch of world-class stars but neglected to reinforce ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the defense."

That said, Real's defenders weren't lacking class. Pavon aside, they had Hierro, Salgado, Roberto Carlos—solid players for sure. But Perez wasn't thinking about balance between attack and defense; he just piled up superstars for all-out attack, forcing manager Del Bosque into this reckless high-pressing style. That was the root of it.

"Hearing your take, Mr. Williams, I can guess how Perez will move next. That old man's gonna kick up a fuss in the winter window to snag Figo."

It was obvious ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from how he was already rattling cages. This was classic Real-style Figo shaking, and with the league lead going smoothly, we couldn't let it rock us.

"Can't just let it slide."

I resolved to act.

The massive antenna tower in London's White City. This was the BBC studio, specifically the spot for BBC Sports interviews.

"Hello, nice to meet you. Mr. Lee."

Gary Lineker, with his refreshing look and striking gray streaks in his hair. Talking about his playing days would take forever, but post-retirement, he'd joined the BBC and become the main host of one of their top shows, Match of the Day.

"Broadcast starts in 30 minutes. Just relax and take it easy, like chatting with newspaper reporters."

"Of course. But first, let me say thanks again."

"?"

"I heard that when we signed Korean player Yoo Sung-chul, Kenny signed as guarantor for the workout, and it was you, Gary."

"Hahaha, no big deal. If a talented player's tied down by the system, I'd gladly help."

We loosened up with some small talk before the broadcast, cameras got set, and finally, recording began.

Lineker kept things light and casual, firing off questions viewers would love.

"Blackburn's on a roll, but now there's this unexpected reef: rumors about Luis Figo, the superstar not just of Blackburn but the whole Premier League, transferring? Your thoughts?"

"The transfer window's still wide open, but Figo ain't going anywhere this season."

"Word is Real Madrid's coming for him in the winter window. As owner, you're confident you can hold onto Figo?"

"Absolutely. If Perez is watching this broadcast, I've got a message for him."

"Go ahead. Keeping it within broadcast guidelines, of course—"

I eyed the live cameras, tempted to throw up a V-sign, but no finger gestures allowed, so I just said it.

"Real Madrid, keep your eyes off England's talents and watch your own players."

"Ooh, off-limits, then?"

"This season, all Real Madrid will see is Figo lifting trophies with Blackburn and celebrating."

The live show wrapped up on a high note, and I sent the recording along with newspaper clippings to Daeyang HQ in Korea. I was turning myself—and Blackburn—into an untouchable force not just in the club, but across the Premier League market. A true power player, that's the stage I was reaching.

"Alright, next up—back to Blackburn for some talk?"

Back in Blackburn, I headed straight to Mario Romano's restaurant. One spot cleared just for a single guest, who was stacking empty plates like his massive frame demanded, devouring ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Italian dishes.

"Mino, long time."

Mino Raiola wiped sauce from his mouth with a napkin and stood, extending a hand.

"British food's crap, but you've got a solid Italian joint here?"

"Eat up. No charge for you."

"Then I'll have two lasagnas and ragù alla bolognese."

Piles of food and Italian red wine arrived for the gluttonous Raiola. The chef uncorked and poured right in front of him.

"Seen Rino?"

"Of course. The kid's Italy's future."

After shutting down Figo rumors on Gary Lineker's live show, I'd called in Raiola to grant his "little request," and asked him to solve "the problem."

"Mino, you've got Gattuso as a client now like you wanted. Time for real business."

In exchange for hooking him up with Gattuso—the agent dubbed the devil—I'd spilled the beans on the Real-Figo-Blackburn saga.

Raiola downed his wine like fruit juice, raised a finger.

"So the issue is this: You brought Figo to Blackburn on the condition he'd go to Real during Perez's term..."

"And now that old coot's shaking things up through the press, demanding him in the winter window."

"Hmm. Snag Zidane in summer, Figo in winter—immortalize himself in soccer history."

"So, what's the play?"

"Use Figo's agents, Beia and Putri."

"!?"

Raiola laid it out like only an agent knows another agent's game.

"Beia and Putri both owe you big time. Figo's at Blackburn now—Ballon d'Or, UEFA Cup, chasing EPL glory. He's at the point where Real's optional; stay or go, whatever."

"Fair point. I'd love peak Figo as long as possible, but contract's a contract."

"Tell Figo's agents: 'Figo might leave Blackburn next year or the year after.' Let them shop him to other clubs. Serie A would be ideal."

"And then?"

"Juventus, Inter—maybe Roma or Milan if they're feeling generous. At least 35 to 40 million."

"Wait, what about the Real deal...?"

"Hand over that contract too. The one sending Figo to Real in Perez's term—pass it to the buying team."

"!!!!"

"You've milked peak Figo to build the team. Third team pays top dollar, takes Figo and Real's tag-along clause. Blackburn's mission done. Perez has three years left—pad it out, send Figo to Real at the end. He gets his 'in-term' signing."

Damn, devilish didn't even cover it.

Real Madrid deal: 'Figo goes to Real during Perez's term' clause.

2. Perez waves the contract: 'Figo now.'

Have Putri and Beia shop him elsewhere.

3. Top Serie teams—or even Barca return—will pay 35-40m min.

4. Bundle the 'Perez-term Real clause' with Figo to the buyer. They'll factor it in.

5. Perez gets Figo in his 5-year term, but maybe year 5, post-prime.

Perfect way to screw Perez.

"Mr. Lee, invite Figo to dinner yourself and pitch it. Honestly, he's probably thinking, 'Do I even need Real now?' Won't mind your transfer push."

"I covered the 6 million euros Beia and Putri owed Perez, so yeah, time to cash in."

"I've earned my meal—and Rino as client."

Raiola held out his empty glass; I filled it to the brim.

A few days later.

The Figo bait lit the global transfer market ablaze, and Blackburn's chairman office phone was ringing off the hook.

"Aigoo, Real Madrid's Galaxy Chairman."

I'd stirred Inter, Juventus, etc., inflated Figo's value, then tacked on extra for Perez.

Suddenly, a torrent of Spanish curses I'd never heard blasted through the receiver.

But people don't die from getting cussed out.

"Think it over. Have a good season."

Perez'll cough up 45 million. For a transfer next year, not this season.