The Greatest Manager of All time

Gavin Ward returned to Stoke and met with his employers.

When he told them about the latest situation, Coates was the first to jump up.

"What? Publicly apologize to him? The yellow monkey wants respect?"

Clearly, as the chairman of what he believed to be the second-oldest football club in the world, Peter Coates had his own self-important dignity. He was unwilling to humble himself before an Asian man. In his mind, acting superior was only natural.

Smurthwaite frowned and said, "What kind of condition is that? Gavin, this would humiliate us! We'd never be able to hold our heads up again! Someone who became the laughingstock of all England, and we're supposed to be the first to bow to him? Don't joke around!"

Cliff Boya, meanwhile, had the look of someone watching a show from the sidelines. But when Gavin Ward's gaze settled on him, he suddenly realized he had been dragged into the mess as well.

"Hey, I've never said a single bad word about Lynn. I don't know him at all. We have no connection whatsoever. Our relationship should be that of two complete strangers!"

Looking at these three well-dressed chairmen, Gavin Ward found the situation both ridiculous and amusing. Calmly, he sat down, lit a cigarette, and exhaled a mouthful of smoke.

First, he looked at Smurthwaite.

"I won't claim to be an extremely professional football researcher, but based on SFX's media information gathering and analysis of player performances, we believe Cromwell has an extremely bright future. He could become the next Giggs, or the next Ian Rush. I believe around £500,000 could move Lynn."

"Do you know how much Swansea are losing this season? At least £15 million."

"And they will continue losing money over the next few years. Lynn is investing into a bottomless pit. He may appear glamorous on the surface, but he will face financial pressure sooner or later. When Port Vale's offer reaches Swansea, I believe the club's management team will persuade him to complete the deal. Because if the club's spending continues to exceed its income and becomes unsustainable, the entire management team will be blamed. To protect themselves, they will want Lynn to recover some cash, at least to make the accounts look better when the season ends."

"So, Norman, the question before you is simple. How much is Giggs worth?"

"Of course, Port Vale are not Manchester United. But if you can carefully develop Cromwell, then when you eventually send him to a top club, Port Vale should be able to recoup at least £5 million. That is a tenfold return."

"All you need to do is apologize for once humiliating Lynn. Be an open and proper gentleman. You can even restore your reputation. The outside world will see a chairman who knows how to lower his head and admit his mistakes, instead of one who clings desperately to pride. They will applaud you for it, because deep down, people hate those who act high and mighty."

"Face or profit. Choose for yourself."

After Gavin Ward finished speaking, he turned his gaze toward Peter Coates.

"I don't know exactly how much Charisteas is worth, but the cost of signing him right now is definitely at its lowest. Peter, what you want is a fighter who can come in and contribute immediately. Charisteas is exactly that. He will repay you with the results you want on the pitch. He has already scored fourteen goals for Swansea, and he isn't even the player with the most appearances. Even if he scores only fourteen goals in a season for Stoke City, would you really feel the money was wasted?"

Finally, Gavin Ward looked at Cliff Boya.

"I'm sorry, sir, but if you're unwilling to face the media with these two gentlemen, then I can only advise you to withdraw. Because of the timing, you have ended up grouped together with them. If you wait another six months, then we can see whether Swansea unfortunately fail to earn promotion, or whether Brentford ultimately fail to go up."

"If Swansea and Brentford both end up in the Second Division, Brentford will become even less attractive to James Cook. If you are willing to wait half a year, then you had better pray that scenario never happens. Either curse Swansea to fall away in the second half of the season and fail in their promotion push, or pray to God that Brentford secure a First Division place by the end of the season."

After saying this, Gavin Ward sat quietly on the sofa and waited.

The three chairmen all fell silent.

In their eyes, the massive potential benefits began pushing them to convince themselves.

Smurthwaite was the first to compromise. Pretending to sound relaxed, he said, "It's only an apology, isn't it? It's nothing. I'll just treat it as playing along with that Chinese man. So what if I give him a little humble respect? It's just going through the motions."

Hearing Smurthwaite say this, Coates said insincerely, "Exactly. The yellow monkey is too pitiful. Give him a little warmth and let him feel happy, as long as he obediently sends the player to me."

Boya's face darkened.

He felt very innocent. He had kept to himself and had still been pulled into the whirlpool.

But when he thought about waiting another six months before trying to negotiate, his head began to ache. If Swansea were promoted while Brentford failed to go up, then Swansea and Brentford would both be in the Second Division. The player was not stupid. If they were in the same division, why would he go through the trouble of moving?

Brentford's main attraction was that they currently played at a higher level than Swansea.

With that in mind, Boya could only nod in agreement as well.

Gavin Ward clapped his hands, stood up, and said, "Good. Then that's settled. Please hold a press conference as soon as possible. We will give Swansea's Chinese owner enough respect, then we can happily do business. Everyone wins."

Peter Coates was still unhappy.

Before leaving, he said to Gavin Ward, "Gavin, you'd better make sure the deal goes through smoothly. Otherwise, hmph."

Gavin Ward's smile did not change.

...

The next day, Swansea traveled east to London, arriving in West London, where every inch of land was worth a fortune.

At this time, Chelsea had not yet brought Lampard in from West Ham. Terry was still in the dressing room polishing boots and warming toilet seats for the senior players. The club had just emerged from a turbulent era of frequent managerial changes. Vialli had left in disappointment, Ranieri had taken over, and Ken Bates was one year away from reaching his twentieth anniversary at Stamford Bridge.

Chelsea were not yet the model of money-driven football. The club's enormous debts had left them in deep trouble, but Ken Bates, who was skilled at slipping out of danger, had covered it all up.

Nineteen years earlier, Ken Bates had bought Chelsea for £1. Nine years ago, he had finally regained ownership of Stamford Bridge after a long struggle. It was from that point that Chelsea began gradually rising again. After all, nineteen years ago, Chelsea had been relegated to the Second Division, which was then the second tier, and had been on the brink of bankruptcy.

After fighting legal battles for ten years to regain ownership of the stadium, Ken Bates had run Chelsea in an impressive fashion. If one ignored the club's debt sheet, he could almost be called a model of postmodern football club management.

In West London, he had built Chelsea into a deeply rooted brand image called Chelsea Village.

Chelsea Village included two hotels, eight restaurants, a travel company, a nightclub, and a radio and television station. Who could imagine that these were assets a modern football club should have?

Yet this was precisely Bates's grand move. During the period when Chelsea were expanding and flourishing, they had three famous coaches in Glenn Hoddle, Ruud Gullit, and Gianluca Vialli serve as managers. Chelsea rapidly pushed forward in the Premier League, until this season, when Vialli stepped down, Ranieri took over, and a new era arrived.

Although Lynn was still banned from the touchline and could not command the team from the sideline in this match, he had still traveled with the squad to Stamford Bridge.

In the third round of the FA Cup, as soon as Premier League teams entered the competition, Swansea had drawn Chelsea. It was truly awful luck.

As Chelsea's owner, Ken Bates sent Lynn an invitation, hoping Lynn would watch the match with him in a private box.

Lynn refused outright.

He would rather stand with the fans than sit facing Bates's grey-white beard.

Bates, a businessman with no filter and even fewer scruples, was probably the first person in English football to realize Lynn's background and identity.

When the entire English football world had been mocking Lynn, the job application letter Lynn sent to Chelsea had been personally reviewed by Bates. Bates then specifically invited Lynn to dine with him at the famous Ritz Hotel in London.

Because Bates often dealt with the banking industry, and because Chelsea were deeply in debt and lost money every year, he naturally had some understanding of the Welsh financial circle. When Lynn appeared, Bates saw through his identity at once.

But he did not say a word to the media.

Defend Lynn?

Why would he?

At the Ritz, Bates warmly entertained Lynn while putting on an act, listening as Lynn described how he would help him build a great Chelsea. Of course, Bates automatically ignored all of that or threw it straight into the rubbish bin.

By the end of dinner, Lynn had barely eaten anything. He had spoken endlessly to Bates, describing how, if he could enter Chelsea's coaching staff, he would help Chelsea uncover talent, help Chelsea rise in the Premier League, and sweep across Europe.

What a beautiful dream.

But one sentence from Bates chilled Lynn's burning heart completely.

"If you can bring Chelsea a £5 million loan, I'll let you join the coaching staff."

From beginning to end, Bates had not cared whether Lynn could help Chelsea's football at all. He only cared that Lynn was the young master of Lin Investment Company.

As long as Lynn could help him secure more loans, then apart from chairman and manager, Bates could let Lynn choose any position at Chelsea. Of course, it would definitely be a role with no real power.

He could simply be shelved.

Lynn had been dumbfounded. He realized that Bates had indeed not treated him like a mental patient, but he had also thought Lynn was far too naive and simple.

Lynn agreed immediately and even promised Bates a £10 million loan.

Then, after walking out of the Ritz, he tore Bates's business card to pieces.

As for the fact that Bates never contacted Lynn afterward, that at least showed he still had some sense.

To be fair, though, Lynn did somewhat admire Bates. The man was able to keep acquiring companies on the brink of bankruptcy, then repeatedly slip away from the wreckage, sacrificing banks and scattered small investors while continuously building up his own personal wealth.

Bates could be considered capable.

On top of that, while building Chelsea Village, he had once said something that Lynn quite admired.

In 1997, after the two star-rated hotels outside Stamford Bridge were completed, a line of words appeared on the street-facing wall of the stadium. It became Bates's most famous quote:

"The Romans didn't build an empire by having meetings. They killed all those who opposed them."

Admiration was admiration.

But Lynn and Bates were both men disliked by English football, and the paths they walked were different.

Bates entered football partly because there was profit to be made, and partly because he wanted to use English football as a springboard into British high society. Becoming a club chairman or owner brought enormous fame and expanded one's social circle.

Even now, Bates was the first chairman of the new Wembley redevelopment project. When the messy accounts of one of his former companies were about to be investigated, the FA stepped in to block it because he was an FA executive. The FA understood the principle that dirty laundry should not be aired in public. In that regard, football associations around the world might be more dutiful than organizations in any other industry.

Today, Lynn sat in the away supporters' stand.

Chelsea were not one of the absolute top teams in the Premier League at the moment, but they had achieved some success in recent years. With Bates investing recklessly through debt, Chelsea's squad was extremely strong.

Ranieri had taken over at the start of the season after Vialli was dismissed for poor results. Chelsea had lost ground in the early competition, and since this was Ranieri's first year in charge, it was understandable that the team had not yet formed truly overwhelming strength.

But precisely because of that, the atmosphere at Stamford Bridge was explosive. It declared just how seriously Chelsea, who had fallen behind in the league race, were taking the FA Cup.

They longed for a trophy.

They had longed for one deeply ever since the grand construction of Chelsea Village began.

Inside a packed stadium of more than forty thousand people, Lynn and the Swansea fans felt the pressure from the Chelsea supporters. They waved the Blues' flags in the stands, creating a magnificent spectacle.

After seeing Chelsea's starting lineup, Lynn was deeply pessimistic about the match.

The front three alone made Lynn worried about whether Swansea's defense could withstand the pressure.

The Icelandic blade, Guðjohnsen.

The Italian little tiger, Zola.

And the prolific Dutch forward who had once won the Pichichi in La Liga, Hasselbaink!

Swansea's defense, meanwhile, had Friedrich suspended, and Brunel had not yet officially returned. They could only rely on Albrechtsen and Gabbidon as the centre-back pairing. In addition, defensive midfielder Pedretti had fought hard in the previous league match and was rested today, especially since he had only just recovered from a minor injury.

Swansea were probably in for a difficult afternoon at Stamford Bridge.

Ranieri was not a flashy manager. On the contrary, he was very pragmatic. He would not underestimate any opponent. Since this was also his first year managing the team, he treated every match with particular seriousness.

Chelsea's squad was on the older side, and because of that, they were even more experienced. In midfield, they had bad-boy captain Dennis Wise, as well as tough general Poyet. In attack, there was no need to worry about Chelsea. After all, Chelsea still had the reputation of being Manchester United's nemesis at this time.

From the start, Swansea were extremely passive.

In the midfield battle, Wise kept using dirty little tricks. This sly bad boy always helped opponents up politely after fouling them, smiling as he said he had not meant it. Not only did it leave opponents furious and resentful, it also made the referee hesitate again and again before showing a card.

The short Zola was like Zhao Yun charging through Changban, darting flexibly through Swansea's penalty area again and again.

Lynn noticed something very obvious.

When Swansea faced a top-flight forward line with a richer variety of styles, they clearly could not cope.

For example, agile forwards like Zola and Owen, players who could control the ball, dribble, and move quickly. Against forwards like that, Swansea's defense always looked clumsy and slow.

This was not the players' fault. It was simply that in the lower leagues, most opposing forwards were tall and awkward types. After all, for long-ball football, that kind of forward often provided the most impact and efficiency.

Swansea were suppressed for the entire match and had no ability to fight back. Their lineup today was not complete either. Villa was isolated up front. Cromwell, starting in midfield, was once again suppressed. Facing the experienced Poyet and the nasty Wise, he was already at a disadvantage in direct confrontation, and he was constantly being caught by sneaky tricks. He became irritated and helpless.

By the end of the first half, Swansea were already two goals behind.

In the second half, Guðjohnsen met Poyet's diagonal pass in the penalty area and added another goal, sealing the victory.

Swansea were thoroughly beaten 3–0 by Chelsea.

At the end of the match, the Swansea fans left in silence. Many supporters patted Lynn on the back, offering him comfort and encouragement.

Some said Chelsea were one of the top teams in the Premier League and that the match had been played at Stamford Bridge, so Swansea did not need to take today's defeat to heart.

But Lynn did take it to heart.

He needed to study this defeat, summarize the experience when he got back, and improve the team's weaknesses.

When he arrived in the Stamford Bridge car park in a poor mood and was preparing to board the team bus, Bates unexpectedly appeared behind him and shouted, "Hey, Lynn, where's that ten million pounds you owe me?"

Before boarding the bus, Lynn turned around and raised his middle finger at Bates.

Then he shouted, "I owe your wife ten million sperm! Tell her to come to my place tonight and collect them!"

Bates was not angry. Instead, he laughed and waved at Lynn.

"Come back to Stamford Bridge next time! We'll watch Chelsea ravage the Little Swans together!"

With a dark expression, Lynn got on the bus.