Football Dynasty-Chapter 307: Who brought Money-Driven Football

O’Neill spoke candidly, his voice calm but direct.

"In Manchester City’s future tactical system, both wingers and strikers will need to do more than just finish chances — they must become complete attackers. We’re moving away from relying solely on pure goal-scorers. Every forward must be capable of both scoring and assisting. Wingers or wide midfielders, in particular, will need to cut inside after receiving diagonal passes, exploit the half-spaces, and become a constant threat inside the box. That’s the direction we’re heading. You understand what I’m saying, right?"

Okocha couldn’t argue with that. The evidence was right in front of him — two players were already thriving in this system: Ronaldo and Thierry Henry.

The duo had become a nightmare for defenders, constantly switching between the left flank and the central striker position. One moment, Ronaldo would drift wide to pull defenders out of shape; the next, Henry would slice inside with a perfectly timed run to exploit the gap. Their movement was fluid, their chemistry instinctive. They weren’t just playing their roles — they were redefining them.

Okocha had watched them closely in training and during matches. He now realized this wasn’t just a tactical tweak — it was a shift in football philosophy.

O’Neill wasn’t simply giving feedback. He was laying out a blueprint — and inviting Okocha to be part of it.

"Boss, if you think I need to improve my finishing inside the box, I’ll work on it,"he said earnestly, placing the tactical notebook down on the table.

O’Neill shook his head.

"I’m not asking you to become a penalty-box finisher. Your dribbling and wide play are top-class, and your team awareness is excellent. If I had you focus solely on making runs into the box to finish, it would dilute your strengths. Do you remember Hans-Peter Briegel? He was once hailed in Germany as the model for future players."

Schneider paused, the name stirring a memory.

"Oh, he was a key player for West Germany."

O’Neill nodded.

"Yes. He came from a multi-sport background — a natural athlete. But what were his actual achievements? In both the ’82 and ’86 World Cups, Germany conceded multiple goals with him on the pitch — at least four he was directly responsible for. I’ve always said future players will need versatility, but that doesn’t mean everyone has to be equally skilled at everything. Every player has limits. The key is developing the qualities that are most impactful in your position. My coaching staff and I have reviewed your potential thoroughly... and to be honest, we don’t see you evolving into the kind of winger we’ll need in the future."

Okocha’s expression tightened, the weight of those words settling in. But he responded quickly, voice firm:

"Boss, just tell me what you want me to do. I’ll cooperate — no matter what."

O’Neill gave a small smile and pointed to the tactical notebook.

"Take another look. Focus on the attacking and defensive responsibilities for your current position."

Okocha picked up the notebook again, his eyes scanning the wide midfielder role.

The dashed lines showed his defensive duties — dropping back, covering the flanks, tracking runners before they reached the full-backs. The solid lines depicted forward movements — runs beginning deep, surging toward the byline or cutting into the edge of the box.

He began to understand.

O’Neill continued:

"Starting now, the coaching staff will help you sharpen your ball-winning ability. But that’s not all — you also need to improve your positioning when we’re in possession. You have to know where to be to relieve pressure and give your teammates passing options as we build an attack."

It was a clear contrast to last season, when Roberto Carlos and Cafu — then still wearing Manchester City blue — had the freedom to bomb forward. In fact, many of City’s attacks had started from their feet. But things had changed.

The current full-backs didn’t have that same explosive dribbling or attacking instinct. This season, Manchester City’s tactical blueprint had evolved.

O’Neill pressed on, "Of course, the full-backs still have an important role going forward. When Zanetti pushes up, you’re expected to overlap or underlap into the penalty area, either to provide support or even to score. But those were the moments where your limitations showed. That’s what we need to address."

From there, the two of them launched into a deep tactical discussion — diagrams, instructions, and strategies laid bare across the table.

The blueprint was changing.

And Okocha had just been given the chance to shape his place in it.

The next match, during training in preparation for the upcoming FA Cup match, Okocha pushed himself too hard.

While practicing challenges, he twisted his ankle — leaving Richard speechless.

"So, you had a meeting with him, and the next day he gets injured? Were you pushing him too hard?"

O’Neill winced at the question, rubbing the back of his neck as if the words had physically struck him.

"That’s not what I wanted," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.

Now, all O’Neill could do was watch from the sidelines, helpless, as one of his most promising players sat in the medical room nursing a swollen ankle.

Football wasn’t just about tactics. Sometimes, it was about moments like this — where all the planning in the world couldn’t stop a single twist of fate. All he could do was sit with him in the medical room and offer some comfort, urging him not to rush his recovery and to take it slow.

Many of Manchester City’s players were still young, with plenty of room for growth. Unlike those over the age of twenty-five — for whom changing or developing new skills often required much more time and effort — Okocha still had the potential to adapt and evolve.

With the match scheduled for the weekend, O’Neill reshuffled his training lineup. In Okocha’s absence, Nakata was placed into the starting eleven for practice.

That weekend, Maine Road Stadium was packed to the brim once again.

The Manchester City eagle banner flew high above the stands, raised proudly by the Blazing Squad ultras. Riding the momentum of recent wins, the fans were fired up, ready to roar their team on.

The visitors? Blackburn Rovers — a club in complete disarray.

A joke!

Their season had spiraled into chaos. An early League Cup exit at the hands of Division Two side Stockport County had been the final straw. Manager Ray Harford resigned in October, and Blackburn sat at the bottom of the Premier League table, winless in their opening 11 games.

Just 18 months earlier, they had been league champions. Now? They were the punchline of English football.

As for why Blackburn became a joke — well, let’s not forget who really brought money-driven football to England in the first place.

It wasn’t Chelsea — not yet.

It was Blackburn Rovers.

Under the ownership of steel magnate Jack Walker, Blackburn had become England’s first true example of a club supercharged by financial power. Walker, a local man, returned to his hometown and invested £30 million — transforming a club once unable to afford train tickets for away games into a Premier League powerhouse.

In the future, £30 million might buy you a single elite player. But in the early ’90s, it could change an entire club’s destiny.

Blackburn hired Liverpool legend Kenny Dalglish as manager and built a squad filled with international-caliber talent. Their rise was meteoric. In the 1994–95 season, they won the Premier League, powered by the deadly strike duo of Alan Shearer and Chris Sutton — the infamous "SAS." They even managed to eliminate Bayern Munich in the UEFA Cup.

They were proof of what money — and bold ambition — could achieve in football.

But as quickly as they rose, they collapsed.

From champions to relegation candidates in less than two years — no wonder they’d become a laughingstock.

Following Harford’s departure, long-serving coach Tony Parkes was named caretaker manager and would remain in charge until the season’s end.

Richard arrived at Maine Road as usual and welcomed his guest, Jack Walker.

The current Blackburn owner, however, wore a somber expression. He offered only a brief handshake before disappearing into the director’s box with his entourage.