Chapter 53: I Need Your Help, Łukasz!
Milan Mandarić, a 66-year-old American-Serbian businessman, was a man of remarkable discretion.
So much so that many football fans had never even heard of his name.
Yet, his journey was nothing short of a blueprint for aspiring football investors.
In 1990, he made his quiet entrance into football by acquiring French side Nice. Five years later, he sold for a healthy profit—his first fortune in the game.
A year after that, he took over Belgium's Charleroi. Two years later, in 1998, he cashed out once again.
That same year, he acquired Portsmouth—then in the English First Division—for a mere £5 million, at a time when the club was plagued by financial trouble and facing liquidation that December.
Mandarić had swooped in at rock bottom.
In 2002, he brought in Harry Redknapp—then freshly lauded for his work at West Ham.
Despite limited spending, Redknapp used his deep Premier League and European connections to bring in players on the cheap, or via loan deals.
He even secured the likes of Teddy Sheringham.
That squad propelled Portsmouth into the Premier League—and they stayed up.
But it was obvious the two men had different philosophies on running a club.
Those differences only deepened with time, until conflict was inevitable.
In Yang Cheng's past life, Mandarić's entire strategy centered on low buy-ins and high sell-outs. He had no emotional ties to football or the clubs he owned.
In 2006, he sold Portsmouth and turned his sights to a newly relegated Leicester City, again buying low.
By 2010, he sold Leicester and symbolically bought Sheffield Wednesday for £1.
But as big capital entered English football, Mandarić's moneyball model became increasingly outdated.
Still, in 2004, he was ahead of the game.
Mandarić was looking to cash out. With Portsmouth's value still relatively high, he wanted to sell fast—and was stingy with every penny spent on the club.
Redknapp, on the other hand, wanted to build a competitive team.
That same year, British media exploded with new "black money" scandals.
Top of the list: Sir Alex Ferguson. His son was a partner in Elite Sports, an agency that handled over £10 million worth of Manchester United transfers.
For example, goalkeeper Tim Howard cost £2.3 million—yet United paid £700,000 in agent fees.
Redknapp, too, was implicated.
During his time at West Ham, he sold Rio Ferdinand to Leeds and reportedly received £300,000.
An agent close to him, Dougie Haug, pocketed £1.8 million in fees from the £18 million deal.
With everything bubbling to the surface, clubs started covering their tracks. And when things went bad, internal power struggles erupted.
In November, Mandarić brought in Croatian Velimir Zajec as sporting director.
In recent years, Premier League clubs had increasingly sought to restrict managers' powers—installing sporting, technical, or football directors to oversee operations.
In theory, it was a move toward European-style management.
But at Portsmouth, in this fragile moment, Zajec's arrival was a direct power grab from Redknapp.
Harry Redknapp was a proud, stubborn old-school English gaffer. He didn't take it well.
He had just been named Premier League Manager of the Month in October, having beaten Tottenham and Manchester United.
Then Zajec arrived—and from November onward, Pompey collapsed:
0–3 to Aston Villa, 1–2 to Southampton, 1–3 to Manchester City.
Three straight losses.
It destroyed Portsmouth's momentum.
After the City loss, Redknapp walked.
Resigned on the spot.
An open challenge to Mandarić and the board.
Even worse, Redknapp immediately began talks with Southampton—Pompey's bitter rivals.
In the chaos, Zajec was named interim head coach.
Though a former pro player, Zajec's coaching résumé was thin at best.
His last stint had been with Panathinaikos in Greece, eight years earlier—just 34 matches before he was dismissed.
Still, his first match in charge saw Portsmouth beat Bolton 1–0 away.
A solid start.
But this was the league, not a cup game.
…
November 30th, evening. Loftus Road, London.
League Cup Quarterfinals: Bayswater Chinese vs. Portsmouth.
As the first half wound down, it was still 0–0.
Yang Cheng stood on the touchline, brows furrowed.
"Our quality just isn't showing," Brian Kidd sighed beside him.
This wasn't the scenario Yang Cheng had envisioned.
Portsmouth had just lost their manager.
Zajec was unfamiliar with English football, unfamiliar with the squad, and hadn't coached top-flight football in years.
The locker room was in turmoil.
They were the perfect target.
Yang Cheng had even sacrificed the league to go all-in on this cup match—hoping to break through and make a statement.
But now?
Aaron Lennon was being rested.
Yang Cheng had started Ribéry and Ashley Young on the flanks—both capable of playing either side.
Zajec deployed a 4-4-1-1, but defensive midfielder Faye was unavailable.
Yang Cheng's plan had been to hammer their flanks.
Ashley Young was fast—but not a great dribbler.
Yang Cheng had hoped the full-backs would push forward to help.
Before the match, he'd specifically urged Capaldi and Kevin Foley to support the attack.
But in the match? Neither dared go forward.
Capaldi lacked the ability. Kevin Foley was too cautious.
Even left-back Danny Collins stayed deep.
With both flanks neutralized, Ribéry found himself locked down, Modrić shut out, and the attack fizzled.
"The most consistent one out there is Diarra," Brian Kidd chuckled.
That kid was obsessed with earning money.
Everyone in the locker room knew—after every match, Diarra went to Yang Cheng to collect his bonus.
£100 for every ball won, £200 deducted for every loss of possession.
Kidd had been shocked to learn Yang Cheng was using cash incentives.
But you had to admit—Diarra had come a long way.
In this match, he was everywhere.
His ability to cover ground was the only reason Yang Cheng dared push the flanks forward at all.
"What about putting Lennon in at halftime?" Kidd suggested.
Lennon had more burst than Young.
But Young was fast, with better technique and passing.
Yang Cheng glanced at the bench.
Then shook his head.
"I'll talk to Łukasz."
Piszczek?
"Isn't that risky?" Kidd asked, concerned.
He liked trusting young players, but Piszczek had been disappointing all season.
Would putting him in now really make a difference?
If he was going to play, it'd be as a winger.
"His speed and acceleration could be a real weapon," Yang Cheng replied.
That puzzled Kidd.
Speed? Ashley Young was fast too.
Why take him off for Piszczek?
But Yang Cheng didn't elaborate.
Sometimes a head coach didn't need to explain.
He needed his staff to follow and trust.
And Yang Cheng trusted something else—mentality.
To make it at a big club, you needed more than talent. You needed mental toughness.
If Piszczek couldn't handle this?
Then he wasn't the guy Yang Cheng needed.
But if he could…
Yang Cheng smiled bitterly to himself.
He'd gone to great lengths trying to convince Piszczek to change positions.
…
Halftime. 0–0.
Bayswater Chinese had created chances and dominated possession.
Portsmouth, despite being a Premier League side, had only one real threat: a free kick on the left by Czech winger Berger. Center-back De Zeeuw beat Koscielny to it, but headed wide.
That was it.
But Bayswater Chinese's attack had been blunted too.
The live commentator summed it up during halftime:
"Let's hope the second half is a bit livelier."
But for Bayswater fans, holding a Premier League side 0–0—and dominating play—was already a huge achievement.
They applauded as the team walked off.
Yang Cheng personally welcomed each player back to the tunnel.
Then turned to the bench.
"Łukasz!"
He shouted loud and clear.
Portsmouth's staff and players had all headed inside.
Piszczek, about to join the group warming up, turned and ran over.
He'd been studying English nonstop and could now handle most conversations.
But for this one, Yang Cheng switched to German.
"You've seen the state of the game, haven't you?"
Piszczek nodded firmly. "It's not going well, boss."
"Our flanks are stuck."
The 19-year-old's eyes lit up with fire.
"What can I do to help?" His voice trembled slightly.
He knew.
Lennon was still on the bench.
Yang Cheng calling him over now—it could only mean one thing.
He was being chosen.
Excitement surged through him.
Yang Cheng didn't answer right away.
Instead, he locked eyes with him, his tone serious.
"I need your help, Łukasz."
Piszczek nodded eagerly. "I'm ready. I'll give it everything."
"But I need you to make a change."
"Name it."
He hadn't been great in past outings, whether on the left or right wing.
Yang Cheng had always consoled him, telling him he hadn't adjusted yet.
Piszczek clung to that hope.
Every time he got a chance, he played with everything he had.
"I need you to agree: when you go out there, you'll follow my instructions without question. No hesitation. No half measures. Can you do that?"
Yang Cheng stared into his eyes. Then added:
"This match could decide our League Cup run. Maybe even our Championship title hopes and promotion chances."
The weight of that sentence made Piszczek's breathing go ragged.
Was this match really that important?
But the Polish youngster clenched his fists and looked Yang Cheng in the eye.
"Thank you for trusting me. I promise—I won't let you down!"
Yang Cheng nodded, finally satisfied.
"Finish your warm-up, then head to the dressing room. You're replacing Kevin Foley."
Piszczek froze.
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