Chapter 75: The Budget Zlatan
In the world of professional football, loyalty is a luxury.
To stay loyal to a single club for a career is the domain of the rare few: Gerrard, Totti, Maldini, Scholes, Giggs…
But let's be real—those names are tied to Liverpool, Manchester United, Roma, and AC Milan.
If they'd come through at mid-table clubs? Let alone in lower divisions?
Would they have stayed loyal?
Hard to say.
Now, Leighton Baines, playing for Wigan Athletic, faced a similar dilemma.
Should he join Bayswater Chinese to play in the Premier League and UEFA Cup?
Or…
Stay in the Championship with Wigan?
Baines was born in Kirkby, northeast Liverpool.
Ironically, the same Kirkby where Liverpool's academy is based.
Funny thing is—he's a lifelong Everton fan.
Back when he trained at Liverpool's Kirkby Academy, he secretly dreamed of playing for the Toffees.
But when he trialed at Everton, they turned him away.
Too short. Too skinny.
Same old story.
A flaw that haunts European academies.
Ribéry was rejected from Ligue 2 clubs for that.
Modrić struggled in Dinamo Zagreb's academy for the same reason.
David Silva didn't make it into Real Madrid's youth system either.
Even Messi, with all his genius, was rejected by many top clubs when he came to Europe seeking treatment—because of his size.
Neuer?
Almost cut by Schalke's academy for the same reason.
Gareth Bale?
Nearly failed to earn a youth contract extension at Southampton.
So yeah, youth football can be dumb sometimes.
After being rejected by his dream club, Baines joined Wigan, just a short drive away.
He rose through the ranks from League Two to League One to the Championship, always hoping Everton would call.
Year after year…
Then, Bayswater Chinese came knocking.
Does Everton need a left-back? Yes.
Wigan's asking price? £2 million.
Not exactly outrageous for a Premier League side.
Especially considering Everton just paid £6 million for Joe Hart—who wasn't even a finished product.
So Baines, through his agent, reached out to Everton again.
Their reply?
"Sorry. We're going for Nuno Valente from Porto."
A Portuguese international.
Champions League winner.
Euro finalist.
But also turning 31.
Everton made their choice.
Now, Baines had to make his.
Stay in the Championship with Wigan?
Or go to the Premier League with Bayswater?
He locked himself in his room for a day and a night.
Then visited his grandmother.
Then sat down with his parents.
Finally, he picked up the phone and called Yang Cheng.
...
When Yang Cheng took the call, he was standing just outside the restaurant of the famous Hotel Europe in downtown Sarajevo, the capital of Bosnia.
When Baines confirmed he would join Bayswater, Yang Cheng clenched his fist and whispered to himself:
"Yes!"
He'd been frustrated with Capaldi since last season.
But at the time, finding a quality left-back was either too expensive or out of reach.
Back when he worked for other clubs, he didn't mind blowing the budget if it wasn't his money.
But now?
This was his project.
His investment.
He had to be smart.
Whelan loved to talk big, but the old man was right about one thing:
Just because Premier League money's coming in doesn't mean you lose your head.
Most promoted clubs die from financial suicide.
Yang Cheng would strengthen the squad, sure.
But it had to be sustainable.
And £2 million for Baines?
For a left-back with top-flight potential?
That was a steal.
Worth every penny.
...
With the Baines deal done, Yang Cheng turned back toward the restaurant.
He hadn't come to Sarajevo just for sightseeing.
He was here to meet someone.
Edin Džeko.
Currently playing for Željezničar, a top club in Bosnia.
Funny thing is—Yang Cheng had to thank an old friend for this lead.
Damir Vrbanović, the CEO of Dinamo Zagreb.
He helped Yang connect with the club and set up the meeting.
Željezničar had finished second in the Bosnian league the previous season, behind Zrinjski.
If Yang hadn't come knocking, Džeko might've stayed in Bosnia for another year or two.
They were shocked—an English Premier League club interested in one of their own?
For them, it was an honor.
Džeko, just 19, had already played two seasons of first-team football.
At the time, he was still listed as a midfielder.
Yep. A 1.93-meter-tall midfielder.
It's true.
In small leagues, selling a player to the Premier League is like striking gold.
So Željezničar didn't haggle.
Flat fee: £50,000.
Done.
And now, in the Hotel Europe, Yang Cheng was sitting with Džeko and his agent, Rezo Pašić.
...
The conversation began with Džeko's upbringing.
He was a bit nervous at first.
Sure, Yang Cheng was only 24.
But he was also a Premier League manager—
one call could change his life.
But Yang Cheng had a gift for putting people at ease.
Soon, Džeko opened up.
He'd always been a technical midfielder, even in youth football.
But during puberty, he shot up in height—all the way to 1.93 meters.
It threw everything off.
Football's version of voice-cracking.
More height meant more weight, but also more awkwardness.
He grew thinner, struggled with physical duels, and his pace and movement suffered.
But the worst part?
He slowed down.
His body was suddenly too long for the role he knew.
His coaches weren't sure what to do with him.
Midfielders weren't supposed to look like this.
But they couldn't deny his vision, his touch, and his eye for goal.
Unless the laws of physics suddenly cease to exist, no one can escape them.
What used to be easy footwork for him—just wasn't anymore.
The Bosnian league is known for its bruising, physical style. Edin Džeko had spent two seasons grinding through it, enduring both physical and emotional hardship.
And clubs like Željezničar didn't have proper fitness coaches, nor could they provide a comprehensive physical training program or a long-term development plan.
But at Bayswater Chinese, he could get all of that.
"I watched you play for Bosnia U19 in the Euro qualifiers last year,"
Yang Cheng said, his voice calm but direct.
That made Džeko a little embarrassed.
Bosnia's football program was weak.
Their U19 group had been pitted against Italy, Portugal, and Kazakhstan.
They lost all three.
Conceded 7, scored just 1.
And that lone goal? It came at the end of a 4–0 thrashing by Portugal.
"You were playing forward in that game," Yang Cheng continued.
"Yeah," Džeko nodded, "our main striker was injured. The coach played me up front, but more as a No.10."
Džeko remembered that match well. That lone goal was his assist.
"My first thought watching you was: this tall kid should be a striker."
"Modern midfielders need to cover a lot of ground. You've got excellent technique, but at your height, it's tough to maintain that work rate."
"Moving you to a holding midfielder role—what we call the 4 position—would be a waste. You don't have the defensive instincts for it."
"But move you up top? And your technical quality becomes a real weapon."
Džeko's agent, Rezo Pašić, chimed in quietly.
"But Mr. Yang… if he's going to play striker, he'll need more physical strength."
Yang Cheng just smiled.
"Then we build it. This isn't rare in top European football."
"Take a Croatian player in our team. When he was back home, he was so small and skinny, Dinamo Zagreb thought he wouldn't make it. Two years with us, and now he's not afraid of anyone in the Championship."
"You mean Luka Modrić?" Džeko perked up. "I saw him in the League Cup Final. He was amazing."
Yang Cheng nodded, pleased.
"My point is, strength and physicality aren't obstacles. We'll develop them, as long as you cooperate."
Džeko was starting to believe him.
"You know why I want you as a striker?" Yang Cheng said. "First, for your size, you've got decent pace. And your technique is clean—especially your first touch. You can hold the ball up and distribute. And best of all, you're two-footed."
But Yang Cheng knew that even this kind of praise could sound vague. So he tried a different approach.
"Have you ever watched Zlatan Ibrahimović at Juventus?"
"Of course! He's incredible!" Džeko lit up.
"You and Zlatan—same height, similar technique. He can face a defender, turn, dribble, pass—whatever the moment demands."
"For a striker, that's gold."
Truth be told, Edin Džeko was like a budget version of Zlatan—less flashy, less ego, but just as technically sound and far more coachable.
And that was key.
Zlatan had a mind of his own. Džeko listened.
His potential was immense.
In Yang Cheng's eyes, the problem with Džeko's actual career was that he was misused.
At Wolfsburg, he was developed as an all-around striker.
But after joining Manchester City, they turned him into a system player.
And then came the endless buying spree—every year, a new striker.
Too many cooks.
Not enough minutes.
Some people claimed that Džeko bloomed late in Italy. That he finally peaked in his 30s.
But Yang Cheng knew better.
No footballer, no matter how gifted, can truly peak after 28. The body starts to decline.
If City had developed him right, given him time, he could've hit a much higher ceiling.
In Yang Cheng's view, Džeko was close to the perfect modern No.9, especially after building up his body and aerial ability.
Sure, he wasn't Suárez, Benzema, or Lewandowski.
But if you wanted a strong, technical, smart striker?
You'd be hard-pressed to do better.
After Yang Cheng finished explaining all this, Džeko sat in silence, equal parts grateful and in awe.
He felt seen.
Yang Cheng had studied his game inside and out.
He didn't just want a signing.
He wanted to build a player.
"I promise," Džeko said, eyes bright, "I'll give everything—every training, every match, I'll go all in."
Yang Cheng didn't waste time.
They drew up a pre-contract right then and there.
One little note stood out.
When Džeko was asked about salary, he said he wanted €500 per month.
By Bosnian standards, that was generous.
But Yang Cheng said no.
He gave him a starting wage of £250 per week—about €1,500 a month.
"London's not cheap," Yang Cheng smiled.
That alone made Džeko even more grateful.
They agreed: once he arrived in London, he'd sign the formal deal.
Yang Cheng reminded him to study up on his English.
With Džeko's deal done, Yang Cheng immediately flew out of Sarajevo—
Next stop: Istanbul, Turkey.
Then north to Ukraine.
Just after landing in Donetsk, he turned on his phone—
and saw a missed call.
Adam Crozier.
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