Chapter 132: Pressure and Promise

Words : 1269 Updated : Oct 5th, 2025

Chapter 132: Pressure and Promise Chapter 132: Pressure and Promise Wednesday, September 1, 2010 Broadfield Stadium Training Ground Wednesday morning was overcast and quiet at Broadfield Stadium’s training ground. After Monday’s reset, there was a calm focus in the air. The pitches were damp with mist, and the smell of wet grass mixed with the faint scent of passing trucks. Niels arrived at dawn, his pickup rattling to a stop at the training ground gate. He felt a mix of determination and unease. The draw with Notts County had sharpened the squad’s focus, but the upcoming match against Swindon, a team known for their relentless pressing felt like a major test of Crawley’s fragile momentum. The media pressure was building. Online, Reddit threads and fan forums buzzed with frustration: "Where’s the creativity? Pogba isn’t Pirlo," one post complained. Another added, "Freeman’s flair is all hype, no goals to show for it." The criticism weighed heavily, especially after the BBC called their win a "fluke." With just one win and two draws in four games, Crawley was already under pressure in the early League One standings. Training was intense but inconsistent. The team was growing closer, but their chemistry on the pitch was still off. In a 4-3-3 drill that shifted to 4-2-3-1, Pogba and Freeman had moments Pogba breaking lines with long strides, Freeman slipping through tight spaces but the attack lacked a finishing touch. Nate’s through ball to Max went wide, and Thiago’s cross missed everyone. The team’s rhythm felt like a song that never hit its peak. Niels paced the sidelines, his voice sharper than usual. "Close the gaps! Move together!" he shouted, his whistle piercing the mist. The players responded with tighter passes, but the spark came and went. Kieron, now a regular off the bench, attacked every drill with intensity crisp tackles, powerful shots that tested the keeper. Max tried to lift the group, his voice hoarse: "Come on, we’re better than this!" But the hangover from the Charlton and Notts County games still lingered, a problem they hadn’t yet cracked. In the cramped meeting room, with flickering lights and scuffed walls, the squad sat down for a film session. Clips of Charlton’s press played on the projector, each one highlighting Crawley’s mistakes. Then Reece Darby, usually quiet, spoke up his voice calm but direct. "Their press killed us because our spacing was off. We’re inviting pressure, not handling it. Pogba, Nate, you’ve got to cover quicker." The room fell silent. Heads turned. His words cut through the fog, a spark of clarity. Pogba nodded, his jaw tight but eyes focused, accepting the critique without flinching. Freeman, jotting notes, spoke quietly, "He’s right. We’re reacting, not dictating." Niels leaned in, his tone firm. "That’s the lesson. Control the game, don’t let it control you. Swindon will press harder. Be ready." The squad nodded, resolve settling in. Reece’s honesty had struck a chord, a reflection of how far they’d come, and how much further they had to go. Thiago, stretching nearby, caught Dev’s eye and grinned. "Mate, we’ll make ’em chase shadows next time, yeah?" Dev chuckled, but there was a tightness in his face, the weight of shifting roles and rising expectations pressing on him. The room hummed with quiet tension and focused energy. The squad was united, but still trying to find their rhythm. Emma stepped into Niels’s office, a cramped space cluttered with notes, coffee cups, and a laptop playing Swindon footage on loop. The BBC piece and online noise had stirred the town, and she could feel the pressure rising. "No panic, no apologies," she said, calm but firm. "We don’t owe the press a response yet. Let the pitch do the talking." Niels nodded slowly, eyes still on the screen, his brow tight with concern. "They’re loud, Emma. Too loud." She leaned against the desk, eyes sharp. "They are. But soon, we might need to take control of the story, give the fans something to believe in before the noise gets too loud." Niels exhaled, rubbing his temples. "A win. That’s the message they want." Emma smiled softly, steady and sure. "Exactly. Keep the squad focused. The town’s still behind you." Later, Emma walked the training ground, checking on the players. She approached Dev, who was stretching alone. "You’re more than a decoy, Dev. Find your moment." He nodded, a flicker of confidence showing. To Thiago, she said, "Keep pushing those rotations. You’re making a difference." Her words were a quiet anchor, holding the team’s edges together. After training, Max called a quick huddle on the pitch. The squad formed a loose circle, their breaths visible in the cool air. His mud-streaked captain’s armband stood out as his voice, raw but fierce, cut through the quiet. "One win. Two draws. That’s not who we are. We need a win against Swindon, then we build from there. No excuses." His eyes scanned the group, landing on Pogba, Freeman, and Kieron. "We’re a team. Act like it." Pogba nodded, his usual reserve replaced by a spark of fire. "We’re close, Max. Let’s do this." Kieron stood tall and added, "I’m ready. Give me the ball." Murmurs turned into nods as the squad’s unity grew, Max’s words fueling their resolve. Thiago clapped his hands, grinning. "Let’s make ’em eat their words, yeah?" The laughter was light but genuine, the fog lifting, even if just a little. During a set-piece drill, Freeman stepped up, eyes sharp and focused. He curled a free kick from 25 yards, the ball soaring over the wall and dipping into the top corner, snapping the net. The squad erupted. Thiago whooped, "That’s it, Freeman!" Freeman lined up another from the left, whipping it toward the near post, forcing the keeper to flail. Pogba, watching from the sideline, nodded and said quietly, "That’s why you’re here, mate." Freeman’s faint smile showed his growing confidence, a small but important step forward. Niels, observing, jotted a note, Freeman’s set pieces can be a sharp weapon. He caught Freeman’s eye, giving a rare nod. "Keep that up. It’ll change games." Freeman’s nod was firm, his resolve hardening, the squad’s belief in him growing. Wednesday night, Niels sat alone in the analysis room. The dim glow of his laptop lit his face as he studied Swindon and Plymouth matches. Their sharp attacks and smooth transitions showed where Crawley still lagged. He paused a clip of a Brentford counter, imagining Thiago’s pace, Freeman’s vision, Kieron’s hunger. "We’re not far off," he murmured but the words held a question, his mind wrestling with the gap they still needed to close. The week ended with renewed determination. Despite the noise outside, the squad’s unity was growing. Niels walked off the pitch, clipboard under his arm, his mind focused on Swindon’s press and the chance to silence the doubters. The mist hung low, but the air buzzed with possibility. As the floodlights dimmed, the stadium grew quiet, the echoes of the day fading into night. Niels paused at the edge of the training ground, looking out over the empty pitch. Somewhere in the distance, a lone whistle blew sharp, clear, a final call to focus and fight. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. Tomorrow would bring its challenges, but for now, there was a calm confidence beneath the tension. The team wasn’t perfect. Not yet. But they were ready to grow, to push harder, and to prove that Crawley’s story was far from over. With one last glance at the field, Niels turned and walked away, the night carrying both weight and hope into what lay ahead.

Chapter 132: Pressure and Promise

Comments (0)