Chapter 133: Sparks and Struggles at Broadfield

Chapter 133: Sparks and Struggles at Broadfield Chapter 133: Sparks and Struggles at Broadfield Broadfield Stadium, Crawley Matchday 5: Crawley Town vs. Swindon Town Saturday morning arrived with a buzz of tension after a long week, and Broadfield Stadium brimmed with anticipation. The pitch gleamed under a pale sun, and the sharp scent of fresh-cut grass mixed with the faint aroma of coffee from a nearby van. Niels pulled into the training ground, his pickup’s tires crunching on the damp gravel, a tight knot of resolve and frustration in his chest. Four games in, Crawley sat bottom of the mid-table with six points one win, two draws, and a loss but the spark that had lit up the squad last spring now felt like it was fading. Swindon’s relentless press offered a chance to reignite it or watch it die out. The local press was split. One headline asked, "Promotion Hangover or Solid Start?" while another took a jab: "Crawley lack rhythm... the magic from the FA Cup seems to have vanished." The criticism stung, echoing the online noise calling Pogba overrated and Freeman overhyped. Niels could sense the squad’s hunger, but their inconsistency gnawed at him, a puzzle still unsolved. He held a worn clipboard, crammed with notes on Swindon’s high line and a new plan to press from the wings. The clipboard told him the plan, but it was the players who held the answer. Max Simons’s relentless drive, Thiago’s explosive pace, Dev Patel’s creative spark, and Kieron’s growing hunger each one carried a piece of the fight Crawley needed to find again. Friday night, Niels sat alone in his cramped office, surrounded by scattered notes and half-empty coffee mugs, the glow of his laptop flickering across the walls. He replayed the Notts County draw, freezing the screen as Pogba surged forward and Kieron dropped back—two instincts pulling in opposite directions. He tapped his pen against the desk, tension lining his face. "We’re close," he muttered, "but not there." The squad looked sharper, but the rhythm was off. The FA Cup magic felt like a memory, fading fast. In the locker room, the squad felt the weight of what was coming. Thiago juggled a ball, trying to ease the tension. "Swindon’s press? We’ll dance through it," he said with a grin, though his eyes stayed sharp. Pogba, focused as ever while taping his wrists, muttered, "No mistakes tomorrow. we’ve got to be sharp." Freeman sat quietly, adjusting his boots, his calm intensity steady and unshaken. Kieron, now in the starting XI, stood tall, his hunger clear, ready to test every inch of Swindon’s backline. Saturday morning, Niels gathered the squad in the meeting room, the projector humming with clips of Swindon. His voice was calm but firm, cutting through the tension. "If we want to control the game, we have to give them something new to talk about. No more ’fluke’ talk. Play like the team you know you are." He scanned the room Max, Pogba, Freeman, Thiago, Dev, Nate, Liam McCulloch, Reece Darby, and the rest. "Press higher from the wings. Kieron, stretch their line. Pogba, Freeman, Nate, own the middle. Max, finish the chances." Max nodded, his captain’s armband tight. "Let’s give ’em hell, lads." Kieron, starting for the first time, clenched his fists, his voice low. "I’m ready, Coach." The squad’s nods were firm, their resolve hardening, the noise outside fueling their fire. Broadfield’s stands filled with restless fans, red scarves waving beneath a gray sky. Their chants, "Come on, Crawley!" beat like a steady pulse. The pitch glistened, and the air was heavy with anticipation. Niels stood on the touchline, rain forming beads on his jacket, clipboard put away. Crawley stepped onto the field in their red kits, lined up in a 4-3-3: Adam Fletcher in goal; Liam and Reece in defense; Pogba, Nate, and Freeman in midfield; Thiago and Kieron on the wings; and Max leading the attack. Kickoff: The whistle blew, and Crawley started nervously, misplaced passes and rushed touches revealing their tension. Swindon’s press was relentless, their high line pushing Crawley back. In the 18th minute, disaster nearly struck, a Swindon winger slipped past Thiago and sent a low cross into the box. The ball slid toward goal, but Liam McCulloch slid in just in time, clearing it off the line as the crowd erupted. Niels clapped from the touchline, his voice firm: "Keep your cool. Take control. Then hit them hard!" Crawley soon found their rhythm, pushing the wings higher. In the 31st minute, Kieron burst down the right, his speed pulling Swindon’s defense wide. He sent in a low cross that was deflected, but Max reacted quickly, spinning past his marker and firing a low shot past the keeper’s dive. 1–0. Broadfield exploded with cheers, fans jumping and scarves swirling. Max roared, fists pumping, as Kieron and Thiago joined the celebration and the bench erupted. Niels nodded, a flicker of relief in his eyes. The momentum shifted. Crawley grew more confident, moving the ball with purpose, pressing Swindon back. The crowd’s energy fueled the players, their voices rising with every touch and tackle. Yet, Swindon fought hard, refusing to fold. As the clock ticked toward halftime, the whistle blew, sending players off the pitch. The scoreline favored Crawley, but Niels knew the real battle was still to come. He gathered his team quickly, voice steady but urgent. "We’ve got the lead, but it’s not over. Swindon will push higher, stay compact and don’t get caught out on counters. Kieron and Thiago, stretch their backline but track back fast. Pogba, Freeman, Nate, control the midfield and cut off their passes. Max, keep moving to create space and finish chances. Stay patient, keep the pressure, and control the game in the second half." The players nodded, breathing heavy but ready. The half-time break was brief, a pause to reset and reignite before the second half. As the second half began, Swindon started the second half with strong pressure. Crawley stayed solid, Reece and Liam won headers, and Fletcher saved a curling shot in the 55th minute. Pogba took control in midfield. Early in the second half, Dev came on for Kieron. In the 62nd minute, Pogba intercepted a pass and quickly fed Dev. Cutting in from the left, Dev took a sharp shot that forced the keeper to dive, the ball just missing the post. In the 68th minute, Freeman sparked magic. Dropping deep, he slid in to intercept a loose pass, his tackle clean. He laid it off to Nate, who played it back as Freeman surged forward, timing his run perfectly. Nate’s return pass was inch-perfect, and Freeman rifled a shot into the bottom corner. 2–0. The stands shook, fans chanting "Freeman! Freeman!" as he sprinted to the corner flag, fist raised, Pogba and Max mobbing him. Swindon pushed back, their pressure mounting. In the 90+2nd minute, a set-piece undid Crawley. A corner curled in, and a Swindon striker rose above Reece, nodding it past Fletcher’s dive. 2–1. Niels’s face tightened, fists clenched, frustration clear at the defensive lapse. When the final whistle blew, the hard-fought 2–1 win sent Broadfield into a deafening roar, but Niels’s frustration stayed with him. Fulltime: Crawley 2-1 Swindon At the press conference, Niels faced the microphones with a steady but firm voice. "I’ll take the points. But we need more clean sheets, we can’t keep giving teams chances like that." He paused, eyes sharp. "We’re building, but we’re not there yet." Reporters nodded and took notes, the win was progress, but not the final answer. Outside, fans streamed from the stands, chanting Freeman’s name and waving red scarves like flags. Thiago smiled wide as he high-fived kids along the barriers. Kieron, sweaty and tired, clapped the crowd, his first start making a real impression. Back in the locker room, Max’s voice was raw but fired up. "That’s the spirit, lads! That’s the fire! Let’s keep it burning!" As Niels left the press room, his phone buzzed with Emma’s message: ’That’s a progress. Let’s keep building’. He read it standing on the touchline, rain dripping from his hood, and a small smile flickered across his face. The win felt like a lifeline, the team’s chemistry growing stronger, but that late goal still lingered in his mind, a clear sign there was plenty more work to do. The locker room was alive with energy, the team feeling good but keeping their heads. Pogba gave Freeman a fist bump and said with a smile, "That’s the spark we needed, mate." Freeman nodded, confidence growing as he still heard the fans chanting his name. Nearby, Dev was stretching and smiled at Kieron. "You really stretched their defense, bro." Kieron laughed, a rare, genuine laugh proud but still hungry for more. Online, the mood began to shift. "Freeman’s finally finding his feet," one fan wrote. "Kieron can be a real game-changer," said another. The harsh criticism was softening, replaced by cautious hope as the town started to rally behind their team. Niels stepped off the pitch at Broadfield, rain soaking his jacket. He opened his laptop, reviewing the late set-piece goal, his mind focused on the defensive mistakes. The win sparked hope, but Swindon’s late goal served as a clear warning. He jotted down on his clipboard: Hard-fought win. Fire’s burning. Need to fix the mistakes. Keep fighting. The words felt like a promise, steady and sure, even with the pressure on. As the stadium emptied and the rain eased, Niels took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the season ahead. The road was long, the challenges real but so was the fire in his team. Tomorrow, the work would begin again. For now, the win was theirs to hold onto.