Chapter 136: Europa Nights Beckon

Chapter 136: Europa Nights Beckon Chapter 136: Europa Nights Beckon Tuesday, September 12, 2010 Broadfield Stadium Training Ground Tuesday morning arrived with a quiet buzz, two days after Crawley’s hard-earned win over Plymouth. The narrow victory still lingered in the players’ bodies and minds, but the mood had shifted something heavier now hung in the air. At Broadfield’s training ground, tension simmered beneath the surface. The pitches shimmered with dew under a pale September sky, and the sharp scent of wet grass mixed with the distant hum of a coffee van just beyond the gates. The morning felt expectant, as if the ground itself knew something bigger was coming. Niels pulled into the lot, his engine grumbling to a stop. The echoes of Saturday’s 1–0 win still stirred in his chest, equal parts pride and pressure. The result had lifted Crawley to 11 points from six matches, a solid mid-table start in League One. But as he sat for a moment, staring across the dew-covered training ground, he knew today wasn’t about the league. It was Tuesday and today was Europa League draw. A moment that felt more like fiction than football. Crawley Town, a third-tier underdog about to be thrown into the same pot as Europe’s elite. And the weight of that reality settled on Niels like a storm cloud. The media buzz had already begun to build. Local headlines praised Crawley’s resilience, while online chatter swung between admiration and doubt. Reddit threads lit up with speculation some marveled at the idea of a League One side in Europe, others mocked it. "Imagine Crawley ending up with a Bundesliga or Laliga giant," one post read. Another sneered, "Mid-table in League One and now this? Can’t wait to see who embarrasses them." Even the BBC’s old "fluke" remark resurfaced, a quiet reminder that respect was still hard-earned. But Niels tuned it out. He clutched his weathered clipboard still covered in League One tactics, now scribbled over with scouting notes, group stage possibilities, travel dates. Niels hadn’t slept much since Saturday night. His mind kept spinning through formations, player rotations, and the looming chaos of juggling League One with a European schedule. No matter who they pulled today, Crawley would likely be the smallest club in the group, maybe in the whole competition. He tucked his clipboard under one arm and stepped out onto the training ground. Players arrived in, one by one. Some still carried the weight of Saturday’s match in their legs, others looked sharper, nerves fizzing just beneath the surface. A few shared quiet jokes and others wore headphones, lost in focus. Max was the first to approach, jogging over with a half-smile. "Think they’ll stick us with one of the giants?" he asked, eyes gleaming with the challenge. Niels gave a half-shrug. "Wouldn’t be surprised." Max chuckled. "Good. Bit of chaos makes it fun." Across the field, Thiago and Dev were already goofing around, flicking the ball up and trying to clip the crossbar. Dev’s volley clanged off the post. Thiago whooped like they’d just scored at Wembley. Today’s tension wasn’t fear. It was the nervous energy that comes right before something new and unknown begins. Freeman and Pogba stretched near the halfway line. Kieron and Zach passed a ball between them, speaking in low tones. The whole squad was here, but their eyes weren’t on the pitch. They were already halfway to Europe. Niels looked around at the group, feeling the familiar tightness in his chest ease a little. Whatever came next, they would face it together. He checked his watch. The draw was in just over an hour. Time to see what the football gods had planned. After training, the squad squeezed into the cramped media room, with flickering lights and scuffed walls. The TV in the corner flickered on, showing the UEFA logo. The polished stage in Nyon felt worlds away from Broadfield’s rough edges. Niels stood at the back, arms crossed, his face calm but his heart racing. Around him, Max, Thiago, Freeman, Dev, Pogba, Jamal, Nate, Liam, Reece, Zach, and Fletcher, all eyes fixed on the screen. The draw was about to start. There was a slow, deliberate pause. The screen flickered... No one dared to blink. Then, in bold white letters, the name appeared: Crawley Town. A sharp breath caught in the room. The tension tightened even more. The screen changed. The next name emerged: Group H: First, Bayer Leverkusen, gasps filled the room. Then came Fiorentina. Thiago let out a sharp whistle. And finally, Rosenborg. The names hung in the air like a challenge. Max’s jaw tightened, but he squared his shoulders. "That’s a tough group," he muttered, eyes locked on the screen. Thiago shook his head, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Germany, Italy, Norway... quite the lineup." Freeman leaned forward, already running tactics through his mind. "We’ll need to be sharp every minute." Dev’s eyes sparkled with excitement. "This is exactly what we’ve worked for." Pogba let out a slow whistle, a mix of awe and determination. "Big stage. Time to show what Crawley’s made of." Zach and Reece exchanged a look, calm but ready. Niels caught Emma’s steady nod across the room. They both knew this was just the beginning. The room buzzed with a mix of nerves and fierce hope. Europe was calling. Niels stayed quiet, letting the names sink in. Group H was a group of death for them, Leverkusen’s relentless press, Fiorentina’s flair, Rosenborg’s discipline. It felt almost impossible for a team like theirs. But looking at his players, seeing their fire and belief, something inside him stirred. They weren’t backing down. Later, in the cramped coaches’ office, whiteboards filled with notes and coffee mugs scattered around, Niels met with his staff. "Leverkusen is a very strong and well-organized team." Thomas said, his Dutch accent calm but serious. "We’ll have to rotate players carefully." Niels nodded. "The travel’s going to be tough. League One is tough enough as it is, and adding Europe on top means we need to manage everyone’s energy." Emma flipped through budget papers. "The transfer window’s closed, so no new signings for now. But we’ve got some promising academy and under-20 players who can step up and help with rotation." Niels quickly jotted down notes: Rotation, Zach and Kieron as subs. Loans are off the table since the transfer window’s closed, so we’ll need to rely on some talented academy and U20 players. "We’ll manage the schedule," he said, steady. "League One keeps us afloat. Europe... that’s the real dream." Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Dream or nightmare, depends on how well the young legs hold up." They shared a laugh, but the truth lingered in the room. On the wall, a map marked with red pins showed Crawley, Leverkusen, Florence, and Trondheim, each a long journey away. The distances were real, and so was the challenge ahead. Niels stood and pointed at the map. "We kick off with Leverkusen. We need to break their press and hit them wide. Dev and Thiago’s speed will be crucial." Emma nodded as she jotted down notes. "We’ll push the underdog story, grit over glamour. The town will love it." On the pitch, the mood had changed. The Europa draw had shifted everything. Thiago and Dev practiced, their crosses sharper and their jokes louder. "You ready for Florence, bro?" Thiago called, curling a shot off the bar. Dev laughed, "I’ll beat their fullback and grab a cappuccino after." Their laughter echoed, young men chasing a big dream. Max shouted during a scrimmage, "Whether it’s League One or Europe, it doesn’t matter. We fight as one." Pogba took control of the midfield. "Nate, get moving! Freeman, connect the play!" Nate drove forward and took a shot on goal. Freeman calmly passed the ball, keeping the defense on their toes. Zach and Reece stayed strong at the back. Kieron, eager for a chance, stayed late practicing shots, sweat dripping down. "You’ll get your shot," a teammate said, tossing him the ball. "I’ll take it," Kieron replied, determined. The Sussex town buzzed with excitement over the news. BBC Sport ran the headline: "Crawley’s European Dream Begins in Group of Death?" TalkSport was more skeptical: "They’re tough, but Leverkusen? That’s a whole different level." Social media exploded memes, matchups, jokes, and daring predictions filled timelines. Pubs were packed, with red scarves draped over every bar stool. "Thiago against Fiorentina? He’ll roast them," one fan joked loudly. "Hope we don’t get embarrassed," another whispered nervously. Emma met Niels in his office, Leverkusen clips looping on screen. "We lean into this," she said. "The underdog fight. Let the media doubt. The fans won’t." Niels didn’t look away from the screen. "They’ll talk. We’ll play." He quickly noted down: Leverkusen – intense pressing. Focus attacks on the wings. Use Thiago and Dev’s pace. Freeman on set pieces. His thoughts were already in Germany. That night, the training ground was quiet. Niels sat alone in the analysis room, watching Leverkusen’s footage flicker on his laptop. He studied their fast, ruthless pressing but also spotted openings: Thiago’s speed, Dev’s clever runs, Pogba’s creativity, Max’s determination. "We belong here," he murmured. Outside, the sky hung heavy, but the air buzzed with possibility. Under the glowing floodlights, Thiago, Dev, and Kieron stayed late, practicing crosses. Max joined them, focused and determined. Broadfield’s stands were empty, but in that stillness, Crawley’s heartbeat pulsed strong, full of hope, grit, and belief, ready to face Europe’s fire.