Chapter 70: Red Devils Clash at Wembley (Semi-final: Part-I)

Chapter 70: Red Devils Clash at Wembley (Semi-final: Part-I) Chapter 70: Red Devils Clash at Wembley (Semi-final - I) Saturday, April 17, 2010 Tomorrow, April 18, Crawley’s 5,000 fans would face a huge challenge at Wembley, where they would play Aston Villa in the FA Cup semifinal among 40,000 spectators. With seven league matches left until May 8, Niels faced a tough challenge: defeat a Premier League giant, stop Villa’s fast wingers, and lead Crawley to the final against Chelsea or Tottenham. The Journey to Wembley Before dawn on Saturday, April 17, Crawley woke up, the town alive with red scarves and quiet hopes, as streetlights lit up banners that read "Red Devils to Wembley!" At 4:30 a.m., buses left with about 5,000 fans on board, their chants of "Red Devils rise!" cutting through the morning mist. The convoy wound north, car horns blaring, a delivery van painted with "Reds to Glory!" igniting roars. Elise texted Niels, "Town’s empty, bro! Everyone’s going to Wembley! Mum’s got Thiago cake waiting! You got this, win for us and everyone supporting the town." Milan’s call cut through, sharp and urgent, "I’m coming, Niels, front row. Young’s pace is deadly, Downing’s crosses pinpoint. Shut ’em down, no gaps." The squad gathered at Broadfield Stadium at 6:00 a.m., their bags packed, the air thick with anticipation. Max laced his boots, scuffed from Torquay’s muddy pitch, the squad’s superstition alive as each player touched them, Nate’s grin flashing, "Max-y’s boots, our lucky charm!" Liam McCulloch clapped Thiago’s shoulder, "Ready to dance through Villa, mate?" Thiago’s nod was electric, "For Crawley, Liam, we need this win." The team bus rolled toward London at 7:00 a.m., fans lining the M23, their red scarves a defiant blaze. A girl, her red cap bright, waved a flag, "Max-y, you need to score!" her shout piercing the dawn. Milan, waiting at a service station near Gatwick, boarded the bus, his weathered face softening as he gripped Niels’ shoulder. "You’ve made Crawley dream, son," he said, his voice thick, eyes glistening. "I’ve watched you grow, and now you’re leading us to Wembley. I’m proud, but don’t let Young run free." Niels swallowed hard, feeling the warmth of Milan’s faith in his chest. "We’ll fight, Milan, for you and for everyone." The squad watched quietly, Luka nodded, Thiago smiled and the moment brought them closer together. By noon, the bus reached their London hotel, fans swarming the entrance, a red tide chanting, "Craw-ley!" A boy thrust a drawing of Thiago’s West Ham goal at him, "You’re my hero!" Thiago knelt, signing it, "Thanks, kid." Niels watched, his notepad scrawled: "Young inside, Downing low, Agbonlahor runs." The team rested, the city’s hum a distant pulse, Wembley’s shadow looming like a titan. On Sunday, April 18, the squad woke at 7:30 a.m., the day crackling with destiny. Sky Sports cameras pounced as they boarded the bus at 9:30 a.m., A reporter approached Niels and asked, "League Two underdog against Premier League giant, Niels. Can Crawley surprise everyone again?" Niels’ voice was steady and strong: "We’ve brought down giants before. This time, we fight not just for a win, but for our town’s pride." The dressing room buzzed, its air thick with liniment and nerves, Baxter cracking a joke, "If Young’s too fast, I’ll trip him, ref won’t see!" sparking laughter. Max taped his boots to his locker, his ritual a vow, his captain’s armband a badge of fire. By 1:30 p.m., Wembley Stadium thrummed like a living beast, 40,000 fans a roaring sea, Crawley’s 5,000 in the east stand a blazing red fortress dwarfed by 35,000 Aston Villa supporters, their claret-and-blue tide overwhelming. Villa’s fans bellowed, "Villa! Villa!" their chants a suffocating wave, Crawley’s voices straining to break through, "Red Devils!" A giant flag unfurled in the east stand, "Wembley Red Devils, Giant-Killers!" its fabric rippling, fans singing a new anthem, "Reds to Glory, Wembley’s Story!" A man’s shout, "For Max-y!" rang out, but Villa’s roar drowned it, the opening moments a test of Crawley’s nerve. Niels stood pitchside, spotting Milan in the front row, his eyes fierce but proud, a nod passing between them. The tunnel loomed, Crawley in red, Villa in claret and blue, Stewart Downing’s glance at Max cool. The squad huddled, Max’s boots on a bench, each player touching them, Max’s voice steady, "This is our time to show them. For every kid in Crawley, every scarf, every dream. We fight as one." Liam’s nod was iron, "Together, captain." Luka, Instinct Lens [Vision] glowing, added, "We’ll find the gaps, and we strike them." The referee’s call led them out, Wembley’s roar crashing like a tsunami, Villa’s 35,000 voices thundering, Crawley’s 5,000 fighting back, "Red Devils!" A woman’s sign, "Thiago, you need to shine!" glowed, a boy’s shout, "Smash ’em, Red Devils!" piercing the din. First Half begins: The whistle blew at 3:00 p.m., Villa’s kickoff sharp, their passing a fluid machine, the 35,000-strong claret-and-blue sea roaring, overwhelming Crawley’s players in the opening seconds. Ashley Young darted inside in the 2nd minute, his feet a blur, Reece Darby’s crunching tackle, Instinct Lens [Grit] flaring, stopping him cold, sparking a defiant chant, "Reece!" from the east stand. Villa’s midfield pressed like a storm, Stewart Downing’s 4th-minute cross whipping low, Harry Thompson’s desperate slide clearing it inches from Agbonlahor’s boot, fans erupting, "Har-ry!" The Villa crowd’s roar was suffocating, but Crawley held tight, Jamal Osei’s 6th-minute block, Instinct Lens [Steel] glowing, bodying Agbonlahor off the ball, the east stand roaring, "Ja-mal!" A girl in a red cap leaped, "That’s our wall!" Niels signaled a high press, Thiago and Nate stretching the flanks like arrows, Max positioned himself inside the box. In the 9th minute, Crawley surged, hearts pounding in the stands. Luka’s pass, Instinct Lens [Vision] blazing, threaded through Villa’s press, finding Nate sprinting left, his cross skimming to Thiago, Instinct Lens [Silky technique] flaring. Thiago’s stepovers jinked past Villa’s right-back, his low shot screaming toward the corner, tipped wide by the keeper’s fingertip, the east stand exploding, "Thi-a-go!" A boy bellowed, "It was so close!" his scarf twirling like a battle flag. The game’s turning point came in the 12th minute. Baxter, Instinct Lens [Creative spark] blazing, curled a perfect corner into Villa’s box. Max soared into the air, eyes locked on the ball, but as he rose, a Villa defender’s arm struck him hard across the face, knocking him off balance and crashing him to the ground. The stadium gasped as the referee’s whistle pierced the air, pointing decisively to the penalty spot. The east stand erupted, "Pen-al-ty!" Villa’s 35,000 booed, but Crawley’s 5,000 roared louder, "You got this, Max!" Max stepped up, his boots scuffed but steady, his eyes locked on the goal. He struck the penalty low and hard, the keeper diving left, the ball rocketing right, nestling into the net, 1-0! Wembley shook, Crawley’s fans leaping, "Max! Max!" A woman screamed, "That’s our captain!" Milan punched the air, his shout, "That’s my boy!" lost in the din. Crawley 1-0 Villa Villa countered with venom, Agbonlahor’s 15th-minute run outpacing Liam, his shot arrowing toward the top corner, Adam Fletcher’s dive, a blur of red, clawing it away, fans thundering, "Fletch-er!" Milan leaped in the stands, fist raised, shouting, "World-class save, Adam!". In the 18th minute, Young’s curler bent wickedly, Fletcher’s fingertips grazing it wide, the east stand erupting, "Fletch-er!" Niels clapped fiercely, shouting, "Hold strong, lads!" His heart hammered in his chest as Villa’s pace crashed over them like an unstoppable storm. Crawley’s break sparked in the 22nd minute, Nate tearing down the left, his knee holding firm, his cross finding Max in the box, his volley smashed with fury, blocked by Villa’s center-back at the last second, fans chanting, "Na-ate!" A boy’s sign, "Red Devils!" glowed. Villa responded, Downing’s 27th-minute cross skimming low, Callum Haines’ sliding block deflecting it out. The game became a fierce battle, Crawley’s 1-0 lead a fragile flame flickering against Villa’s relentless pressure. But Crawley’s determination only grew stronger. In the 32nd minute, Crawley came agonizingly close to doubling their lead. Baxter, Instinct Lens [Creative spark] flaring, curled a corner with pinpoint precision, Max leaping above Villa’s defense, his header thundering off the crossbar, the stadium gasping, the east stand exploding, "Max-y!" A woman shouted, "It’s coming, Reds!" her voice raw. The next corner followed, Thiago’s flick at the near post deflecting off a Villa defender, the ball looping inches wide, fans roaring, "Thi-a-go!" Villa hit back, Young’s 36th-minute shot skimming the post, Fletcher’s dive a heartbeat too late, Crawley’s 5,000 exhaling, "Craw-ley!" In the 44th minute, Crawley nearly struck again. Luka’s pass, Instinct Lens [Vision] glowing, split Villa’s midfield, finding Nate on the left, his low cross fizzing to Max, who spun and fired, the ball clipping the outside of the post, the east stand groaning, "Max-y!" A boy’s cry, "Keep going!" pierced the air. Stoppage time’s two minutes ticked down, Villa’s final push thwarted by Liam’s crunching tackle on Downing, fans erupting, "Li-am!" The whistle blew, Wembley humming, Crawley leading 1-0, their heart pounding, their flame burning bright against Villa’s storm. Halftime: Crawley Town 1-0 Aston Villa The tunnel was electric, sweat dripping, breaths heavy. Niels stared each man down, his voice sharp and fierce. "We’re leading against giants, this is our fight. Liam, Harry, be the giant walls. Thiago, Nate, stretch them wide and break their rhythm. Max, own every set-piece. Baxter, keep the spark alive. Fletcher, be their nightmare in goal. Hold this lead like your life depends on it. We fight for every fan, every kid in Crawley. No mercy, no excuses this is our time to dominate." Max’s eyes burned with fire. Thiago’s grin sparked confidence. Luka nodded steady. Together, they stepped back into the storm ready to dominate. Outside, the giant flag waved, "Wembley Red Devils!" fans singing, "Reds to Glory, Wembley’s Story!" their voices shaking the concrete. Milan caught Niels’ eye from the stands, his nod proud, his eyes wet with belief. A kid’s shout, "Max-y, score again!" echoed.