Chapter 73: Battle for the Promotion

Chapter 73: Battle for the Promotion Chapter 73: Battle for the Promotion Tuesday, April 20, 2010 Crawley Town’s dramatic 2–1 victory over Aston Villa clinched by Thiago deep into extra time didn’t just shock the football world; it lit a path straight to the FA Cup final against Chelsea. But glory comes at a cost. Sitting third in League Two on 76 points, just three shy of Bournemouth, Crawley’s promotion hopes were burning just as fiercely. Now, just 48 hours after their Wembley heroics, they were back in the grind away to Lincoln City at Sincil Bank. Around 8,000 fans packed the stands, with 1,000 Crawley supporters painting one end in a defiant sea of red. With six games to go after tonight, Niels stood at a crossroads: chase the dream of cup history, manage tired legs, and hold their promotion charge together. Could Crawley summon one more surge or would the weight of history begin to wear them down? The Journey to Lincoln Crawley woke on April 20, the town still pulsing from Wembley. High Street glowed, a mural on Broadfield’s wall now updated with Thiago’s Villa goal, Max’s penalty immortalized beside it, fans snapping photos, a boy’s shout, "Red Devils against The Blues!" echoing. Buses rolled out at 9:00 a.m., 1,000 fans boarding, their anthem, "Reds to Glory, Wembley’s Story!" cutting the morning air. A woman waved a banner, "Max-y, king!" her cheer warm, "For the final, Reds!" The convoy wound north, a delivery van painted with "Crawley 2, Villa 1!" sparking honks. "Rotate a few, Niels," Milan urged. "Lincoln’s tough and they’ll press hard down the flanks but Keep your core players fresh. We don’t want any injury at this crucial moment." The squad gathered at Broadfield, 10:00 a.m., legs heavy but spirits high. Niels rotated, resting Reece Darby and Nate Sutton, starting Ellis Flynn and Dev Patel. Max laced his boots, scuffed from Wembley, the squad’s superstition alive as each player tapped them, Liam McCulloch clapped Dev’s shoulder, "Ready to run, mate?" Dev’s nod was steel, "I’m always ready, Liam." Niels faced the squad, tone measured and sharp. "Lincoln will press high and play long — expect second balls. Win midfield transitions. Break with pace down the flanks, stretch their back line. On set-pieces, exploit their zonal gaps. Stay compact without the ball. Be smart, be ruthless. Let’s control the tempo and silence this place." Max’s eyes burned like embers in the dim light. "For the town, boss," he said, voice low but fierce, every word weighted with purpose. The bus reached Lincoln by 3:00 p.m., fans lining Sincil Bank, 1,000 Crawley supporters chanting, "Red Devils!" A Lincoln-based Crawley fan, his red scarf stark among home colors, bellowed, "Thi-a-go!" sparking a roar. Local press swarmed Thiago, a reporter asking, "Wembley to Sincil Bank, can you keep the magic?" Thiago’s smile was quiet but sincere. "I’ll give my all, for Crawley." The dressing room buzzed, Max taping his boots to his locker, his ritual a vow, fans’ chants seeping through the walls. Sincil Bank thrummed by 7:45 p.m., 8,000 fans, Crawley’s 1,000 a red blaze in the away stand, their anthem surging, "Reds to Glory!" A mural outside, updated with Thiago’s Villa goal, glowed under floodlights, a girl’s sign, "Max-y, score!" shining. Niels stood pitchside, his notepad scrawled: "Lock flanks, counter fast." Milan’s words echoed, "No gaps, Niels." The tunnel loomed, Crawley in red, Lincoln in red-and-white stripes, their captain’s glance cool. The squad huddled, Max’s boots on a bench, each player touching them. Max’s voice was fire, "Wembley’s done, lads. This is for Crawley, for promotion, for every dream. We fight as one." Liam’s nod was iron, "Together, captain." Thiago’s grin sparked, "We dance, Reds." Luka, Instinct Lens [Vision] glowing, added, "We find the gaps." The referee’s call led them out, Sincil Bank’s roar crashing, 1,000 Crawley fans thundering, "Red Devils!" A boy’s shout, "Smash ’em, Max-y!" pierced the din. Kickoff: The whistle blew at 8:00 p.m., Lincoln’s kickoff sharp, their long balls probing. In the 3rd minute, their winger cut inside, Ellis Flynn’s tackle, Instinct Lens [Grit] flaring, stopping him cold, fans chanting, "El-lis!" Lincoln pressed, a 6th-minute header sailing wide, Harry Thompson’s pressure, Instinct Lens [Grit] glowing, sparking, "Har-ry!" Crawley settled, Jamal Osei’s 8th-minute block, Instinct Lens [Steel] flaring, halting a striker, fans roaring, "Ja-mal!" Niels signaled high press, Thiago and Dev stretching flanks, Max positioned himself. Crawley surged in the 12th minute, Luka’s pass, Instinct Lens [Vision] blazing, finding Thiago, Instinct Lens [Silky technique] flaring, his stepovers jinking past a defender, his shot tipped wide, fans chanting, "Thi-a-go!" A Lincoln-based Crawley fan bellowed, "Brazilian fire!" sparking a roar. Lincoln countered, a 15th-minute shot forcing Adam Fletcher’s dive, his save igniting, "Ohhh!" Niels clapped, "Hold on, lads!" his heart pounding. Crawley’s break came in the 18th minute, Dev sprinting left, his cross to Max blocked, fans chanting, "De-ev!" A girl’s shout, "Keep going, Reds!" rang out. Lincoln struck in the 25th minute, a long ball catching Crawley flat, their striker heading past Fletcher, 1-0. The home stand roared, Crawley’s 1,000 groaning, "No!" Milan’s face tightened, his hands clenched. Niels signaled calm, "We’ll fight back, lads!" Crawley pushed, Baxter’s 30th-minute free-kick, Instinct Lens [Creative spark] flaring, curling wide, fans chanting, "Bax-ter!" The game tightened, Sincil Bank’s tension pulsing, Crawley’s fire flickering but unbowed. In the 60th minute, Crawley equalized. Luka’s pass, Instinct Lens [Vision] glowing, split Lincoln’s midfield, finding Max in the box. He spun, his shot low and fierce, the net rippling, 1-1. The away stand erupted, 1,000 fans leaping, "Max-y!" scarves twirling, a boy screaming, "Captain!" Max pumped his fist, sprinting to the fans, his roar, "For Crawley!" igniting cheers. Niels clapped, "Yes keep going, boys!" Lincoln countered, a 65th-minute shot skimming wide, Liam’s block, Instinct Lens [Steel] flaring, sparking, "Li-am!" Crawley pressed, Thiago’s 70th-minute run, Instinct Lens [Silky technique] blazing, winning a corner, fans chanting, "Thi-a-go!" Baxter’s delivery was headed over by Max, the away stand roaring, "Max-y!" Lincoln’s 75th-minute attack saw Callum Haines’ tackle, Instinct Lens [Grit] glowing, draw, "Cal-lum!" Niels subbed Korey Henry for Dev in the 78th minute, fresh legs up top, Korey’s run sparking, "Kor-ey!" The clock ticked, Sincil Bank’s roar a heartbeat, Crawley’s fire steady. The decisive moment came in the 85th minute. Ilyas Kadir, Instinct Lens [Steel] flaring, won a midfield duel, passing to Thiago, Instinct Lens [Silky technique] glowing. Thiago danced past two defenders, his low shot arrowing past the keeper, 2-1. The away stand exploded, "Gooal!" fans waving a banner, "Red Devils to Chelsea!" Milan’s arms raised, his shout, "That’s our boy!" lost in the din. Thiago sprinted to the fans, fist pumping, "For the town!" Niels’ heart soared, his notepad gripped tight. Lincoln’s final push came in the 90th minute, a header forcing Fletcher’s sprawling save, fans roaring, "Fletch-er!" Stoppage time’s three minutes ticked down, Harry’s 92nd-minute block igniting, "Har-ry!" The whistle blew, Sincil Bank humming, Crawley victorious, 2-1. Max faced the away stand, his voice raw, "This is for you, Crawley! We’re not done!" Fans chanted, "Max-y!" a Lincoln-based supporter’s cry, "To the final!" sparking a roar. Post-Match and Recovery: Crawley’s 1,000 fans lingered at Sincil Bank, scarves raised, "Reds to Glory!" echoing. A local reporter cornered Max, "Wembley to Lincoln, how do you keep going?" Max’s gaze burned with determination. "Every step forward is for Crawley we fight harder, push further, and never give up." The dressing room buzzed, sweat and joy mingling. Niels spoke, voice calm, "You’re carrying our town, lads. Lincoln’s down, Shrewsbury’s next. Rest, then we burn again." Thiago’s nod was bright, "For the final, boss." Fletcher’s gloves sat beside Max’s boots, a testament to their fire. April 21 dawned, Crawley back at Broadfield for light training. Thiago’s flair shone, his stepovers in a drill drawing cheers from young fans watching, a boy shouting, "Thi-a-go!" Luka mentored Ollie, his quiet advice, "See the gaps, lad," sparking a nod. Niels outlined the plan sharply. "We press high to disrupt their build-up, force mistakes early. When we win the ball, break quickly use the pace on the wings to stretch their defense. Stay compact in midfield to cut their passing lanes, and be ready to exploit any gaps on the counter. Keep intensity up for the full 90." Milan called and said with a serious voice, "Chelsea’s a powerhouse, Niels. This will be your biggest challenge yet. Make sure the lads stay sharp and focused." With the final looming and promotion within reach, Crawley had no time to rest. Every training session, every moment on the pitch mattered. Shrewsbury stood between them and the next step forward a tough challenge demanding focus, resilience, and heart. The dream was alive, but the battle was far from over. [League: Matches: 40, Wins: 24, Draws: 7, Losses: 9, Points: 79, Position: 3rd]