Chapter 80: Red Devils Unleashed

Chapter 80: Red Devils Unleashed Chapter 80: Red Devils Unleashed Thursday, May 6, 2010 Matchday 46: Notts County vs. Crawley Town Crawley Town stood tall, their 2-2 draw against Northampton Town with Max Simons’ brace undone by a 92nd-minute equalizer but still maintaining 2nd place in League Two with 88 points, promotion sealed, but the hunger for victory burned fierce. Notts County, crowned champions with 93 points, awaited at Meadow Lane, their black-and-white stripes a fortress of dominance. Bournemouth’s 87 points lurked, but Crawley’s eyes were on the Chelsea FA Cup final, a dream pulsing in every heart. This was their final League Two match, could Max’s leadership, Thiago’s flair, and Luka’s vision topple the champions, sending Crawley to Wembley with a roar? Meadow Lane thundered by 3:00 p.m., 8,000 fans packed tight, 1,500 Crawley supporters a red tide in the away stand, their scarves twirling like flames under floodlights. Ollie, 13 year old fan, unfurled his "Reds to Wembley!" banner, his shout, "Craw-ley, rise!" igniting the crowd, a woman’s cry, "Reds to Chelsea!" slicing through the din like a blade. Niels paced pitchside, his notepad scrawled: "Press high, stretch flanks, mark tight." The tunnel buzzed, Crawley in red, Notts in black-and-white, their captain’s glance a dagger, meeting Max’s blazing stare. The squad huddled, Max’s armband gleaming, sweat already beading on his brow. "Lads, Notts are champions, but we’re Crawley. Promotion’s already ours, now we fight for glory, for every fan!" Thiago’s voice sparked, "We will win this, captain!" Luka met Max’s gaze, his voice calm but cutting through the tension: "We break them wide open." The whistle called them out, Meadow Lane’s roar crashing like a tidal wave, 1,500 voices thundering, "Red Devils!" Ollie’s cry, "Max, Thiago, you need to score!" pierced the noise, his banner a red beacon in the dusk, a boy beside him waving a Crawley flag, shouting, "Thi-a-go, magician!" Kickoff: The whistle blew at 3:15 p.m., Notts’ kickoff sharp, their wingers probing Crawley’s flanks on the crisp, floodlit pitch, the air electric with tension. In the 8th minute, Thiago’s run, Instinct Lens [Silky technique] flaring, saw him weave past a defender with a deft stepover, his low cross skidding toward Max, only for a Notts boot to intercept, fans chanting, "Thi-a-go!" Notts countered, their winger a blur, his 10th-minute shot grazing the post with a metallic ping, Reece Darby’s tackle, Instinct Lens [Grit] glowing, sliding through grass to halt the break, sparking, "Reece!" Niels signaled high press, Nate tearing down the left, Instinct Lens [Explosiveness] flaring, his cross whipping across the box, deflected by a lunging defender, fans roaring, "Na-ate!" The stands pulsed, the woman’s Chelsea scarf a blue-red beacon, her shout, "Keep fighting, Reds!" fueling the fire. Notts struck in the 15th minute, a swift counter slicing Crawley open, their winger darting inside, his low shot arrowing past Adam Fletcher’s dive, the net rippling with a sickening swish, 1-0. The home stands erupted, a black-and-white storm, Crawley’s 1,500 fans stunned, Ollie’s banner dipping, his face pale as chalk. Niels’ heart sank, shouting, "Don’t panic, this isn’t over. Now show them who we are!" Max rallied, his voice a spark in the gloom, "Keep fighting, for Crawley!" A boy’s shout, "Come on, Reds!" cut through the din, faint but defiant, his Crawley flag snapping in the wind. Crawley answered in the 22nd minute. Luka’s pass, Instinct Lens [Vision] glowing, carved Notts’ midfield open like a knife through cloth, finding Max in a pocket of space. He spun past a marker, Instinct Lens [Finisher] flaring, his shot low and venomous, ripping through the air, past the keeper’s gloves, the net bulging with a crack, 1-1. The away stand exploded, 1,500 fans leaping, "Gooooal!" scarves twirling like a red hurricane, Ollie screaming, "Captain!" his banner soaring high, his eyes alight with hope. Max sprinted to the fans, fist pumping, roaring, "From here to Wembley, For Crawley!" shaking the concrete, the woman’s Chelsea scarf waving wildly, her shout, "Reds to glory!" fueling cheers. Niels’ heart pounded, his notepad forgotten, 2nd place alive, Milan’s nod from the sidelines a flicker of pride. The game turned savage, Notts’ tackles crunching like breaking bones, their midfield a vice clamping Crawley’s flow. In the 30th minute, José Baxter’s free-kick, Instinct Lens [Creative spark] flaring, curled toward the top corner, tipped over by the keeper’s fingertips, the crossbar trembling, fans chanting, "So close!" Notts pushed, a 35th-minute header from a corner sailing inches over, Liam McCulloch’s block, Instinct Lens [Steel] glowing, bodying their striker off the ball with a thud, sparking, "Li-am!" Crawley countered, Dev Patel’s 38th-minute dash down the right, Instinct Lens [Intensity] flaring, his cross looping toward Max, only for a defender’s header to clear it, fans chanting, "De-ev!" Halftime loomed, Meadow Lane pulsing like a heartbeat, Crawley level at 1-1, the Chelsea dream a flame flickering but fierce. Halftime: Notts County 1-1 Crawley Town Niels gathered the squad at halftime, the dressing room thick with sweat and resolve, his voice urgent as a battle cry. "Listen up! We are in this fight. Notts County might be quick, but we’re quicker. Thiago, Nate, tear their flanks apart until they break. Luka, slice through their defense with every pass and every glance. Max, you’re the king of that box own it, command it, lead us to war. Every tackle, every run, every heartbeat out there belongs to us. This is Crawley’s fight, make them feel it!" Max tightened his armband, eyes steady. "For the fans, we rise together!" Thiago smiled with determination. "We move fast and keep them off balance!" Luka spoke calmly but firmly. "We’ll look for the gaps and exploit them." Second Half: The second half began, Crawley surging, Thiago’s 48th-minute run, Instinct Lens [Silky technique] flaring, dancing past two defenders with a dizzying spin, his shot curling through the air, past the keeper’s dive, the net rippling, 2-1. The away stand roared, 1,500 fans leaping, "Gooooal!" a fan waving a Chelsea scarf high, Thiago grabbing it, twirling in a wild dance, his shout, "For Crawley!" igniting scarves like flames. Ollie screamed, "Thi-a-go, king!" his banner soaring, his voice raw with belief. With a sharp clap, Niels commanded, "Lock in, lads make no mistakes from here!" his pulse hammering, Milan’s eyes blazing from the sidelines. But... Notts equalized in the 55th minute, a set-piece curling through the floodlit air, their striker rising above Harry Thompson, his header crashing past Fletcher’s glove, 2-2. The home stands thundered, Crawley’s 1,500 groaning, Ollie’s banner steady, his chant persisting, "Craw-ley, rise!" Jamal Osei’s tackle, Instinct Lens [Steel] glowing, halted a Notts runner with a bone-rattling crunch, sparking, "Ja-mal!" Crawley surged forward, Max rose with power and precision, his 60th-minute header, Instinct Lens [Finisher] blazing, thundered off Baxter’s corner and screamed into the back of the net, putting them ahead 3-2. The away stand erupted, "Gooooal!" scarves twirling like a red storm, Ollie screaming, "Captain, king!" Max pointed to the fans, roaring, "This is ours!" fueling the fire, a boy’s shout, "We’re going up!" cracking with hope. Notts fought back, their winger’s 68th-minute shot slipping through Fletcher’s gloves, the net bulging, 3-3. Meadow Lane exploded, Crawley’s 1,500 fans stunned, Ollie’s banner dipping, his face pale but defiant, his cry, "Come on, Crawley!" a spark in the gloom. Niels subbed Ellis Flynn for Reece Darby in the 70th minute, fresh legs at right-back, Ellis’ hustle forcing a loose ball, fans chanting, "El-lis!" Crawley pressed, Luka’s 75th-minute pass, Instinct Lens [Vision] flaring, finding Nate, whose curling shot was tipped wide by the keeper’s fingertips, fans roaring, "Na-ate!" The game grew frantic, Notts’ tackles crunching like war drums, their midfield swarming, a 78th-minute shot skimming the bar, Fletcher’s dive sparking, "Fletch-er!" Niels shouted, "Stay tight, lads!" his heart pounding, the Chelsea dream hanging by a thread. Crawley dug deep, Thiago’s 82nd-minute run, Instinct Lens [Silky technique] flaring, saw him twist past a defender, his shot blocked by a desperate slide, fans chanting, "Thi-a-go!" Max rallied, "One more, lads!" his voice a firestorm, Instinct Lens [Leadership] glowing. In the 85th minute, Korey Henry’s header from a Nate cross, Instinct Lens [Explosiveness] flaring, clipped the post, fans groaning, "Good one, Korey!" Notts countered, a 88th-minute shot screaming toward goal, Fletcher’s sprawling save tipping it over, fans gasping, "Fletch-er!" The stands pulsed, Ollie’s chant, "Craw-ley, rise!" a desperate plea, his banner a beacon in the floodlit dusk. The final stand came in the 90th minute of stoppage time. Luka, Instinct Lens [Vision] flaring, intercepted a loose ball, driving forward through the mist, his shot from 20 yards soaring through the floodlit air, past the keeper’s dive, the net rippling with a thunderous crack, 4-3. Meadow Lane froze, then the away stand exploded, 1,500 fans roaring, "Gooooooaaal!" Ollie screaming, "We are winning this!" his banner soaring like a flag of victory. Luka sprinted to the fans, joined by Max, Thiago, and Nate, scarves twirling. Max’s roar, "This is Crawley!" echoed, Niels’ fists clenched in triumph, his notepad falling to the turf. Notts pushed, a 92nd-minute shot blocked by Harry Thompson, Instinct Lens [Grit] glowing, his clearance sparking, "Har-ry!" A final Notts corner in the 93rd minute sailed wide, Fletcher’s punch sparking, "Fletch-er!" The whistle blew, Meadow Lane trembling, Crawley victorious, 4-3. Fulltime: Notts County 3-4 Crawley Town The away stand thundered with 1,500 fans leaping, scarves a red storm, Ollie’s banner held high as chants of "Craw-ley, kings!" echoed like thunder. Sweat-soaked Max roared, "For you, Crawley!" Thiago danced under the floodlights, fans shouting, "Thi-a-go!" Niels hugged Luka, shouting, "You did it, boy!" The pitch buzzed with Crawley’s fire 2nd place secured with 91 points, Chelsea waiting. A reporter pressed Max, "Champions down, Chelsea next. What’s going through your mind?" Max’s tone was fierce, "This is for Crawley, for every heart that beats red." Ollie dashed to the edge, banner held high, as fans roared, "Reds to Glory!" The FA Cup final loomed ahead, Crawley’s fire burning bright, ready to face Chelsea without fear. [League: Matches: 46, Wins: 26, Draws: 11, Losses: 9, Points: 91, Position: 2nd]