Chapter 84: The Final March to Wembley

Chapter 84: The Final March to Wembley Chapter 84: The Final March to Wembley Tuesday, May 11 2010 After many days of intense training, the Crawley team was sharp and ready. The town was buzzing with hope after days of loud support. With just three days until the big match at Wembley, coach Niels planned a light training session on May 11 to keep the players fresh, followed by the trip to London on May 12. Waiting for them was a powerful Chelsea side Ancelotti’s tactics, Drogba’s strength, and Terry’s toughness. But Crawley had something just as strong: a town’s love, a team full of determination. On the morning of May 11, Crawley woke to soft sunlight and a fresh chill in the air. The Broadfield pitch sparkled with dew, like it knew something big was about to happen. The smell of fresh grass mixed with coffee from the training ground’s canteen. At 10:00 a.m., coach Niels gathered the team. He smiled, but his tone was focused. "We’ve done the hard work. Today, stay sharp and enjoy it. Chelsea’s a giant, but we’re Crawley, we play with heart. Let’s do this not just for us, but for everyone who dreams big." Captain Max nodded, "We’ve got this, boss. For Crawley." Thiago grinned, "Time to dance, yeah?" Luka whispered, "We need to be perfect with the ball." The team cheered, medals packed away as quiet reminders of how far they’d come. Then Ollie ran in, invited by Niels, waving his "Reds to Wembley!" banner and shouting, "Come on, Crawley!" Fans at the fence joined in. One kid shouted, "Captian, you’re the man!" Their cheers filled the morning air like a song of hope. The training session was a refreshing change after all the hard work. Coach Niels kept things fun but focused. Thiago led a possession drill, showing off his skills like a street performer. He slipped past Baxter with a grin, laughing, "Got you, mate!" The fans laughed and cheered, chanting, "Thi-a-go!" Max ran a passing drill, calm and clear: "Keep it clean, lads!" His touches were smooth and confident. Luka practiced free-kicks, one curling just wide of the top corner. The crowd shouted, "Lu-ka!" in support. Nate weaved through the dribbling cones, laughing as fans called out, "Na-ate!" Jamal’s light but perfect tackles drew cheers of "Ja-mal!" Harry Thompson kept rising for big headers, each one getting cheers from the fans. Adam Fletcher looked relaxed in goal, pulling off smooth saves his diving catch brought a loud roar from the sidelines. Niels clapped from the sideline, smiling. "That’s it, lads! Loose but lethal!" His notes were simple: "Use the wings, Luka stays central, press light." The mood turned light and full of fun when Thiago kicked off a surprise keepy-uppy challenge, showing off his juggling skills and daring Max to join in. Max headed the ball to Nate, and the crowd erupted "The captain’s got moves!" Ollie, who Niels had invited onto the pitch, joined the fun. His clumsy kicks made everyone laugh, and Thiago gave him a high-five, saying, "You’re one of us, kid!" A girl by the fence tossed a paper plane that said "For Thiago." He opened it, read the note "Dance at Wembley!"and smiled, tucking it into his pocket. Even Luka, usually quiet, gave the ball a quick juggle and smiled as the fans cheered him on. The session ended with a slow jog and waves to the crowd. Their chants "Reds to Chelsea!" filled the air like a warm send-off. Broadfield felt like home, and the light session kept their spirits burning bright. That evening, Crawley felt like a town throwing a party. High Street was buzzing, fairy lights lit up the mural of Max, Thiago, and Luka, and kids took selfies, one saying, "They’re gonna do it." Pubs were packed, filled with chants of "Reds to Wembley!" instead of Premier League talk. Elise texted Niels, "Town’s gone wild! Wembley buses sold out, Ollie’s banner’s on TV!" Bakeries had red cakes, kids played in the streets copying Thiago, and old fans shared stories over pints. Outside a chip shop, a woman waved a "Reds to Glory!" sign, starting a chant that echoed down the road. Ollie led a street party by the mural, holding his banner high and shouting, "Crawley, let’s go!" Hundreds joined in, kids dancing, and a girl yelled, "Thi-a-go, you’re the king!" A local band played as fans sang, "Max’s gonna score!" The Crawley Observer filmed it all, and the video quickly went viral with the message, "Crawley’s ready!" Max stopped at his mum’s house, where she hugged him tight and gave him a small red pin for luck. Max pinned it to his jacket, saying, "For you, Mum, we’ll fight." Thiago joined kids playing in an alley, tossing his gloves to one boy and saying, "Keep practicing, yeah?" Luka quietly signed a girl’s notebook in a café. She whispered, "For Wembley," and he nodded, "We’ve got you." The town’s love was everywhere every cheer a heartbeat, every smile a spark. After practice, Niels stopped by a cozy café, where the buzz of conversation quieted as he walked in. A small group of fans smiled and waved. A little kid shyly handed him a homemade card covered in scribbles and doodles. Niels chuckled and gave him a thumbs-up, "Thanks, kid. We’re all in this together." The room was filled with quiet excitement people talking about the big game, their hopes glowing brighter than the lights overhead. Someone raised a cup, saying, "Cheers to the team that never gives up." Niels felt the weight of those words but also a spark of something stronger. That night, as stars dotted the sky, a few townspeople gathered quietly by the mural. Soft voices whispered names, promises hanging in the air like a shared dream ready to come true. May 12 started buzzing early as Crawley woke before dawn. The team met at Broadfield, ready to head to London. Their bus, bright red with "Crawley to Wembley!" on the side, rumbled to life like a beating heart. Niels stepped on first, calm and sure. "This is our journey. We’re not just going to Wembley, we’re making history." Max clenched his fist, ready to give it his all for Crawley. Thiago grinned, full of energy and ready to move. Luka’s sharp eyes showed he was ready to fight hard. Fans filled the streets, hundreds cheering, kids waving signs. A girl yelled, "Max-y, you’re our hero!" Max caught a red wristband from a boy and put it on with a grin. "This one’s for you!" As the bus pulled away, the crowd’s cheers shook the windows. Ollie’s banner led the way: "Reds to Chelsea!" The M23 stretched ahead like a road to glory. Cars followed the bus, waving flags and honking, shouting, "Craw-ley, kings!" Elise messaged Niels, "The whole town’s behind you!" Max started a karaoke, singing "Sweet Caroline" but changing it to "Craw-ley’s gonna win!" Thiago drummed on the seats while Baxter joked, making everyone laugh. Luka looked out the window, drawing plays in his notebook. Near London, Wembley’s arch glowed as the team grew quiet and focused. At a stop, fans banged on the bus, chanting, "Thiago!" A kid held a sign, "Luka, score for us!" Luka smiled and waved. Thiago threw a signed ball out, sparking cheers. Max said to Niels, "This town’s our soul. We carry them." Niels nodded, "And they carry us." The bus moved on, every mile closer to Wembley, the fans’ chants like heartbeats. This was more than a trip it was Crawley’s fight on wheels. The bus pulled into Wembley as evening fell, the stadium’s golden arch glowing against the sky. The team stepped off, feeling the huge moment hit them. Niels led them to the hotel, saying, "Rest up, lads. Tomorrow we own that pitch." Max gripped his wristband, ready for what’s next. Thiago bounced the ball with a confident smile. Luka kept his focus sharp, eyes locked in. The hotel lobby buzzed with energy. Staff clapped and a receptionist whispered, "Go Crawley." Niels signed a girl’s notebook with a drawing of Thiago dancing at Wembley. "We’ll give it our all, kid," he said warmly. Max called his mum. Her voice cracked as she said, "Make us proud, Max-y." Thiago FaceTimed his family, their cheers making him smile. Luka watched Chelsea highlights, studying Terry’s blocks and planning moves. Later, Niels met Milan for tea. Outside, Wembley’s arch glowed. "They’re ready, Milan," Niels said calmly. Milan smiled, "You’ve sparked something, Niels. Let it burn." The team settled in for the night, the city’s energy around them. Their medals tucked away, a quiet reminder of their journey from Notts County to here. Crawley’s fans filled London pubs, chanting, "Reds to Chelsea!" A girl shouted, "Luka for Wembley!" Elise texted, "Bro, London’s ours! Crawley’s taken over!" Ollie slipped a letter under Niels’ door: "Coach, you’re our hero. Win for us." Niels read it, feeling the weight of the moment as Wembley’s glow lit his room. Chelsea waited Ancelotti’s tactics, Drogba’s power, Terry’s defense. Crawley were the underdogs, League Two dreamers facing Europe’s best. But with team’s passion, Max’s strength, Thiago’s energy, and Luka’s focus, they had heart. The final was just three days away. Could Crawley turn their spark into history, or would Chelsea’s storm snuff out their flame?