Chapter 97: One More Season

Chapter 97: One More Season Chapter 97: One More Season Thursday, May 20, 2010 The morning after Niels made his decision, the skies over Crawley cleared, and the sun came out. By 9 a.m., Crawley Town FC had released a statement that spread quickly through the town: "Crawley Town FC is thrilled to confirm that Niels will remain as Head Coach for the 2010/11 season, with full control over tactics, transfers, and youth development. The journey continues. #NielsStaying" The short announcement sparked huge celebrations. In 2010, Twitter was still raw and unfiltered, and it lit up with red heart emojis, photos of Broadfield Stadium under the lights, and shaky videos of Max’s famous Wembley goal from their FA Cup run. Local radio was flooded with proud fans calling in, their voices full of emotion. Pubs joined the celebration with "Niels Night" specials, free pints for anyone holding a Crawley scarf, and "Sweet Caroline" playing loudly from jukeboxes. Niels, still recovering from the hectic events of the past week, met Emma Hayes in her office at the training ground. The room filled with tactic boards, messy scouting notes, and a half-empty coffee mug felt like a quiet escape from all the leaks and headlines. Emma leaned against her desk with her arms crossed, a rare smile softening her usual tough look. "You’ve given this town its soul back, Niels," she said, her voice warm but practical. "We’ll talk transfers when the window opens in June. For now, get some rest. You’ve earned it." Niels nodded, his choice finally feeling real, a strong foundation for the season ahead. "I’ll try," he said with a small, wry smile. Emma smirked, knowing he wasn’t the type to rest easily. They shared a final look, a silent promise to keep Crawley’s dream alive. The town was buzzing with excitement. The Crawley Observer’s front page shouted, "HE’S OURS: Niels Commits to Crawley!" alongside a grainy photo of Niels on the touchline, arms raised after the Wembley win. Twitter was filled with #NielsStaying, fans shared videos of kids chanting his name in red face paint and hand-drawn pictures of Niels lifting the FA Cup. A local bakery introduced the "Niels Loaf," a football-shaped pastry with red icing and "#NielsStaying" written in sugar. Half the money from each sale went to the youth academy. Niels saw it during his morning walk to the training ground and chuckled at the mix of silliness and warmth. At his usual coffee shop, a young barista gave him a free latte, quietly saying, "Thanks for staying, Coach," her eyes bright with pride. The players, tired from the long season, started heading off for their summer breaks. Luka, the key midfielder, was going to Croatia. He texted Niels a blurry photo of his packed bag with the caption, "Fish, sun, no football for a month!" Thiago, the Brazilian winger known for his skill, booked a flight to São Paulo and sent a playful message: "Don’t sign anyone faster than me, Boss!" Max, the captain and striker whose goals had brought Crawley glory, decided to stay in town for a few weeks. He helped out with community events before planning a quiet holiday in Spain with his girlfriend. By the time the group chat lit up again, someone had already vanished into the hills, camera in hand, chasing the sunrise and a bit of peace before the season’s noise came roaring back. The team’s group chat buzzed with jokes, about Luka’s sunburn, Thiago’s samba moves, and who’d come back for pre-season with a holiday gut. The academy was slowing down too, with young players trading their boots for beach trips or summer jobs. The training ground, usually full of shouts, whistles, and the sound of balls, became quieter by the hour. Coaches packed away equipment, groundskeepers prepared the pitches for maintenance, and the staff shared tired but happy smiles, knowing they’d been part of something special. A few youth players stayed behind, kicking a ball around the car park, their laughter echoing across the quiet fields. One of them, a thin striker named Ollie, saw Niels and shyly waved while holding a Crawley scarf. Niels waved back, a small gesture full of meaning. But Niels couldn’t fully relax. While others dreamed of sunny holidays, he stayed connected to Crawley, drawn to its energy. His early morning walks became a habit, winding through streets where shop windows still showed "Niels Stays!" signs some hand-painted with shaky letters. The park near his flat, where kids had filmed their chanting video, became Niels’ favorite place. He’d sit on a worn bench, watching dog walkers and joggers, with a crayon drawing from a young fan kept safely in his wallet like a lucky charm. Sometimes he’d take it out and trace the stick-figure team and their crooked trophy. The words "Thank you, Coach Niels" written in wobbly crayon meant more to him than any trophy. On Friday, Niels walked alone to the training ground, stepping onto the empty pitch under a pale spring sky. The goalposts stood silent, but he could still hear the roar from Wembley and feel the excitement of that night. He stayed by the touchline, his boots sinking into the soft grass, his mind already planning the season ahead. New players to strengthen the team’s core, a high-pressing style to outsmart tough League One opponents, and a shot at promotion having full control meant freedom but also more responsibility. Crawley’s dream was now his to carry, and it both grounded and inspired him. He took out his worn notebook and wrote down a rough 4-3-3 and 4-2-3-1 formation and notes about a young winger he’d scouted in the lower leagues. The scratch of his pen was the only sound in the quiet. That evening, Max called from a charity event in a muddy Crawley park, where he was coaching kids in a chaotic five-a-side tournament. "You should see these lads, Coach," he said, laughter cutting through the background noise of shouting kids. "They’re trying Thiago’s stepovers and tripping over their own feet. Reckon they’ll be after your job soon." Niels grinned, Max’s voice loosening the knot in his chest. "Tell them to work on their passing first," he shot back, the banter a brief reprieve from the pressure. Max’s voice softened. "Really, thanks for staying. It means everything to us." Niels swallowed and quietly said, "You too, Max," just before the call ended. By Saturday, the town’s excitement had settled into a steady pride. A small crowd gathered outside Broadfield Stadium to hang a new banner: "Niels: Our Heart, Our Home." A girl about ten left a handwritten note taped to the gate: "Thank you for staying, Coach. We’ll win the league for you." Niels found the note on his evening walk. The shaky blue writing touched him more than any news story. He folded it carefully and added it to the crayon drawing in his wallet, a growing collection that kept him connected to this place. Later, he stopped by The Red Lion, a pub packed with fans still riding the high of his decision. The landlord, a burly man named Tom, spotted him and raised a pint in salute. "On the house, Coach!" he roared, sliding a beer across the bar. The room erupted in cheers, fans clapping Niels on the back, their faces glowing with gratitude. A group of teenagers wearing Crawley kits started chanting, "Niels is still our coach!" Soon, the whole pub joined in, their voices spilling out into the street. An older fan, his scarf worn from years of use, leaned in and said, "You’ve given us something to believe in, lad," his voice full of feeling. Niels raised his glass, feeling overwhelmed but grounded, the warmth of the moment surrounding him like a second skin. As the sun set, turning Crawley’s rooftops golden, Niels stood outside the stadium with the new banner waving in the wind. The weight of the future settled on him one more season, one more chance to make a story no one expected. The offers from Barnsley, Forest, Mainz, and Torino hadn’t disappeared, they would come back next summer, louder and more eager. Maybe even top clubs would make their move. But for now, Crawley Town was his. To earn those chances, he knew he had to focus on the upcoming season and give his very best. The weathered fields, the passionate cheers, and the young players with dreams larger than their shoes, all belonged to him now. Milan’s question lingered in his mind: What story will you choose to tell? The answer was certain. His journey was far from over.