Touchline Rebirth: From Game To Glory-Chapter 119: Fixtures Announced

Chapter 119: Fixtures Announced

Monday, July 26, 2010

A week and a half had roared by since the last sweat-soaked training session, and Broadfield Stadium thrummed with a restless pulse, its training pitches gleaming under a late July sun that scorched through Crawley’s wispy clouds.

Niels rolled in at dawn, his beat-up pickup rattling to a stop by the training ground, the air thick with the tang of fresh-mown grass and the faint buzz of a town waking up.

His heart kicked like a drum, fueled by a cocktail of nerves and excitement, the season’s first whistle now just weeks away.

Today was a big one: Emma would unveil the official League One fixtures to the coaching staff and key players, laying bare the road ahead.

With Paul Pogba and Luke Freeman settling in, this moment could light a fire under a squad itching to prove itself.

Niels gripped a dog-eared clipboard, its pages bursting with tactical sketches, 4-3-3 formations morphing into 4-2-3-1 setups, Pogba and Freeman’s names scrawled like battle plans.

These two could be the dynamite to blast Crawley into contention.

A crumpled note in his jacket, ’Keep charging. The town’s roaring’ was a spark in his chest, tying him to the raw energy of his players: Max Simons’s bulldog grit, Thiago’s lightning-fast runs, Dev Patel’s sly footwork that left defenders chasing shadows.

He paused by the training ground’s gate, the clatter of equipment and early morning banter filling the air like a pre-game roar.

Today was about staring down the season’s challenges and rallying the squad, and Niels was ready to play general.

The team meeting room, a small space tucked above the main stand, felt like a time capsule of Crawley’s determination.

Its walls were covered in faded match posters, the old chalkboard was worn from years of strategy sessions, and the coffee machine sputtered as if it might break down at any moment.

The air was warm, windows cracked to let in a faint breeze.

Emma stood at the front, a stack of papers in hand, her eyes blazing with a mix of steel and fire. Max Simons, Pogba, Freeman, Kieron Marsh, Thiago, Dev Patel, and Nate Sutton sprawled across mismatched chairs, their faces a mix of curiosity, nerves, and restless energy. Thomas and the assistant coaches flanked Niels, clipboards at the ready.

"Alright, listen up," Emma said, her voice cutting through the chatter like a referee’s whistle.

She slapped a printed fixture list onto the chalkboard, the dates and opponents glaring under the flickering fluorescent lights. "This is League One’s gauntlet. The fixtures are out and they’re not here to make friends."

Niels stepped up, his presence commanding, his voice low but carrying a weight that hushed the room. "We’re in for a fight from the jump," he said, jabbing a finger at the list.

"First ten days, we’ve got two away games, Charlton and Sheffield United and one at home against Preston. Tough opponents, loud crowds, and no time to breathe."

He paced, eyes sweeping over the squad. "Mid-season gets ugly, back-to-back away trips to Notts County and Walsall, just 48 hours apart. These aren’t just matches; they’re battles. Slip up, and you’re buried. And don’t forget, Notts County aren’t pushovers anymore. League Two champions. They’ll come at us hard. We need stamina, heart, and a plan to outsmart teams that’ll try to bully us."

Max leaned forward, a grin spreading across his face, eyes burning with defiance. "Let’s rattle their cages, Coach. Show ’em Crawley doesn’t bend." His fire caught fast, Thiago and Dev were already nodding, itching to tear through defenders.

Kieron Marsh shifted uneasily, his voice low. "Those turnarounds are brutal. We got enough in the tank for that?"

The question hung in the air, and the room’s energy dipped as the reality of the schedule sank in.

Freeman, usually the quiet one, spoke up his tone calm but cutting. "It’s tight, but that’s the game. You either step up or get steamrolled." Pogba, arms crossed, gave a slow nod. "We’ll manage. Just gotta stay locked in." His voice was steady, but a flicker of doubt crossed his face at the thought of the relentless pace.

Thiago, never one to sit still, bounced in his seat, his grin wide. "Mate, we’ll just sprint ’em into the dirt, yeah? They won’t know what hit ’em!" 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

The room erupted in laughter, Dev tossing a water bottle at him. "Easy, speed demon. Save some of that for the pitch."

Niels caught Emma’s eye, a silent agreement passed between them.

He stepped forward, voice cutting through the room. "We’re canceling all pre-season friendly matches. Instead, every moment will be focused on training tactics, fitness, and set-pieces. By the first game, we need to be sharp and ready. No mistakes. No excuses."

Thomas, scribbling quickly, added, "I’m increasing the fitness drills. Pogba’s stamina is still improving, but the whole squad needs to be relentless to get through those tough away games. Double training sessions start tomorrow."

Emma stepped forward, her voice sharp and fiery, holding everyone’s attention. "The club’s expectations are clear: be ready with both, body and mind. This town’s putting its heart into you. They won’t accept anything less than full effort. You’re playing for Crawley’s pride, for every fan who’ll be screaming in those stands."

Her words landed like a thunderclap, the room falling silent. Dev broke the tension with a sly grin. "No pressure, then, eh? Just gotta save the town’s honor."

The squad chuckled, but Emma’s gaze didn’t waver, and the weight of her words stuck like glue.

As the meeting broke, players clustered around the fixture list, some joking about the away trips, others muttering about the tight schedules.

Max and Pogba lingered, heads together, already talking tactics, while Freeman stood off to the side, his eyes scanning the dates like a chess player studying a board.

Niels slipped away to the training office, the stadium quiet, the pitch fading into dusk as floodlights snapped on with a low hum.

A weathered team scarf hung on the wall, its colors bold despite years of wear, a testament to the town’s unyielding fight.

He dropped into his chair, the rain starting to patter against the window, a lively beat that matched Crawley’s restless heart.

He opened his laptop, diving into clips of Charlton’s recent matches, his mind picking apart their aggressive press and quick transitions.

His mind raced under the pressure ahead. The fixtures were brutal, early tough away games, mid-season back-to-back matches with no margin for mistakes. Pogba’s strength and Freeman’s vision were coming together, but the whole squad had to unite and quickly.

He leaned back, mind racing. The schedule was tough, but it was also an opportunity to prove what Crawley could do. Max’s fire, Thiago’s speed, Dev’s cunning, they were all pieces of a puzzle that could shock the league if they came together.

Niels pictured his team in motion: Adam Fletcher’s cool-headed saves in goal, a steady rock; Liam McCulloch’s fierce commands at the back, an unbreakable wall; Reece Darby storming down the right, a relentless force.

Thiago and Dev carved up the wings, their flair slicing through defenses like knives. Nate Sutton slipped through gaps with deadly precision, while Kieron Marsh burned with raw hunger, ready to seize any opening.

Max was the spark, his lethal shots and clever runs a call to war. Pogba and Freeman could forge a midfield that didn’t just compete but dominated, if they found their rhythm in time.

The fixtures were locked, the squad was taking shape, but the chemistry needed to click, and the season’s first whistle was closing in like a storm on the horizon.

Niels grabbed his clipboard, scrawling a note in black ink: Fixtures set. Squad building. Ignite the fire. Claim the fight.

The words were a promise, his hand steady despite the mounting stakes.

He stood, pacing to the window, his breath misting the glass as he stared out at the pitch, its surface shimmering under the floodlights.

The rain fell harder, a rhythm that felt like the town’s heartbeat, urging them forward.

The players dispersed, tension and determination hanging in the air.