Chapter 23: Solid Ground
Chapter 23: Solid Ground
Wednesday, 10 December 2009
It was colder now not the crisp kind, but the damp kind that sat like a wet rag on your neck. The frost had melted into grey mush. Still, the mood hadn't dipped. The Morecambe win was still lingering in the air, like the afterglow of a storm that somehow missed you. But football never stays paused for long. By midweek, the squad's attention had shifted to the next job: Burton Albion away. Level on points. Level on form. Both clubs parked firmly in the middle of the table. At least for now.
"It's not a cup tie," Niels told the group on Wednesday morning, "but it's just as important."
They were gathered in the cold meeting room. The space heater rattled in the corner, steam curled from takeaway coffees. No highlight reels today, no motivational monologues. Just clips of Burton's last few matches and a series of calmly drawn arrows on the whiteboard.
"They press early. Then they drop off. They'll let you play, then punish the mistake."
The room was quiet and focused.
Reece sat forward, elbows on knees. Nate spun a coin between his fingers. Max leaned back with his arms folded, eyes fixed on the screen.
"This is where we find out if we're climbing," Niels said, clicking off the projector, "or just staying mid-table."
Thursday's training was sharp.
It was not loud, not that intense but efficient.