Chapter 90: FA Cup Final [5]
Chapter 90: FA Cup Final [5]
Saturday, May 15, 2010
The final whistle was just seconds away when Jamal’s desperate clearance flew out of the box, breaking the last thread of Chelsea’s attack. As the whistle blew, Wembley’s floodlights burned, the crowd’s roar a seismic quake. Players dropped to their knees, gasping for breath, sweat mixing with the cold night air. Crawley’s red corner erupted in wild celebration, heroes born in a single, fierce moment. But beneath the cheers, exhaustion settled in, and extra time loomed ahead. The battle was far from over.
For a few tense minutes, players huddled around coaches, grabbing water and gasping for air. The referee checked his watch, the floodlights glowing brighter against the dark sky. Fans held their breath, the roar simmering into an expectant hush. Could Crawley defy the odds, or would Chelsea’s might crush their dream on the edge of eternity?
Extra-time begins:
Then the referee’s whistle cut through Wembley at 5:00 p.m., a razor-sharp call igniting extra time. The ball rolled on a pitch churned to mud, slick with sweat and blood. The crowd’s roar swelled a living beast of 90,000 voices. Chelsea’s blue sea swallowed the stands, chants deafening, "Chels-ea! Chels-ea!" Crawley’s red corner, a defiant flame, roared back, "Craw-ley! Kings!" The air was thick with grass, liniment, and raw desperation, floodlights casting long shadows like swords.
Max, limping but fierce, prowled Chelsea’s box, his taped ankle throbbing, armband soaked, his painted stone’s vow burning in his chest: "For Crawley." Thiago darted to the right wing, a red streak, eyes blazing with relentless spark. Luka anchored the midfield, his napkin sketch a memory, focus a cold blade slicing through fatigue. Niels stood on the sideline, red wristband stark, voice low but firm, "I know you’re tired, but so are they. This is where it turns. One run, one tackle, one goal. That’s all it takes."
Chelsea’s team was still powerful with Drogba leading the attack, Lampard controlling the midfield, Terry standing strong at the back, and Čech guarding the goal like a giant. Their fans roared, "Drogba’s king!" as the ball moved, and the whole stadium felt ready to explode.
Crawley’s three-back line, Harry, Liam, and Reece held firm, with Nate and Dev pushing high as wing-backs. Max and Thiago led a fierce press. Chelsea struck first, their passing quick and precise. Lampard flicked the ball to Malouda, who sprinted down the left, tearing the turf. His cross curled dangerously into the box, Harry lunged and deflected it wide. The red corner erupted, "Har-ry! Har-ry!" while Chelsea fans roared, "London is blue!"