CHAPTER 142: BATTLE ON MUDDY GROUND

Chapter 142: Battle on Muddy Ground

Saturday, 28 September, 2010

The weather on Saturday matched the mood, gray and heavy.

A cold, steady drizzle fell on the Crawley training ground, making the pitch muddy and green.

It was very different from the bright lights and smooth grass of the BayArena. This was a day for mud, hard work, and tough tackles, the everyday grind of League One football.

In the dressing room, the mood had changed. The excitement from the flight home was gone, replaced by tired, quiet tension.

The team looked worn out from the trip, facing a tough challenge before even getting on the pitch.

Korey Henry sat with his head in his hands, rubbing his temples, trying to ease a headache that had lasted since Wednesday.

He hadn’t slept well for three nights. Liam McCulloch looked like he was about to fall asleep, his eyes heavy with tiredness, still thinking about the Leverkusen striker’s quick moves.

The room was filled with quiet murmurs, nervous coughs, and the soft rustle of jerseys.

Dev Patel felt his stomach tighten with nerves. He was different now.

Fans had spotted him on the street, shouting his name. His phone kept buzzing with notifications.

He couldn’t stop thinking about his amazing goal and the scary pressure to do it again. He caught Paul Pogba’s eye, but the usual confident smirk was gone.

Instead, Pogba looked calm and focused, feeling the heavy pressure too knowing everyone was counting on him to make a difference.

Niels stood in the middle of the room, his voice breaking the silence like a sharp blade. "Look around you," he said, scanning the players. "This is our home. This is our league. Hartlepool doesn’t care what you did in Germany. They’ll see a team that played 90 tough minutes against one of Europe’s best, a team that’s tired and maybe, just maybe, a bit distracted."

He paused, his voice dropping almost to a whisper. "I want to be wrong. Prove me wrong."

Kickoff:

The whistle blew, and Crawley started strong.

They passed the ball with new confidence, moving faster and more smoothly than in past league games.

For the first ten minutes, it seemed like their European experience had lifted their game. They played with swagger, believing they belonged on a bigger stage.

Dev Patel even pulled off a fancy flick to get past his opponent, and it worked but the cross that followed was cleared away.

But Hartlepool wasn’t Leverkusen. They played tough and didn’t hold back. Their plan was simple and effective: press hard, be physical, and never let Crawley rest.

Their number six, an experienced player with a weathered face, went into tackles hard, sometimes fouling on purpose but getting away with it.

The match turned into a clash of styles, Crawley’s smooth passing against Hartlepool’s rough, relentless fight.

The Crawley players, used to the skillful pace of European football, felt like they were in a wrestling match.

Crawley controlled the ball most of the game, but they lacked the sharpness to finish.

Paul Pogba sent a perfect through-ball to Dev Patel, but it was just a bit too fast, and Dev, still thinking about the goal he scored against Leverkusen, missed it.

Their passes were slightly off, and their shots went just over the goal.

By the 35th minute, Korey Henry, tired and worn out, took a long shot that flew harmlessly into the crowd.

Hartlepool’s goalkeeper wasn’t really tested, and their defense stayed strong and organized.

The first half ended 0-0, but it felt like Hartlepool had the upper hand.

Back in the dressing room, the mood was heavy. The players slumped onto the benches, sweat mingling with fatigue.

"We’re not sharp enough," Paul Pogba muttered, rubbing his forehead. "Too slow on the ball. They’re pressuring us hard."

Dev Patel shook his head. "I keep thinking about that Leverkusen game. My head’s somewhere else. I need to focus."

Niels paced in front of them, his voice steady but firm. "Listen, the first half was tough, but we knew it would be. Hartlepool’s not going to roll over. They want this win more than we do right now. We have to fight harder, faster. Play with more heart."

Korey Henry sighed, exhaustion clear in his voice. "I’m running on empty. How do we get through this second half?"

"By remembering who we are," Niels said, locking eyes with each player. "We’re Crawley. We don’t quit. We turn this around starting now."

The room fell quiet. No easy answers, but a flicker of determination sparked in their eyes.

The second half began, and the cracks started to show. Crawley’s energy, once electric in Germany, was now draining away.

A normally precise pass from Paul Pogba sailed too far, drifting out for a throw-in. The crowd, still buzzing from their recent European high, groaned in disappointment.

Reece Darby, usually quick to surge forward, lagged behind defensively, his legs heavy and sluggish from the miles he’d already run.

The team’s rhythm was breaking, and with it, the confidence that had carried them just days before.

Niels watched from the touchline, his face tight with concern. In the 60th minute, he made his first change bringing on Max Simons for the exhausted Korey Henry, hoping the veteran’s fresh legs would spark the attack.

A few minutes later, Nate replaced the tiring Reece Darby. With that, Niels shifted the formation from a 3-4-3 to a more balanced shape, slotting Nate into midfield to shore up the center and add energy where it was most needed.

It was a bold, risky move, but Niels knew he had to make every substitution count.

Hartlepool was gaining momentum now. Their long balls sailed past Crawley’s weary midfield, putting their forwards in prime scoring spots.

Liam McCulloch and Harry Thompson were being pushed to their limits, making frantic blocks and scrambling clearances just to keep the danger at bay.

Then came the moment that defined the match.

In the 75th minute, Crawley earned a corner. Dev Patel stepped up, eyes full of determination.

Instead of a straightforward cross, he aimed to curl a perfect, Beckham-style delivery into the box. But he struck it too hard. The ball soared over everyone’s heads and out for a goal kick.

A wave of frustration rippled through the home crowd. Dev stood there, hands on his hips, his face tight with disappointment.

The pressure had overwhelmed him, he’d tried to be a hero, not just play his part.

Just a minute later, Hartlepool broke forward on a quick counter-attack. A long ball was sent upfield, and Liam McCulloch, exhausted, headed it weakly straight to a Hartlepool midfielder.

With a sharp pass, the striker was released behind the defense. He fired a low, powerful shot that slipped right through the legs of Crawley’s keeper, Adam Fletcher. Usually calm and collected, Fletcher could only stand frozen in despair.

The score was now 1-0 to Hartlepool.

Niels acted quickly, making his final substitution by bringing on Zach Norrington for a defender, hoping to ignite a last-ditch attack.

Crawley pushed forward with urgency, but their efforts were rushed and chaotic. Hartlepool’s goalkeeper, who had barely been tested all game, made a stunning diving save to deny Max Simons a late equalizer.

The home crowd, once full of hope just days before, now sat in stunned silence.

After the final whistle, silence filled the stadium. Players collapsed to the ground, not in celebration, but in exhaustion and disappointment.

The bitter defeat, following their European triumph, felt crushing. It wasn’t just losing a match; it was a humbling experience.

The Europa League had been a dream, but reality hit hard.

As the players left the pitch, the drizzle became a steady rain. Niels watched in silence, his face giving nothing away.

He knew this loss, though painful, was an important lesson.

For a small team, the real challenge isn’t just reaching the heights of European football, it’s coming back down and remembering that every game, every point, and every moment still counts.

Their journey wasn’t over. In fact, the real test of their character was only beginning.