Chapter 7 – Under Pressure
The buzz of their FA Cup win had slowly settled, and Crawley Town found themselves back in the thick of the league grind. With each passing week, the stakes felt higher, the pressure sharper. Promotion wasn't just a hope anymore – it had become an expectation. But with that pressure came a harsh reality: every team now saw them as a threat, a scalp to claim.
Tuesday's training session crackled with intensity. The air was cool, the sky overcast, and the sound of boots striking the ball echoed off the metal stands. Niels stood beside Milan, arms crossed, eyes sharp as the players worked through passing drills.
"Push it, push it! Quicker!" Milan's voice cut through the chill, his tone as sharp as ever, though the slight tremor in his hand as he adjusted his jacket didn't escape Niels.
They had a crucial match against Aldershot Town coming up – a mid-table side that had found a patch of form recently. Crawley couldn't afford to slip up. The league table was tightening, and a few bad results could see them fall behind.
"Luka, hold the ball, draw them in, then release!" Niels added, his voice carrying across the pitch. He had started to take a more active role in training, his voice cutting through the clamor as Milan stepped back more frequently, his physical struggles becoming more evident.
Milan noticed the shift too, catching Niels' eye as they watched Luka thread a clever pass through the midfield. He gave a small nod, a wordless acknowledgment that didn't need explanation. Niels felt the weight of that look – a subtle passing of responsibility, even if just for now.
In one tense moment during Thursday's training, Milan had to sit abruptly on the bench, his face pale, sweat trickling down his temple despite the cold. Niels rushed over, but Milan waved him off, jaw clenched in silent defiance. The players paused, concerned, until Milan gave a sharp whistle that snapped them back into motion. The session ended shortly after, with Milan giving a brief, tired team talk before heading off early, avoiding further questions.
—
Saturday arrived, and the Broadfield Stadium buzzed with anticipation. Red and white filled the stands, the energy in the air thick with hope. The players lined up in the tunnel, boots clacking against the concrete, focused and ready.
Niels and Milan took their spots on the sideline. Niels stole a glance at his colleague – Milan looked tired, older somehow, like the weight of the season had settled into his bones. But he was still here, still present.
The whistle blew, and Crawley exploded into action. They pressed aggressively, Luka Radev orchestrating play from midfield with effortless skill, flicking passes between defenders, switching play with ease. Max Simons and Dev Patel ran the channels with determination, stretching Aldershot's back line.
For the first ten minutes, Crawley looked dominant. Patel carved open the right flank with his quick footwork, Simons found pockets to operate in, and Tom Whitehall was relentless in midfield. But football changes fast.
In the 14th minute, a routine clearance from Liam McCulloch was mishit, spinning awkwardly into the centre. Aldershot's striker pounced, took one touch to set himself and unleashed a low, powerful drive into the bottom corner past Adam Fletcher. The stadium went quiet except for the roars of the away fans.
Niels winced. "Damn it," he muttered, pacing to the edge of the technical area. He turned to Milan, who remained quiet, his face unreadable, a hand pressed gently against his ribs.
Niels called Luka over at the next throw-in. "Drop a bit deeper, let them come at us. Then break fast – use your legs. Simons and Patel wide. Let's bait them."
Luka nodded and darted back onto the field. The tactical tweak had its effect. Crawley started sitting deeper, absorbing pressure and looking dangerous on the counter.
In the 36th minute, it clicked. After winning the ball through a strong Whitehall challenge, Crawley broke fast. Luka threaded a perfect pass to Dev Patel, who beat his marker and squared the ball across goal. Arriving late in the box, Max Simons met it with a composed finish, slotting it inside the far post. 1-1.
The crowd roared. Niels clenched a fist and turned to Milan, who gave a weak smile and a single clap. "Smart shift. Good response," he said, voice low and hoarse.
The second half turned into a battle. Aldershot came out firing, winning duels in midfield and forcing Crawley into mistakes. Crawley's backline held firm, with McCulloch and Harry Thompson dealing with aerial threats and Jamal Osei screening in front of them.
Niels became more vocal as the game wore on. He yelled instructions, rotated positions on the fly, and urged his side forward. Milan stood beside him, quieter now, occasionally grimacing, one hand always resting on his side.
In the 72nd minute, disaster almost struck. A mix-up between Callum Haines and Adam Fletcher nearly gifted Aldershot a second goal, but Jamal Osei recovered brilliantly, sliding in to make a match-saving block. The stadium roared its approval.
With the game hanging in the balance, Crawley rallied. In the 81st minute, Luka played in Simons again. The striker beat his man and shot low, but the keeper got a toe to it, deflecting it just wide.
Then came the moment of the match. In the 89th minute, a long throw from Reece Darby was flicked on by Leo Morley at the near post. The ball dropped perfectly for Simons once more. He struck it cleanly – but this time, the Aldershot keeper pulled off a spectacular reflex save.
The board went up for added time. Four minutes.
Aldershot had one last push. In the 90+2 minute, a curling shot from their No. 10 was destined for the top corner – until Osei again threw himself in the way. The block sent him tumbling, and the final whistle blew seconds later.
1-1. Not the win they wanted, but a hard-earned point.
As players shook hands and the crowd began to filter out, Niels turned to Milan. The assistant's face was pale, drawn, a tremor in his hand as he adjusted his jacket.
"You good?" Niels asked under his breath.
Milan didn't answer immediately. He stared out at the pitch, breathing slow and steady. Finally, he said, "It's fine. Just tired."
"You're sure?"
Milan offered a thin smile. "I've already seen a doctor. It's being handled."
But as he walked slowly toward the tunnel, shoulders slumped and his steps unsteady, Niels could tell things weren't fine. Whatever was going on with Milan, it was getting worse. And with another match coming up soon, Niels knew more and more of the responsibility was falling on his shoulders now.
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