The Coaching System
Chapter 294: The Away Stand

Chapter 294: The Away Stand

April 1-4, 2026 - Pride Park

Rain lashed against the windows of Apperley Bridge’s analysis suite. Three screens displayed various angles of Derby’s recent matches, casting blue shadows across Jake’s face as he leaned forward in his chair.

Paul Robert stood behind him, tablet in hand. "Ten different pressing patterns in the last three matches," he noted. "Cooper’s been less predictable since they brought in that Brazilian analyst."

Jake didn’t respond right away. His eyes followed Derby’s right winger as he cut inside, drawing the left-back out of position before releasing a runner into the vacated space. Simple yet effective.

"They’re inverting both fullbacks now," Jake finally said. "That’s different from when we played them in October."

He rewound the sequence, watching it again at half-speed—not just the movement, but the trigger that preceded it. Every action had a cue.

"Show me their transitions after losing possession," Jake instructed, pushing away from the desk and standing.

Paul nodded, already queuing up the relevant clips. Their communication had become seamless; three seasons of collaboration had eliminated the need for unnecessary words.

Outside, the wind picked up. Bradford was gearing up for a European semi-final, but first came Derby away. There was no room for distraction.

Morning session. Tactical walk-through.

Jake had divided the first-team pitch into zonal pressing areas, each marked with different colored cones. The squad moved through the setup at half-speed, adjusting their positions in response to the ball’s location.

"Here’s where they collapse," Jake said, standing at the edge of the central zone. "And here’s where they leave space."

The ball moved from Vélez to Silva, then out to Rasmussen on the left. As it traveled, players shifted their positions based on the patterns they had been drilling all week.

Jake stopped them with a sharp whistle. "Lowe, you’re two steps too deep. Holloway, check your shoulder before you receive."

Small details. Crucial ones.

Chapman watched from the sideline, rolling his hamstring on a foam cylinder. His eyes remained fixed on the movement patterns, absorbing every detail despite not participating.

Jake approached and crouched beside him. "Saturday?"

Chapman nodded. "Ready."

There was no discussion of the injury that had sidelined him for two days. No excuses offered or expected.

Jake stood and turned back to the group. "Again. This time with their press."

The reserve team moved into position, mimicking Derby’s shape and pressing triggers. There were no shortcuts in preparation—not with Europe looming and Championship points still at stake.

Afternoon. Individual unit work.

Silva, Rasmussen, and Richter practiced combination patterns down the left channel. These weren’t random movements; they were specific sequences designed to exploit weaknesses in Derby’s defensive transitions.

Jake stood with the forwards coach, watching as Silva cut inside, drawing an imaginary defender, while Rasmussen exploited the space behind. Richter timed his run perfectly, arriving at the back post just as the cross came in.

They repeated the pattern three more times, making minor adjustments each time, before switching to a completely different sequence. This was about building muscle memory for options, not rigid formulas.

Across the pitch, the defensive unit focused on their own patterns. Munteanu directed from his goal, while Kang and Barnes staggered their positions instead of lining up parallel. Richards tucked inside when necessary.

Small edges. Accumulated advantages.

Jake moved between the groups, sometimes intervening but often just observing. The players had internalized his expectations; they could identify their own corrections most of the time.

As the session wrapped up, Vélez lingered to work on set pieces with the specialist coach. They practiced free-kicks from five different positions, each with three options depending on the defensive setup.

Jake watched the first few attempts before walking back toward the training building. A notification lit up his phone—another Italian number. The third one this week.

He silenced it without answering and pushed through the door.

April 3rd. Final preparation.

The training ground quieted as players focused on recovery and mental preparation. They had a light activation session in the morning, followed by a video review after lunch, and then an early departure for Derby.

Jake sat in his office, finalizing the match plan. The door remained closed, a sign that the staff respected without question. These hours before departure were sacred—the last chance to identify the small details that could determine the outcome.

A knock broke his concentration. Paul entered without waiting for a response, tablet already extended. "An Italian journalist is asking for quotes about Inter Milan’s interest," he said flatly.

Jake didn’t look up from his notes. "Declined."

Paul nodded and turned to leave. "Tell Chapman I need him," Jake added. "Five minutes."

When Chapman arrived, Jake had cleared his desk of everything except a single sheet of paper—Derby’s expected lineup with annotations in the margins.

"Sit," Jake said.

Chapman lowered himself into the chair. No pleasantries were needed between them anymore.

"Their captain’s suspended," Jake said. "That changes their voice on the pitch."

Chapman nodded, his eyes already scanning the sheet. "Davies steps in. Less vocal, more physical."

"And?"

"Opportunity to control the tempo early. They’ll need time to adjust their communication patterns."

Jake allowed himself a slight nod. This was why Chapman would captain the side tomorrow, regardless of who might be more experienced. He saw patterns others didn’t.

"Anything on your mind about Europe?" Jake asked, the question seemingly casual but precisely timed.

Chapman looked up, meeting his gaze directly. "Not until Sunday morning."

Jake studied him for a moment, then stood. The conversation was complete.

As Chapman reached the door, Jake spoke once more. "If the questions come after the match—about Italy—"

"I’ll handle it," Chapman interrupted, not turning back. "They’ll get nothing."

The door closed behind him.

Jake returned to his notes, adding one final detail to the set-piece instructions. Derby away first. Then Europe. Then whatever else might be waiting.

April 4th. Pride Park.

The away dressing room at Derby County wasn’t built for comfort. Narrow benches, limited space, and ventilation that never quite cleared the heavy air made it clear: visiting teams weren’t meant to settle in.

Jake stood at the center, players arranged in a semicircle before him. This wasn’t a team talk—they’d had that back at the hotel. This was about final details.

"They’ll start fast," he said, his voice steady but resonant. "In the first fifteen minutes, absorb, don’t chase. Find your rhythm through possession, not territory."

Players nodded, some adjusting their shin guards, others stretching their hamstrings one last time. The nervous energy before kickoff was palpable yet controlled.

Jake stepped back, allowing Chapman to take the floor. The midfielder didn’t raise his voice or pace dramatically; he spoke with a quiet authority that commanded attention.

"The away stand is full," he said. "They didn’t travel to see us manage a game. They came to see us take one."

Heads lifted. Bodies straightened.

No dramatic speech was needed. The work had been done on the training ground; now it was time for application.

As they lined up in the tunnel, Jake stepped aside. His role was now observation, not motivation. The players moved through their own rituals—Munteanu rhythmically slapping his gloves together, Silva crossing himself twice, Rasmussen inhaling deeply with closed eyes.

Derby’s players looked focused but carried a hint of tension. The weight of home expectations pressed on them—seven games unbeaten at Pride Park, with promotion hopes still alive.

The referee signaled. The teams emerged into the spring sunshine and the roar of the crowd.

Jake took his position in the technical area, with Paul beside him, tablet ready for in-game adjustments. The backs of his players’ shirts stretched across their broad shoulders as they lined up for kickoff.

Bradford in away colors—black shirts, burgundy shorts. Derby in their traditional white.

The whistle blew.