The Coaching System
Chapter 295: Derby Vs Bradford

Chapter 295: Derby Vs Bradford

The derby began as anticipated—high energy and aggressive pressing forced Bradford to defend deep in their own half. The atmosphere at Pride Park intensified, with the noise swelling with each forward movement.

Jake stood still, hands clasped behind his back, betraying no reaction to the early pressure. This was expected; he had prepared for it.

Bradford absorbed the pressure with remarkable composure. There were no hasty clearances or desperate tackles—just disciplined positioning and patient decision-making.

When the first transition occured, Bradford executed their plan flawlessly. Munteanu claimed a cross and immediately found Chapman with a rolled pass to the right. One touch to control, another to find Silva in the half-space.

The Brazilian remained calm, drawing two Derby players toward him before releasing Rasmussen on the left. The Danish winger timed his run perfectly, accelerating into the space behind Derby’s right-back.

His cross was struck early, skimming across the six-yard box and just beyond Richter’s desperate lunge. Close, but not quite connected.

Jake made a single note on his pad. The pattern had worked—only the final execution had faltered.

This pattern repeated throughout the first twenty minutes: Derby dominated possession but created little, while Bradford remained patient and calculated, waiting for the right moment to strike.

In the twenty-third minute, their patience paid off.

Chapman intercepted a careless pass in midfield and immediately looked forward. No hesitation, no safe options—just direct, vertical intent.

Silva had already begun his run, perfectly timed to stay onside. The pass matched his movement, weighted into the space rather than to his feet.

Two touches took him into the penalty area. The third opened his body, creating the angle. The fourth sent the ball curling beyond the goalkeeper’s reach into the far corner.

0-1.

The away end erupted, a block of black and burgundy bouncing in unison. Silva ran to the corner, sliding on his knees before being engulfed by his teammates.

Jake didn’t celebrate outwardly. Instead, he turned to Paul, making a subtle gesture with his hand. The goal had shifted Derby’s strategy—they would now push more players forward, and Bradford needed to adapt.

The message reached the pitch through Lowe, who adjusted the defensive block slightly deeper, inviting Derby to commit even more players forward.

Derby responded with heightened urgency but less precision. Passes went astray, and shots were rushed rather than carefully placed. Frustration spread from the players to the fans as halftime approached.

In the forty-third minute, Derby created their best opportunity. A cross from the right found their striker unmarked just six yards out. His header seemed destined for the top corner until Munteanu launched himself across the goal, fingertips diverting the ball over the crossbar.

Jake allowed himself a small nod of acknowledgment. The Romanian keeper had been honing his reaction saves all week.

Halftime arrived with Bradford leading, but the statistics favored Derby. Possession, shots, corners—all heavily titled toward the home side. Yet Bradford had the only stat that truly mattered.

In the dressing room, Jake kept his instructions brief.

"They’ll change shape," he said, sketching a quick diagram on the tactics board. "Three at the back, wingbacks pushing higher. Expect more direct balls into our right channel."

He made three specific adjustments and then stepped back. No motivation was needed; the players understood the stakes.

As they prepared to return to the pitch, Jake caught Silva’s eye. A slight gesture—two fingers pointing to his own eyes, then toward the right side of the pitch. Silva nodded once, message received.

The second half began with Derby showcasing their tactical shift: three central defenders, wingbacks pushed high, and two strikers instead of one. More direct, more aggressive.

Bradford adjusted calmy. Lowe dropped deeper, forming a temporary back three when necessary. Silva tucked inside more often, helping to control the midfield spaces.

The game settled into a new rhythm—Derby pushing, Bradford absorbing and countering. Not defensive, just calculated.

In the sixty-fifth minute, Jake made his first substitution: Walsh for Chapman, who had exhausted himself with relentless running. It was a straightforward positional swap, but Walsh brought a different profile—more direct and eager to make runs beyond the defense.

The substitution quickly paid off. Walsh received the ball in his own half, turned his marker, and surged forward forty yards before releasing Silva on the right. The Brazilian cut inside, but his shot was thawrted by a desperate sliding challenge.

As the match entered its final twenty minutes, Derby’s pressure intensified. Balls were launched into the Bradford box, and players surged forward with mounting urgency.

Munteanu commanded his area with growing confidence, claiming crosses that alleviated the pressure. Kang and Barnes dominated the air, their positioning impeccable.

In the seventy-ninth minute, Jake made his second change, bringing on Obi for Richter, who had exhausted himself pressing from the front. Fresh legs and direct running were just what was needed to exploit the spaces Derby was now leaving.

Four minutes later, the substitution proved decisive.

A Derby attack faltered at the edge of Bradford’s box. Walsh collected the loose ball and immediately sought an outlet. Obi had already begun his run, timing it perfectly to stay onside by the narrowest margin.

The pass was flawless—not to feet, but into space, allowing Obi to accelerate away from his marker. The young striker drove forward, drawing the last defender toward him before cutting the ball back across the box.

Rasmussen arrived right on cue, side-footing the ball first-time into the bottom corner.

0-2.

Game over.

The away end erupted in a jubilant celebration. Rasmussen sprinted to the corner, sliding toward the traveling fans with arms outstretched. His teammates followed, piling on top of him in a tangle of limbs and emotion.

Jake remained composed. With twenty minutes, including stoppage time, still to play, there would be no celebrations yet. He immediately signaled for his third substitution, bringing on Barnes to solidify the defensive shape.

Derby pushed forward with increasing desperation but diminishing cohesion. Half-chances came and went, but nothing truly troubled Munteanu.

When the final whistle blew, Pride Park emptied quickly—home fans slipping away to process yet another blow to their promotion hopes.

The away end remained vibrant, serenading the players as they crossed to acknowledge their support. Silva’s name echoed the loudest, closely followed by Rasmussen’s.

Jake shook hands with Derby’s manager, exchanged a brief word, and then turned toward the tunnel. There were no excessive celebration or performative gestures—just quiet satisfaction at a plan executed almost flawlessly.

In the dressing room, the atmosphere was positive but not euphoric. Music played at a moderate volume as players exchanged quiet congratulations, but focus quickly shifted to recovery and preparation for what lay ahead.

Europe loomed. Strasbourg awaited.

Jake moved through the room, offering brief words to each player, focusing on specific points rather than general praise. When he reached Silva, he paused slightly longer.

"Perfect timing on the run," he said simply.

Silva nodded, appreciating the significance of such specific acknowledgment from a coach who rarely offered blanket praise.

As the players showered and changed, Jake stepped into the corridor for the post-match media obligations. The usual questions came first—tactics, substitutions, the significance of the result.

Then, inevitably, came the question he had been anticipating.

"Jake, Italian media are reporting advanced talks with Inter Milan. Can you comment on your future beyond this season?"

He held the journalist’s gaze for a moment, his expression neutral.

"I’m focused on two competitions with Bradford," he replied flatly. No elaboration, no denial, no confirmation.

The reporter pressed on. "But have there been discussions?"

Jake didn’t blink. "My contract has another year. I’m focused on Bradford’s future."

He wrapped up the press conference shortly after, returning to the dressing room where the players were nearly ready to depart. No one mentioned the rumors—they had been instructed to avoid engaging them, regardless of what they might have heard.

On the bus back to Bradford, Jake sat alone in the front row. No tablet, no match footage—just a notepad open on his lap as he jotted down initial observations for the Strasbourg preparation.

His phone vibrated again. The same Italian number.

This time, he stared at it for several seconds before silencing it and returning to his notes.

Two competitions with Bradford. That was the immediate priority.

Whatever came next could wait.