Touchline Rebirth: From Game To Glory
Chapter 37: Battle in the North

Chapter 37: Battle in the North

Chapter 37: Battle in the North

Monday, January 18, 2010

Matchday 26: Rochdale vs. Crawley Town

The tunnel at Spotland Stadium thrummed with the roar of 1,800 Crawley Town fans, their red scarves a defiant slash against the bleak Lancashire sky. Niels stood outside the away dressing room, heart pounding, his breath visible in the January chill as he steeled his squad for a bruising clash against Rochdale, a playoff-chasing side known for their grit and set-piece menace.

Inside, the air was thick with liniment and nerves, the walls vibrating with the distant chant of "Red Devils!" Niels gathered his players, Max Simons, Luka Radev, Korey Henry, Dev Patel, Nate Sutton, Jamal Osei, Tom Whitehall, Reece Darby, Adam Fletcher in goal, Toby, and Kieron Marsh starting, with Thiago and José Baxter on the bench, their paperwork cleared but Niels banking on trusted legs. "Rochdale’s ruthless," he said, voice steady but burning with urgency. "They’ll hit long, tackle hard, live for corners. Jamal, Reece, glue to their striker. Luka, Korey, stretch those wings. We fight as one, lads, for Crawley, for the Cup run." Max’s nod was firm, Korey’s fist tight, Kieron’s eyes, still clouded from recent training spats, flickered with resolve.

The room roared, "Red Devils!" as the fans’ song seeped through, "We’ll fight to the end!" Niels’ chest swelled, but a quiet doubt gnawed, could he, a man from 2025, truly lead under this cauldron’s pressure?

The tunnel was a furnace, Rochdale’s players towering, their glares icy. Crawley’s fans, packed into the away stand, waved a banner, "Crawley to Wembley!" Their chant shook the rafters, a pulse Niels felt deep in his bones. Stepping onto the slick pitch, the cold stung his face, floodlights carving sharp shadows across the grass.

Kickoff:

The whistle blew, and Spotland erupted, the game igniting like a struck match. Rochdale charged forward, their winger’s early cross forcing Fletcher to dive, punching the ball clear, grazing Whitehall’s shoulder as the home crowd roared. Crawley’s fans answered, "Red Devils!" their voices a lighthouse in the hostile storm.

Crawley settled, Luka’s darting run down the left sparking hope, his cross deflected by Rochdale’s towering center-back, a wall of muscle. Reece crunched into their striker, a 6-foot-4 giant with three goals that month, the tackle was clean and fierce, drawing a chant from the away end, "Darby’s a rock!" Kieron, starting over Thiago, misjudged a pass, his nerves showing, Rochdale pouncing, but Jamal’s sliding block snuffed out a shot, the crowd gasping. Niels clapped from the touchline, shouting, "Head up, Kieron!" his heart aching for the lad’s wobble.

In the 18th minute, Dev’s free-kick curled toward Max, whose header skimmed the bar, the away fans leaping, scarves flying, a boy in a Crawley scarf waving a sign, "Niels, our coach!" The game was a grind, Rochdale’s physicality leaving marks, Nate grimacing after a heavy hit but waving off the physio, his grit earning Max’s quiet nod.

In the 34th minute, Crawley broke the deadlock. Korey, tearing down the right, jinked past a defender, his low shot slipping under the keeper’s dive. "Goal! Korey Henry!"

1-0.

The away end exploded, fans spilling over barriers, red smoke from a flare curling skyward, the chant thundering, "Korey, Korey!" Niels pumped a fist, voice sharp, "Stay focused, lads!" Korey sprinted to the fans, fist raised, their roar shaking the stands. Rochdale hit back, their striker’s header forcing Fletcher’s fingertip save, the ball pinging off the post, the away fans holding their breath.

Half-Time: Rochdale 0-1 Crawley Town

In the dressing room, sweat dripped, the air charged. Niels’ voice cut through, "That’s our heart, lads. Korey, classy strike. Kieron, keep fighting. They’ll come hard, stay tight." Max rallied the squad, his tone low, fierce, "We don’t crack." Thiago and Baxter, itching on the bench, nodded, eyes blazing. The second half loomed, faint 2025 memories of FIFA sliders, high work rate, low risk, fading against the raw pulse of this moment.

Second Half:

Rochdale roared out, their midfielder’s long-range shot grazing the bar, the home crowd surging, a wall of noise. Crawley countered, Luka’s pinpoint cross finding Tom, whose volley was parried, the away fans chanting, "Push on!"

In the 58th minute, Niels swapped Kieron for Thiago, craving the Brazilian’s spark. Thiago’s first touch, a silky turn, drew gasps, but his pass to Luka sailed long, Rochdale breaking fast. Niels winced, his gamble teetering, his shout urging, "Show them, Thiago!"

In the 65th minute, Rochdale leveled. A corner soared in, their striker outleaping Jamal, his header crashing past Fletcher.

"1-1, Rochdale strike back!"

The home stands detonated, Crawley’s fans falling silent, scarves drooping. Niels signaled calm, his stomach twisting, could they dig deep again? Thiago sparked hope, slaloming past two defenders for a free-kick. Dev’s delivery found Max, his header cleared off the line, the away end roaring, "Keep going!" José Baxter replaced Nate in the 72nd minute, his Scouse grit lifting the midfield. Baxter’s through-ball freed Korey, whose shot was blocked, the rebound sparking a frantic scramble, Crawley’s fans chanting, "Red Devils!" their belief unbowed.

Rochdale pressed, their winger’s curling shot forcing Fletcher’s diving save, the ball tipped wide, the away end shouting, "Fletch-er!" In the 80th minute, Thiago’s stepovers earned another free-kick, Dev’s strike whistling wide, the crowd groaning. Rochdale nearly stole it, their striker’s header grazing the post, Niels’ breath catching, hands clenched.

In stoppage time, Baxter’s pass to Luka triggered a break, Luka cutting inside, his shot stinging the keeper’s gloves, the save drawing gasps. The final whistle blew,

Fulltime: 1-1

The away fans clapping, their chant rising, "We’re the Red Devils!" Niels exhaled, relief and frustration tangled, a point away was gritty, but Barnsley’s FA Cup clash demanded more.

Post-Match

In the dressing room, mud-caked boots thudded, faces flushed with effort. Niels faced the squad, voice steady, "That was a war, lads. Korey, brilliant goal. Thiago, José, you brought fire. We’re little disappointed but still in seventh place, still fighting. Barnsley’s next, rest, then we go again." Max clapped Korey’s shoulder, Reece nodded at Kieron, their earlier tension softening. Thiago, head bowed, muttered, "Sorry, coach." Niels gripped his arm, "You’re growing, Thiago. You’ll light it up soon." The squad’s spirit, battered but fierce, warmed his chest.

Outside, Crawley’s fans lingered, scarves aloft, chanting, "Niels’ Red Army!" A young fan, face painted red, thrust a program at him, "Sign it, coach! We’re proud!" Niels scrawled his name, throat tight, "Your voices carried us," he said, the boy’s grin a spark in the cold.

A reporter shoved a mic forward, "A point at Rochdale, enough for Barnsley?" Niels kept it short, "We fought like hell. We’ll be ready."

On the coach, his phone buzzed, Elise’s text glowing, "Draw stings, but Korey’s our hero! Home soon?" He typed back, "Not yet, sis. Chasing the dream." The 1-1 ached, but Korey’s strike, Fletcher’s saves, Thiago’s promise fueled the fire. His 2025 echoes, faint FIFA Cup runs, dissolved in Crawley’s raw reality. Rochdale was done, Barnsley’s Cup battle loomed, a giant to slay, and Niels felt his squad’s heart beating stronger than ever.

[Match played: 25, Points: 47, League position: 7th]

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