Chapter 111
Chapter 111
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 111
Chapter Title: FA Cup Quarterfinals (1)
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Black-Haired Tactical Genius
Chapter 111: FA Cup Quarterfinals (1)
[Bolton Wanderers!]
[This team is no longer the League One underdog!]
[They've toppled every big name in the FA Cup and are on a tear!]
[Today's match at Wimbledon's home is being dominated by Bolton too...!]
Tweet-!
Clang-!
[GOOOAAAL! Owen Preciseeee-!]
[Owen receives a forward pass from Frank Gerrard and slots it home with a left-footed shot from the edge of the box!]
[Goalkeeper Hughes Bury dives full stretch, but it just won't go in!]
[The shot curls into the top corner of the right post, and now the Wanderers are chanting Owen's name!]
Aaron Bench, the DJ from Horwich Broadcasting, was monitoring the live match feed, his voice buzzing with excitement.
“Listeners, are you watching Bolton's game with me right now? From League Round 28 through 29, and now 30, Bolton's been unleashing overwhelming attacking soccer!”
The smile on his face showed no signs of fading.
This season, Bolton was strong—too strong.
With 37 minutes gone in the second half against Wimbledon, Bolton had built a 4-0 lead.
“Whoa...!”
Bench let out a small gasp of admiration before adding quickly.
“Adebayor's coming on!”
By now, the Wanderers saw Adebayor as their super sub.
His work rate was still noticeably lower than the others.
But he had that one killer instinct.
Thwack-!
Clang-!
[GOOOAAAL, Emmanuel Adebayooooor-!]
“Yes!”
True to expectations, just 7 minutes after subbing on, Adebayor rifled a low shot from outside the penalty area into the post's corner for another goal.
Aaron Bench pumped his fist in celebration.
“Bolton pulls ahead 5-0! No one can stop them now!”
The match ended.
Bench switched to another monitor and spoke up.
“With today's win, Bolton draws level on points with Plymouth Argyle!”
The current top of the table looked like this.
[[1st] Hull City: 30 played, 26W-2D-2L, 80 pts]
[[2nd] Plymouth Argyle: 30 played, 24W-3D-3L, 75 pts]
[[3rd] Bolton Wanderers: 30 played, 24W-3D-3L, 75 pts]
[[4th] Wigan Athletic: 30 played, 22W-3D-5L, 69 pts]
[[5th] Gillingham: 30 played, 21W-4D-5L, 67 pts]
[[6th] Fleetwood: 30 played, 19W-4D-7L, 64 pts]
[[7th] Blackpool: 30 played, 16W-6D-8L, 54 pts]
Bench continued in an excited tone.
“The gap to 4th-place Wigan Athletic is a whopping 6 points! Sure, there are still 16 games left...,”
He trailed off, then flashed a relaxed smile.
“Heh, somehow I just can't see Wigan overtaking our Bolton. They're finding their stride.”
Viewers were posting real-time comments on the radio station's official site.
They were just as thrilled.
- : Wow, when did Bolton rack up all these points?
- : Bolton's been in the dumps for years! Yeah! Time to bounce back!
- : Let's go all the way to the title—!
Some were stunned by the team's detailed stats.
Aaron Bench didn't hesitate to highlight it.
“In 30 games this season, our Bolton has scored a whopping 72 goals!”
That was the best among the 24 teams.
Hull City was second with 70.
Plymouth Argyle third with 66.
By now, Aaron Bench and most fans were starting to crave more.
Bench's voice rose with intensity.
“If they keep this up..., a title challenge isn't out of the question!”
Ma Jeong-woo had declared at the season's start that promotion was the goal.
But most fans now wanted something higher.
The points gap to 1st-place Hull City was just 5.
Of course, everyone knew it would be tough.
Bench furrowed his brow, speaking coolly.
“This season, we've got 1D-1L against Hull City and Plymouth Argyle.”
Those two teams were undeniably top-tier in League One.
And coincidentally, the next fixtures against Hull and Plymouth were slated for League Rounds 45 and 46.
There were other issues too.
Aaron Bench sounded a bit regretful.
“Even though we're level on points with Plymouth Argyle, the reason we're behind is simple: goal difference.”
Goals for: 72 (1st), but goals against: 50 (15th out of 24).
Bolton was strong in attack but weak in defense by comparison.
That was partly why Jeong-woo's tactics had shifted lately.
He'd ditched bolstering the weak defense for an all-out aggressive style.
Just then, Aaron Bench's eyes widened.
Jeong-woo had stepped into the mixed zone after the match and taken a seat.
* * *
Snap, snap!
Even on the road, plenty of Bolton reporters were there.
The corner of his mouth twitched upward.
‘Looks like the recognition's really kicked in.’
Compared to a few months ago, the number of reporters had nearly doubled.
In a fan poll by one outlet—among League One's 24 teams—Bolton topped popularity.
They also topped "most hated team."
And the manager fans most wanted dead? Naturally, him.
Jeong-woo suddenly furrowed his brow.
‘Who came up with that one?’
Why run a "most wanted dead manager" poll?
“Manager Ma, you've been getting results with your aggressive soccer tactics lately.”
The questions kept coming anyway.
Jeong-woo bantered back unless provoked first, tossing in jokes with a smile.
All for Charlotte Emma's sake.
But out of the ten reporters, one or two always poked.
“Manager Ma, you'll face that team in the FA Cup quarterfinals in about ten days. Not scared of revenge? Word is you haven't left the club grounds much lately. Afraid of flying rocks?”
Twitch!
The reporter smirked as he asked.
It was Leon Moses, the guy who showed up every time to bash him relentlessly.
By now, Jeong-woo saw him so often he felt like buying him lunch and punching him over potatoes.
Anyway, Jeong-woo flashed a bright smile at Moses.
“Bullshit.”
“W-what?”
“Oh, a mosquito. It was buzzing, so a curse slipped out. Bad memories with mosquitoes. I hate 'em so much I wanna shred their long snouts to bits and torture 'em.”
“Ahem...!”
“But..., Mr. Moses, your nose kinda looks like a mosquito proboscis. Huh? Why's your face turning red? Been sucking blood?”
Moses looked uncomfortable.
Some reporters stifled laughs.
But Moses didn't flare up like before.
He'd built a bit of tolerance.
‘This guy's grown a lot.’
Jeong-woo smiled proudly, like it was his doing.
Instead, Moses landed a second blow.
“The opposing coach, facing Bolton in the FA Cup quarterfinals, said this: No complacency like last time. And a personal warning: Stick to this attacking soccer against that team..., and you'll get thrashed.”
Moses chuckled and shrugged.
“Well, you'll probably just park the bus and cheat at soccer again.”
“Hmm, I see.”
Moses had ripped into him before for "bed soccer."
Lately, even without it, he kept slapping on the label.
He seemed to want it.
Wanted Bolton humiliated in the FA Cup quarterfinals.
The problem? Even without his wishes, objectively, getting crushed was likely.
‘This is gonna be a nightmare matchup.’
Jeong-woo had been mulling it over the past few days.
Their quarterfinal opponent was Manchester United—the team they'd thrashed in the friendly.
Yesterday afternoon, he'd heard Ole Gunnar Solskjaer's post-match interview after a 5-0 thrashing of Leeds United.
[No need for words. We'll show it in the FA Cup quarterfinals. Why Manchester United is the best.]
Jeong-woo scowled.
‘These bastards..., they might actually come at us for real.’
Of course, he didn't forget to wrap up with Moses.
“Mr. Moses.”
“Yes?”
“Mind if I flatten that long nose with my potato fist? Might make you look more human. Just one punch.”
* * *
Ole Gunnar Solskjaer’s eyes gleamed sharply.
They stayed glued to the tablet PC in his hands.
[Bolton Wanderers!]
[Following Owen Precise's goal, Shearer Kane blasts in another from an impossible angle to sink the opponents!]
For days now, Solskjaer had been dissecting Bolton's match footage.
‘They've definitely thickened up.’
Even in League One scraps, it was clear.
Bolton's form had noticeably improved since that friendly.
Individual quality seemed higher too.
Grind.
His teeth gnashed.
The humiliating friendly loss flashed back.
Afterward, he'd taken all kinds of flak.
‘Damn Bolton...!’
On the sofa to his right sat assistant coach Mike Phelan.
Phelan glanced at Solskjaer and spoke.
“What's the plan?”
Solskjaer knew what he meant.
For the FA Cup quarterfinal in 10 days—full strength or not?
There was a league game three days prior.
So stamina management for key players was essential.
But Solskjaer didn't care.
Objectively, even their second string could crush Bolton.
Plus, United now had a perfect double squad.
Cristiano Ronaldo was back, tearing up the scoring charts.
“No room for complacency like last time. Bolton's League One, but..., they've beaten big teams already.”
As if reading his mind, Phelan warned.
Solskjaer flinched briefly, then smirked slyly.
“I know, I know.”
He added darkly.
“Doesn't matter if they're League One..., it's the FA Cup quarterfinals.”
The Red Devils also despised Bolton more than Kop this season.
Plenty of motivation.