Chapter 142
Translator: uly
Chapter: 142
Chapter Title: Start (5)
Black-Haired Tactical Genius
Chapter 142 Start (5)
3 minutes into the second half.
The commentary team shouted with heated expressions.
[Bolton Wanderers! They're a team that just got promoted from League One...! But they're putting on performance after performance that's impossible to believe from a freshly promoted side!]
[And among them, Gary Todd! This guy's a player who was released by Manchester United! But the way he's moving today is anything but ordinary!]
[More astonishing to me is how he's completely transformed into a center-back like it's his natural position!]
In the early and mid stages of the first half, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say Fulham held the attacking initiative.
Amad Diallo, right winger Bobby Decordova-Reid, and central attacking midfielder Tom Cairney kept pushing forward relentlessly.
But the finishes were always lacking.
They couldn't create proper shooting chances, often just wandering around in Bolton's half before losing the ball or squandering opportunities.
The key to blunting their attacks was none other than Gary Todd.
"Crazy... this, no... what the hell...!"
Beside him, assistant coach Tom Witts was now sputtering incoherently, on the verge of a meltdown.
His expression was one of sheer shock.
Marco Silva was just as bewildered.
'Gary Todd...!'
He'd heard the rough details from the media.
Bolton had signed the Manchester United castoff on a free transfer.
The reason for the signing had spread like wildfire.
It was something Bolton's manager Ma had mentioned directly in his personal mansion.
[Whether Manchester United meant to or not, they're blocking our signings. And in the midst of that, they puked up a gem. So we snatched it right up.]
Marco Silva had dismissed it at the time.
He knew the gem referred to Gary Todd, but he hadn't taken it seriously.
'No, not just me...!'
There had been a few articles about Gary Todd due to his Manchester United connection.
And the consensus was that he was a promising talent derailed by injury—nothing more, nothing less.
So Silva hadn't cared even when Gary Todd was named in the starting lineup. Manchester United themselves had given up on him, after all.
But it had been a mistake.
5 minutes into the second half.
Thwack-!
Center-back Dominic Shields headed away a long ball rising from the opponent's center circle.
Gary Todd chest-trapped the ball that dropped a few meters ahead and immediately spun around.
That's when it started.
Thoom-!
As Todd turned, he exploded forward, crumpling the pitch beneath him like it was paper.
"Where do you think you're going!"
At the same time, attacking midfielder Tom Cairney, right on top of him, lunged in from the left flank with a standing tackle.
"Uwoooo!"
Wham-!
"Eeeek?!"
But before Cairney's toes could even graze the roughly rolling ball, Todd let out his signature guttural roar and swatted him away with his arm.
The commentators jumped up from their seats, yelling.
[Gary Todddd-!]
[He's charging forward like a tank, advance after advance-!]
[Where'd Tom Cairney go who rushed in? My God! He's vanished in an instant! Did the earth swallow him whole?!]
If you looked closely, his bulldozing style even evoked peak Yaya Touré.
* * *
[Unbelievable moment!]
[We thought Fulham had the edge in the early and mid first half... but no!]
[It feels like Bolton deliberately let Fulham push up their line, conceding specific spaces!]
[Wait, why?]
[It means they trust Gary Todd and the rest of the defense that much! In other words, let the opponent expend more energy early and drain their stamina!]
"...Bullshit...!"
Ole Gunnar Solskjær, watching the match live from his office, spat out a short curse.
Solskjær refused to believe it.
'Anyone can see Fulham's build-up has been more threatening...!'
But his face had been flushed red and purple for a while now.
And for good reason—the player he'd released was stealing the show in central defense, more than anyone.
Intentionally or not, as the commentators said, Fulham's attacks were being shut down at every turn.
[Manchester United... this looks like a mistake...!]
Beep-!
Solskjær just turned off the TV.
* * *
22 minutes had flown by in the second half.
Both teams were still locked in a 0-0 stalemate.
But the fans' reactions were shifting.
The Cottagers, brimming with victory confidence at kickoff, were now growing anxious.
They whispered among themselves.
"Aren't they overpacing too much?"
"I think so too. They pushed way too hard early on...!"
Some even looked disappointed in Marco Silva's early stamina-draining tactic.
Meanwhile, the Wanderers were now belting out chants, calling for victory.
Players like Amad Diallo, who'd sprinted repeatedly from the early first half, were visibly fatigued.
"Hah, hah...!"
Diallo especially had been battered endlessly by Gary Todd, draining his energy completely.
From mid-second half, he was struggling to react to through balls.
Ma Jeong-woo, now settled in a folding chair with narrowed eyes, scanned the pitch meticulously.
'Fulham's 4-2-3-1...'
They'd stuck to that formation from start to finish.
It was Marco Silva's signature, after all.
'They've had some success with it, sure.'
The heart of the 4-2-3-1 was the central attacking midfielder.
When in possession, that No. 10 faced several options.
A lofted or ground pass into the channels where striker Mitrović was peeling off.
Or a side pass to the wide wingers stretching the flanks.
Or a surprise long-range shot for a speculative goal.
Even without scoring, it didn't matter much.
Just the mid-range threat forced opposing defenders to mark the attacking midfielder as dangerous.
But Ma Jeong-woo cut through it bluntly.
"Impossible right now, heh heh."
His lips curled slyly.
"For that attacking midfielder to thrive, the double pivot has to function first."
Park Hee-won nodded along with his sharp, subtly piercing gaze.
His eyes were so narrow they sometimes looked closed even normally.
"The double pivot has to shield the back four while ferrying the ball to the attacking midfielder or threading straight passes."
"Right you are."
The 4-2-3-1 was built for exactly that.
But the Fulham double pivot Ma Jeong-woo was watching wasn't functioning properly.
From mid-second half, he'd ordered pressure all the way up front.
27 minutes into the second half.
Thud-!
"Urk!"
Fulham's defensive midfielder João Palhinha wobbled in front of the back four.
The moment he got the ball, Bolton's Frank Gerrard swarmed him like a moth to a flame.
Petite in build, Palhinha didn't fall but only staggered, his face twisting in real time.
Poke, poke, thwack, press-!
Gerrard body-checked him relentlessly, not once but over and over.
Even with arms outstretched to shield, Palhinha's mind was reeling.
Conversely, Gerrard fed off Palhinha's shaky responses, gaining momentum.
He recalled Ma Jeong-woo's mentoring.
'Honestly, you've got the work rate and pressing down pat... but this physicality just doesn't hold up. What can you do? There's that Korean saying: No tree survives ten chops. Just keep hacking away.'
Ma Jeong-woo had added that with his stamina and tenacity, he could hack more than ten times.
And Gerrard saw it.
Palhinha's side opening up more and more without a breath.
Palhinha missed his passing window, forced into a backward pass instead of side or forward.
Swoosh-!
Frank Gerrard pounced instantly on the ball rolling to Fulham center-back Tosin Adarabioyo.
"Huh!"
Thwack-!
Adarabioyo, panicked, could only boot it long the moment he received it.
Ma Jeong-woo chuckled dryly.
"Plain and simple, we've dried them up. Overpace plus severed attacking flow—it's all twisted up now."
Palhinha was practically blocked by the advanced Frank Gerrard.
On top of that, Gerrard pressed relentlessly deep in the defensive midfield.
While he pushed up, David de Gea—no, David Dignity? Wait, probably a player—shifted more defensively.
Fulham's other defensive midfielder, Michaël Seri, was equally locked down.
Park Hee-won was grinning now.
"Pak's charging so hard they can't even think of pushing up?"
As he said, left forward star Pak had dropped to the halfway line before bursting lines repeatedly with his signature sprints.
Early first half, Pak had stayed high to conserve energy.
Not anymore.
Ma Jeong-woo flashed white teeth.
'There's fun in chipping away bit by bit.'
Gary Todd and the center-backs had pinned Diallo and the other attackers.
Same now.
Thud-!
Michaël Seri finally threaded forward for the first time in a while.
And shouted.
"Amad! Get in there...!"
But Seri deflated instantly.
He'd slipped it into the left channel where Diallo usually exploited, but Diallo hesitated and slowed.
"No, why?!"
Seri voiced his frustration and confusion loud enough for Ma Jeong-woo in the technical area to hear.
Ma Jeong-woo answered for him.
"Why? Tired's secondary... he's spooked."
Ma Jeong-woo's pupils rolled lazily.
Toward Gary Todd, who'd closed right in on Diallo's nose.
Todd, a head taller—no, more—loomed, completely shadowing Diallo's frame.
Just before, Diallo's shoulders had hunched defensively.
Ma Jeong-woo saw more.
Fulham attackers failing to track lofted passes from deep, unlike early first half.
All of them mouths agape, heaving ragged breaths.
And Ma Jeong-woo was certain.
"Now a nudge will topple them, so time to pass. Tell Adebayor to warm up."
"Okay!"
Park Hee-won grinned like he'd been waiting, signaling Emmanuel Adebayor.
* * *
With the players gassed, pressure on Owen eased naturally.
From mid-second half on, Bolton had pushed their line up, pressing Fulham—not an exaggeration.
Naturally, Ma Jeong-woo instructed Owen.
Creep forward now.
39 minutes into the second half.
Owen stepped onto the halfway line.
Around him, Gary Todd, Dominic Shields, and Joel Bixx positioned like a triangular wall.
Thwish-!
With the barrier set, Owen whipped in a low, vicious left-footed cross arrowing to the box.
Thwack-!
Subbed on at 38 minutes, Emmanuel Adebayor arched back dramatically, smashing a header off the momentum.
Clang-!
Seeing the net billow violently behind the post, Adebayor threw his arms wide and roared.
"I, Am King!"
The Wanderers leaped up as one, roaring back.
Yes! You're the king~!