Chapter 150
Translator: uly
Chapter: 150
Chapter Title: The Derby Spirit, (3)
Ethan Roberie was substituted off for Emmanuel Adebayor and trudged out of bounds.
In the meantime, the away Bolton Wanderers fans showered him with applause.
"Good job, Ethaaan!"
"I thought I was watching Messi out there today!"
The commentary team let out a quiet gasp of admiration.
[Ethan Roberie put on a show today that reminded us of Park Ji-sung from Korea!]
[More precisely, it was a display that perfectly captured Park Ji-sung's knack for staying on his feet!]
Ma Jeong-woo ruffled Roberie's dark hair lightly.
He didn't hold back on the praise for the kid, whose face was still flushed with excitement.
At this age, nothing beat praise and experience.
"You fucking nailed it."
That single phrase sent Roberie's twitching lips curving up so wide they nearly split.
At the same time, Ma Jeong-woo narrowed his eyes with force and stared straight at the nearby broadcast camera.
'You watching, brother Hosep?'
Meanwhile, Burnley's manager, Sean Dyche, swept his uncomfortable gaze across the pitch and the adjacent technical area.
"Acting like they've already won."
The assistant coach chimed in, clearly displeased.
Just as he said, Ma Jeong-woo was now chatting amiably with the assistant coach and the other staff, a smile on his face, as he watched the match.
And it was genuine.
Ma Jeong-woo tilted his head cockily and asked the veteran analyst, Neil Rose.
"What's the famous food around Burnley in Lancashire?"
"Hmm, if we're talking the closest spot from Turf Moor, it'd have to be fish and chips, the classic British fast food...!"
"Skip the fish and chips. Anyway, if we win today, let's grab a quick team dinner with the coaches. Send the players home first separately."
Anyone watching that scene might mistake him for just another spectator.
Of course, Dyche thought twice about it.
'It could be a mask to fool me.'
He might be smiling now, but who knew if he wasn't plotting his next tactic with that grin.
After all, wasn't this the manager who'd pulled off unique changes like the card section against Manchester United?
But even just the smile furrowed Dyche's brow.
'We're only down by one goal...!'
For now, though, Manager Ma had achieved one of his goals.
Testing Ethan Roberie.
Inversely, he'd been toyed with by that young academy kid's trial run.
The Burnley players on the pitch were just as flustered by Roberie's unexpected performance.
But with Chris Wood's chase-down goal, the momentum had shifted dramatically.
'Their energy's surging...!'
There were still over 13 minutes left until full time.
Add stoppage time, and it might be 15 minutes or more.
Dyche licked his lips nervously.
Even as he did, he was mapping out possibilities for an equalizer—or even a winner—based on their responses.
'4-2-4!'
That meant they were bulking up the attack instead of sitting back defensively, aiming to score like before.
'Or maybe pressing high up front to squeeze us.'
Either way, it left them vulnerable at the back.
'Emmanuel Adebayor's work rate is bottom-tier.'
He barely ran more than 4km on average, practically glued to the front line.
In other words, zero defensive contribution.
Even in midfield, they only had two bodies.
'One's Owen Fresais...!'
Owen lacked any real defensive chops.
This was a golden opportunity, plain and simple.
'They think it's a derby, so they have to go all out!'
Dyche had analyzed him from League One days and respected Ma's talent.
But today, he'd spotted something new.
Tactical skill, sure—but still a rookie.
swayed by derby emotions.
'Lacking experience! Manager Ma's misjudgment!'
Grab the midfield and devour them...!
"Huh?"
Dyche couldn't finish the thought.
He'd assumed Bolton's 4-2-4 base meant aggressive attacking.
But it was a misread.
The commentary team sounded puzzled, then baffled.
[Oh, Bolton Wanderers! I thought they'd ramp up the firepower with Adebayor up top...!]
[Wrong. The whole Bolton team's dropped below the halfway line... and parked a double bus!]
Ma Jeong-woo checked the time on the scoreboard and slyly curled his lip.
"Figure 15 minutes including stoppage... plenty of time."
With that, his gaze shifted to the pitch.
Precisely to the front of that double bus—the left edge, where Adebayor stood like a winger.
The guy was rooted at the touchline, barely moving.
Ma Jeong-woo flashed a wicked grin at the sight.
"The true essence of derby spirit? Breaking their fucking mentality."
Second half, 35th minute.
Thud-!
Burnley's striker Jay Rodriguez received the ball at the center circle.
Twitch.
But he couldn't push it forward right away.
His cheek just twitched instead.
"These bastards...!"
In his line of sight, Bolton's field players had switched to zonal marking.
Five across, zigzagging to shield the defense—no gaps to exploit.
To break it, switch play to shake them up.
Or individual dribbling to pry open seams.
Sadly, Burnley lacked anyone elite at forward dribbling.
Most were tall, relying on physicality and running.
Still, Rodriguez tried a direct run.
He had the best ball control on the team, after all.
'Aim for the flank...!'
The middle looked too cramped.
Better to draw eyes wide by taking it sideline himself.
Thwack-!
He barely advanced a few steps before staggering from a shoulder barge.
And lost the ball.
"Damn it!"
Rodriguez didn't fully go down, though.
He gritted his teeth and charged again.
At the hulking Adebayor.
Thump-!
Adebayor, back to him, shoved him off again with just a shoulder nudge.
"What's this fly buzzing around?"
The Burnley players tensed up immediately.
Rodriguez had peeled off, opening space for Adebayor to surge down the flank.
And on Adebayor's right flank waited Prodigy Park, the Championship's speed demon.
Veteran center-back James Tarkowski hurriedly adjusted the line.
"Berg! Cover the right flank! Jack! Don't push up—drop back and hold position...?"
But the last words trailed off like smoke wisping away.
His pupils shook with confusion.
Adebayor hadn't gone forward—instead, he'd casually dribbled toward Bolton's own corner flag.
Strolling like he was out for a walk.
Backing up to the corner flag, Adebayor flashed pearly whites and said,
"Gotta save energy. Ain't premature like someone said."
That was the start.
Bolton unleashed their infinite-bed standing soccer.
* * *
Second half, 38th minute.
Thud, thud, clang-!
With the opponent dropping the line deep, Burnley pushed theirs up.
Instead of patiently circulating, they went for long-range shots on Dyche's orders when space dried up.
Thud-!
Of course, Burnley maximized aerial threat over mid-range, so Bolton keeper Bajunou scooped it up easily.
Rather than launching long, he rolled it lightly left.
Gary Todd took it and shuffled with the ball to the left corner flag edge.
"Press, press, PRESS-!"
Sean Dyche's face beet-red, he bellowed.
Three forwards swarmed, joined by a fourth two seconds later, encircling Gary Todd.
Kicks flew in right away.
Thud, thwack, thwack, thump!
The physical beast Gary Todd stuck his butt out, kept the ball hugging the line, and held firm.
But even he couldn't fend off four forever.
Enraged, Jay Rodriguez dove in with a studs-up tackle between his legs—only for Todd to subtly pull the ball inside.
Thud-!
Tweet-!
The ball ricocheted off Rodriguez's toe, out over the goal line.
It kept repeating just like that.
The commentary team muttered in disbelief.
[No sign Bolton wants to build attacks anymore!]
[They're not even crossing halfway!]
Naturally, the trailing side grew frantic and furious as time ticked.
At Turf Moor, home to the Clarets, the abuse rained down.
"You fucking cunts-!"
"Go die!"
Trash started pouring from the stands.
Second half, 41st minute.
On Dyche's call, Burnley probed deeper into Bolton territory.
They even stationed one or two to seal the flanks.
'These fucking pricks...!'
His gut churned.
But it wouldn't settle.
Thud-!
[Bajunou! Links it to Dominic Shield right in front!]
[Oh! Shield! Not lobbing forward, but short to Gary Todd nearby!]
[Jay Rodriguez closes fast, but...!]
Thud-!
[Ah, Todd! Back to Prodigy Park!]
Thwoomp-!
Prodigy Park received on the left half and lunged forward—Burnley defenders flinched.
Aftermath of conceding behind their backs all first half.
But soon they scowled.
Thud-!
Park feinted forward, then back-passed.
"Fuckaaa!"
Rodriguez hopped in place, venting rage.
Adebayor took it and parked by the corner flag again. He was practically glued to it now.
He thought to himself,
'Still gotta run 1km for pride...'
Second half, 43rd minute: Owen Fresais unleashed a surprise long-range rocket from halfway.
Keeper pushed up—he'd spotted it and struck on instinct.
Ma Jeong-woo's instruction, too.
Keep 'em guessing; don't just recycle in our half or they'll adapt and exploit.
"Huhk-!"
Burnley's keeper panicked, stumbled back, fell ass-over, but leaped with all he had.
Thwack-!
His fingertip barely clawed the dipping shot off the bar.
Splash!
He lost balance and crashed butt-first into the net instead of the ball.
The commentary team shouted.
[Bolton finally earns a corner!]
[Will they attack this time?]
Just two Bolton players stayed in their box—the rest flooded Burnley's.
But predictably:
Thud-!
Prodigy Park took Owen Fresais's corner pass and backed right to the flag.
Infuriated, Jay Rodriguez charged like a bulldozer and speared in.
Crack-!
"Oof!"
Splash-!
Park went down serene as ever—like sinking into a Simmons mattress, straight as a board.
Roll—
Eyes peacefully shut, he tumbled into the pitch interior.
The ref yanked a yellow for Rodriguez without hesitation.
Just like that, four-plus minutes vanished.
Out of nowhere, Adebayor called to the touchline,
"Hey! How many kays have I run?"
The analyst replied,
"0.4km!"
Ma Jeong-woo chimed in.
"Still, hit the showers. Burnley's footing the water bill. Might as well enjoy it."