Chapter 40
Chapter 40
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 40
Chapter Title: Hometown Team? (2)
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Wigan Athletic was currently sitting in third place.
But there was no doubt they needed to go all out in their remaining matches.
They trailed first-place Sunderland by five points.
Second-place Hull City was just two points ahead.
They were also only two points ahead of fourth-place Portsmouth.
The EFL League One system granted automatic promotion to the top two teams.
Third through sixth place battled it out in the playoffs for the final spot.
As such, Wigan was aiming for a perfect run of wins in their remaining games.
The Latics—Wigan's supporters—felt exactly the same way.
The good news was that all their leftover fixtures were against bottom-table sides.
- : Bolton—Shrewsbury Town—Swindon, and then Tranmere Rovers..., we'd have to try to lose these.
- : Of those, Bolton's the trickiest. Not that I consider them rivals anymore.
: We definitely had our rivalry days. But not anymore. Bolton's a bottom-feeder that belongs in League One. We're a Championship side now—hell, we're on our way back to the EPL!
The Latics' pride was something else.
They treated Bolton like a lower-class opponent more than anyone.
It was only natural.
The two clubs had bickered over standings for years.
And the Latics were convinced.
In Round 43 of the league, they'd crush Bolton at their home ground, the DW Stadium.
They were already used to the slaughter.
Especially in the last five meetings with Bolton, Wigan had four wins and a draw.
Two of those victories were high-scoring blowouts.
4-1, 5-1 scores.
* * *
One evening in Greater Manchester, Northwest England.
A man who had been downing his beer at an outdoor table suddenly shot to his feet and bellowed.
"Of course it's Wigan!"
The man, half his face buried in a beard, was Ian Brittan.
He was a die-hard Latics supporter.
He threw his back like a bowstring and spat as he shouted.
"You remember the 2005-2006 season? Our first year up! We were a goddamn whirlwind! Freshly promoted, we knocked Arsenal out of the Carabao Cup and made the final! Tenth in the league! Makes sense, right? Huh?!"
Ian Brittan was already nicely drunk.
"Come on! If I'm right, raise your glasses!"
At his cry, about half the people at the outdoor tables thrust their glasses high.
"Damn right!"
"Yes! My beloved Latics!"
"The Latics are the kings of Greater Manchester!"
All of them wearing that glory-drunk look from back then.
Then, as one, they gulped down their beers.
This was Greater Manchester.
The western edge, right by the River Douglas.
In other words, Latics territory.
"Arrrgh—!"
Brittan drained his cold pint in one go, then turned his glass upside down over his head and shook it.
As he did, he yelled.
"For the great Latics!"
He led the chant, and the crowd threw their arms wide and echoed him back.
"For the great Latics!"
A skinny guy at the opposite table, who had been staring, let out a smirk.
Brittan looked down at his childhood friend, Sam Wellun, with smug satisfaction.
Then he narrowed his eyes fiercely.
"Sam! What do you think of our Latics' burning passion?! Doesn't it set your whole body on fire? Huh?! So come back to us. Feel the Latics' hot heart again! Give that damn Bolton to the dogs!"
Sam Wellun let his lips droop and shook his head slowly.
"You lot are like..., wild and..., fierce sea, swimming in the Atlantic..."
Brittan hung on every word from Sam Wellun.
His lips twitched.
He figured it was praise.
But you should hear people out to the end.
"Dumbasses."
"What?"
"Swim in the fierce Atlantic and you die. That's why you're dumbasses."
Brittan's eyes bulged.
Sam Wellun was pretty drunk too by now.
And eight years ago, he'd left Wigan for Bolton.
They'd kept up their friendship in bits and pieces since, but Sam had become a Wanderer in the meantime.
Maybe it was the booze.
Brittan vented his pent-up rage.
"You traitor who abandoned Wigan!"
"Better than Wigan."
"Why Bolton?"
"History-wise, Wigan doesn't measure up. Just look at FA Cups—we've got four, you've got one!"
Sam Wellun spread four fingers wide and grinned.
He added,
"You Wigan lot should stick to rugby. Football's not your thing anyway."
Wigan was a rugby town too.
Now Brittan's face was beet red, ready to explode.
"And Bolton?"
"What about them?"
"No football pedigree, stuck out in the sticks. And you're still sweating relegation? We're basically promoted already! Ha!"
Soccer drives wedges between friends sometimes.
Especially if they're hardcore supporters of rival teams. Every damn time.
And so, after bickering like this for a while, the two shared a thick embrace of friendship.
"You sneaky bastard! The Latics will judge you, you turncoat!"
Thwack—!
"Ugh!"
Fed up, Brittan swept the table aside with his hand and kicked Wellun square in the gut.
That was the moment.
"Wooo! Latics forever!"
"The Wanderers are down! Get him!"
"Latics forever!"
"Wanderers...! Assemble! Raaah!"
A fierce brawl erupted between the Latics and the Wanderers mixed in among them.
* * *
The day before the match.
Lowell Gardner was the current Wigan Athletic manager.
He had taken the Latics' helm last season and ignited their promotion push.
So far, it was going well.
With only a five-point gap to first, four straight wins could even make them champions.
But right now, he was forcing down his discomfort.
"Some say Wigan has the edge in the race. Unlike Hull City or Sunderland, your remaining opponents are all bottom feeders. Those two even face off in the finale..., on paper alone, your side looks favored."
Sitting crookedly across from the thirty-four-year-old Gardner was a sharp-faced middle-aged man from a tough life.
Steve Bruin, manager of Gillingham.
He lounged against the sofa back, stroking his thick beard out of habit as he muttered.
"It's just baseless guesswork, ignoring head-to-heads or derbies. Pure machine logic."
"I agree."
"Then it's settled. Don't get complacent."
Bruin narrowed his keen eyes.
Lowell Gardner forced a smile.
Steve Bruin had been his mentor.
Back when Bruin managed in the Championship, Gardner had learned tactics as a player-coach by his side.
"Your last four games are all crucial, but..., watch out for Bolton right now."
Bruin stared straight at Gardner as he pointed it out.
Gardner's eyes twitched faintly beneath.
As a Latics man himself, he hadn't acknowledged Bolton as a rival in recent years.
"You're right. Bolton's the problem."
With his mentor saying it, he pretended to agree. But Bruin smirked wryly and pressed further.
He knew his pupil's personality.
"Why do you think so?"
Gardner had faced Bolton before.
Early in the season.
Wigan had beaten Derek Scott's Bolton 5-1 with Gardner's unorthodox tactics.
Bruin brought it up and continued.
"After that win, people said Bolton's no longer Wigan's rival. Not just Latics—most folks. Even some Wanderers."
On the League One table, Wigan and Bolton were polar opposites.
By the standings alone, no cause for worry.
So Gardner truly believed there was zero issue.
And his mentor, Steve Bruin, saw right through his pupil's misplaced confidence.
Bruin flashed white teeth in a grin.
"You Latics think it's a sure win."
"Yes..."
This time, Gardner didn't deny it.
No matter what anyone said, the Latics were leagues above the Wanderers.
"Our form proves it."
"Form's just numbers."
"Even if it's numbers, soccer and all sports prove their place with rankings."
"Can't argue that."
With the ice broken, Gardner spoke with a touch of resentment.
"Why is that? Ma's just a rookie manager who barely grabbed the reins. So why rate him so highly?"
Bruin caught the flicker of inferiority in his pupil's eyes, gone in a flash.
Mixed with a bit of jealousy.
Just as he thought—Gardner envied Bolton, and the man leading them, Jeong-woo.
'Why him?'
He'd grown as a coach under Steve Bruin for years.
Then gone independent and lifted Wigan to this point.
Yet Bruin had never once praised him.
In the last few days, though, Bruin had heaped praise on Jeong-woo.
Not your average guy.
A quirky club owner with tactical chops.
That was when.
"Because he's an outstanding manager."
"An outstanding... manager?"
Gardner's eyes twitched again.
Bruin ignored it.
"Not just spot-on squad rotation—he analyzes and dismantles opponent tactics. Even in our Gillingham match, he cracked my high line."
It wasn't exploiting a gap.
Bruin put it bluntly.
"He created a gap out of thin air with tactics. Through that split-second opening, Bolton hit the counter. Plenty hailed Owen Pressais and Quick Floyd for it."
Naturally.
From the crowd's view, Floyd had dribbled dozens of yards, dragging defenders.
Then Owen ripped a screamer from distance.
But from a manager's perspective, the whole sequence was strategy.
The two players hit those fluid, precise spots because teammates filled their roles.
To Bruin, it was a split-second, but perfectly meshed gears.
At least in Steve Bruin's eyes.
"In the end..., Ma made it happen."
Gardner was a bit shocked.
His strict, high-standards mentor acknowledging someone like this.
Over a decade, all he'd gotten were half-hearted "good jobs."
It pissed him off more.
He hated this Jeong-woo guy he'd never even met—even beyond Latics loyalty.
"I'll admit it. He's decent enough as a manager. So I won't sleepwalk into it thinking he's just playing coach."
"Good. Approach the game with that mindset."
"Yes."
Gardner forced a smile.
Meanwhile, on the TV screen in the corner of the office, a familiar face fielded reporters' questions.
[We know Wigan's strong. But we're no pushovers.]
[Do you see Owen Pressais scoring against Wigan, like he did vs. GillinghaMad Dog Lincoln?]
[I don't see why not. Owen's two feet are top-tier in League One.]
Jeong-woo brimmed with confidence still.
He rattled off Totter Pak, Aaron Lepid, Quick Floyd too.
Listening closely, he was calling every starter and bench option useful.
On top of that,
[Sensuous Ruff starts tomorrow. A former Latics man visiting the DW as a Wanderer.]
Faint murmurs of surprise from the reporters filtered through the speakers.
Most managers don't reveal lineups so openly.
Wasn't it leaking strategy?
Unless it was a lock.
And Sensuous Ruff was controversial heading into the Wigan clash.
Roots in the Latics, just like Jeong-woo said.
Then Jeong-woo smirked slyly.
[Guy got booted from Wigan youth, now back with the rivals—kinda like a prodigal son. As his manager, it's a little satisfying. Anyway, hope the Latics give their old teammate a warm welcome. If they hurl abuse instead, that's fine too. Sensuous will feel more vindicated than sorry after scoring. Plus..., it proves Wigan's eyes were wrong, and Bolton's were right.]
Jeong-woo fanned the flames of controversy through the interview.
Steve Bruin glanced at him, then back to Gardner.
He eyed him with sudden curiosity, like he'd spotted something fun.
'This game's gonna be a brawl.'
Gardner wasn't looking at him.
Instead, he was boring holes into the smugly grinning Jeong-woo on screen.
Eyes burning fierce.
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