Chapter 42
Chapter 42
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 42
Chapter Title: Parent Club? (4)
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The first half had ended.
Although they hadn't scored, every stat showed Wigan dominating. Lowell Gardner was reasonably satisfied with how the game was unfolding.
In the second half, Wigan maintained over 70% possession.
"Rahim Strong looks like he'll score any minute now."
The assistant coach beside him spoke with a hint of anticipation on his face.
Just as he said, Rahim Strong was delivering a devastating performance against Bolton today as well.
He was like a tank.
Thwack-!
Right now, he was bulldozing the opponent's center-back purely on physical strength.
Even Dominic Shield, Bolton's top center-back, was staggering back under the pressure.
Beyond that, Wigan's players held the edge over Bolton's in every aspect of individual ability.
[Oh! Wigan! Curtis Johnston! After instep and outstep, now a Rabona feint...!]
[Bolton's flank is shaking badly!]
[Johnston's cross follows!]
Tang-!
Twaang-!
[Rahim Strong's diving header!]
[It hits the crossbar and flies high! Ah~! It goes over the dead ball line!]
Though the goal chance fell short, the Latics fans filling the stadium applauded heartily.
Coaches, including the video analyst, kept explaining from both sides.
"Quick Floyd's great at dribbling, but that's about it. Block some passing lanes with zonal marking, and you can shut him down. Hell, I'd even recommend leaving him a shooting lane on purpose. His finishing is that poor."
"Delicate's no threat without crosses. Stick a man on hiMad Dog make sure he can't even attempt a pass..."
"For Pak, just like the book says—stick close and force him wide. Like we're doing now."
As the coaches said, most of their standout players were one-trick ponies with the rest of their game scraping the bottom.
Owen couldn't thread a proper key pass once a man-marking defender latched on.
That's when Gardner's eyes caught Sensuous Ruff.
'That guy.'
A Wigan Athletic youth product, they said.
Which made him even more irritating.
A Latics reject running around in Wanderers colors, of all teams.
And then he recalled Jeong-woo's interview from the day before.
[In the end, Wigan's judgment was wrong, and Bolton's was right.]
What an absurd statement.
Getting booted from the Latics meant, for whatever reason, he lacked the talent to fit there.
At least, that's how it looked to ardent Latics fan Lowell Gardner.
It was obvious from his first-half and early second-half playstyle.
'Fundamentals are all over the place.'
Shooting, passing—everything sloppy.
First touch... Once he got it, it bounced a meter away.
Sure, his shots had some animal instinct to them, but they wouldn't work against Wigan.
The mere thought was ridiculous, fueling his anger.
'That kid scoring...?'
Then his mentor Steve Bruin's words came to mind.
'Ma's the type to pull unexpected moves. Plus... the way he casually announced the lineup the day before the game means he's got something up his sleeve.'
Bruin had added to be wary of Ma.
When his own teacher stressed it like that, Gardner couldn't help but take notice.
But now, he was utterly drained.
Wigan just couldn't score.
It wasn't a lack of finishing—it was Bolton's luck.
Wigan had already hit the post five times, the shots deflecting away.
That's when it happened.
"Looks like they're switching to a five-back?"
The assistant coach murmured, narrowing his eyes.
Sure enough, Bolton, who had been running a 4-3-3, was changing formation.
Another coach smirked.
"Our attack too fierce? So they're beefing up defense?"
"I think so too. Dropping to a back three outright, aiming for just one counter."
"They already leaned defensive in the first half... Now sitting even deeper?"
It was a familiar sight for the Wigan coaches.
Most teams facing Wigan loaded up on defense out of fear of Rahim Strong and the lethal forwards.
Still, this felt early.
Usually, they went ultra-deep around the 20-minute mark of the second half or later.
Terrified of a fatal counter after pushing forward recklessly, they settled for a draw as the safe bet.
Hoping for a lucky breakaway goal in the process.
'Weak teams like Bolton do that.'
But something felt off.
"..."
Lowell Gardner's pupils twitched uncomfortably, ever so slightly.
"What the...?"
"Huh?"
The coaches, who had been laughing moments ago, stared at the pitch with puzzled looks.
Soon, an incredulous voice slipped from Gardner's lips.
"Ten-back...?"
It was exactly that.
At the 10th minute of the second half.
Bolton switched to a ten-back formation.
And then,
Thud-!
Tweet-!
"Aaagh!"
[Chong-a Pak collides with the opponent and goes down!]
[Oh! He's rolling on the ground, rolling again, and again!]
[Referee! Halting play!]
* * *
"Bunker, Angry, Sequential Counter."
In the technical area, Jeong-woo muttered with his hands stuffed in his pockets.
Meanwhile, Chong-a tumbled across the field like a mortar shell, rolling one more loop.
He glanced over, locking eyes with the grimacing Chong-a.
Jeong-woo grinned and nodded toward him.
In that instant, Chong-a sprang up!
[Ooh! He's up! Pak! Looks like no major injury, thank goodness!]
As if the agony had never happened, Chong-a brushed the dirt off his kit.
Going ten-back was fine.
Holding the first-half positions would've left them open to a killer blow eventually.
This was a tactic they'd drilled in bits during recent training sessions.
A strategy for facing strong teams: protect the defense while eyeing counters.
But this version had a few extras added.
"Who knew this punk would pull out this strat here."
Hee-won's lip twitched now too.
Just in case, the two had ordered special training for the players over the past few weeks.
Seeing Hee-won's reaction, Jeong-woo puffed up a bit and added,
"Remember the 2018 Russia World Cup? Spain vs. Iran."
"Yeah, yeah!"
No way he wouldn't.
Iran frustrated Spain for 90 minutes with their invincible bed tactics.
"Sure, Spain won 1-0. But for Iran, it was a massive moral victory."
Meanwhile, Spain struggled with Iran's bed antics and swamp football right up to the final whistle.
Rumor had it Iniesta's hair loss got worse after that. That's what Jeong-woo was thinking.
Why not unleash Iran's psychological masterpiece on Wigan?
Simple reason.
On individual quality, Bolton trailed Wigan.
Their flanks kept getting carved open, and they weren't positioning right against the opponent's block.
"Plus, relations between Latics and Wanderers are the worst of the worst. And this is their home turf."
Wigan was desperate.
Third in the table, needing a win for automatic promotion, no playoffs.
Even without that, they had the mentality that beating Bolton was non-negotiable.
Bolton wasn't much different,
"But Bolton can afford a draw here. Even a loss once in a while. And I'm not exactly the win-at-all-costs type."
Jeong-woo continued, sounding smarter than ever.
"So we'll show them. The art of killing time against those damn Latics."
He curled his lip into a smirk.
"Otherwise known as bed football."
He added at the end,
"But we can't just park the bus. Best defense is a good offense, right? Heh."
No VAR here either.
And the players were already trained as top-notch actors.
* * *
11th minute of the second half.
Tweet-!
The ref pointed to the fourth official.
Bolton's first sub.
[Aaron Leppard off, center-back Joel Biggs coming on!]
[Whoa! Full defensive switch?]
[Feels a bit premature, though.]
Wigan manager Lowell Gardner turned his head.
Across the technical area.
Jeong-woo was chatting with the assistant coach, a smile on his face.
'What's so damn funny?'
Gardner frowned involuntarily.
Part of him found it beyond ridiculous—laughable.
'Putting on a center-back in this situation?'
Coaches around him were debating what Bolton's change meant.
To Gardner, the ploy was obvious.
He crossed his arms and spoke.
"No tactics to break here. It's exactly what it looks like."
"Exactly as it looks?"
When the assistant coach asked back, Gardner added irritably,
"Ten-back, dropping the line for counters. Throwing in another center-back to handle aerial threats."
Tall guy for high balls.
Gardner narrowed his eyes.
Bolton's defensive line was now a 5-5.
The vulgar term: double-decker bus.
Frustrating just to look at from the opponent's side.
"With numbers packed in the center of the box... They're basically saying they'll concede the wings."
When the assistant gave him a puzzled look, Gardner smirked and continued.
"They're giving up the flanks on purpose. Figured blocking them's pointless. Instead, cramming fullbacks into the middle to shrink the gaps."
In other words: Attack if you want.
I'm just gonna defend.
Just as Gardner thought.
"Just cede the flanks."
"Won't that mean endless crosses?"
Hee-won scrunched his already wrinkled face in worry.
Infinite crosses were the classic way to crack a double bus.
But Jeong-woo shrugged it off.
"Whether infinite crosses or whatever, pulling players wide to mark would hurt us more. You saw it—our fullbacks got shredded all first half by Strong and the wingers on dribbles."
Hee-won couldn't deny it.
Not tactics, but individual dribbles toyed with them, conceding cutback crosses galore.
Jeong-woo wrinkled his nose and added,
"So better to pack the box. Keep Ruff and Pak right on the halfway line for counters."
Gardner kept going.
"Of course, with Sensuous Ruff and Pak hovering just shy of halfway, counters are obvious."
To Lowell Gardner, Jeong-woo's reason for this was simple: disadvantage.
'They weren't ahead in possession, passes, shots—nothing.'
Just another desperate defensive setup everyone used against Wigan, hoping for a draw at minimum.
Leave goals to luck.
The mark of the weak.
Gardner's furrowed brow showed no sign of relaxing.
Steve Bruin had lavished praise on Jeong-woo.
More than Gardner had gotten in ten years.
But now, Gardner glared at Jeong-woo with a sharp gaze and concluded.
'This time... you're wrong.'
Gardner was confident.
Wigan had torn through such defensive walls countless times.
Twenty out of 24 teams had tried it against them.
And they had the answers.
Players were used to it too.
Just one thing overlooked.
Thwack-!
Tweet-!
[Oh! Another Bolton down!]
[Chong-a Pak again, going down in a challenge with the opponent's midfielder!]
Roll roll roll-!
[Ah! Writhing in pain, rolling across the entire field!]
[But he stops just before the touchline! Clutching his nose!]
[Wasn't it his ankle?]
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