Chapter 97
Chapter 97
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 97
Chapter Title: Bolton Wanderers Here (7)
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Beeeep-!
[Owen—! Gooooal! It's a goal!]
[Following his right foot, now with his left! He slots it low into the left post for another goal!]
[What a pinpoint shot into the corner!]
The commentators let out a stream of exclamations.
[Incredible! Owen's performance in these first 10 minutes of the first half is enough to catch the eye of Sunderland's Corey Johnson!]
[And on top of that, he's converted every penalty kick this season...!]
“Arrrgh!”
Owen, having bagged a multi-goal tally early in the match, let out a mighty roar.
Shearer Kane, Pak, and the other players rushed over and piled on him in a group hug.
“Now go for the hat-trick! Yeah?”
Bolton's captain, David Dignity, grabbed Owen's flushed face with both hands and shouted.
Just 10 minutes into the first half, and the Wanderers were bouncing around like they'd already won the league.
In stark contrast, the Black Cats all wore faces like they'd been struck by disaster.
“Oh, my God...! What the hell is going on...!”
A teenage boy near the fence muttered in a pose straight out of Munch's The Scream.
Twenty minutes had flown by in the first half.
But Sunderland's players still couldn't find their rhythm.
They'd conceded two goals early on—to a side everyone rated as the underdog, no less.
“Get your heads in the game!”
Sunderland's center-back and captain, Bailey Wright, clapped his hands, focusing on rallying his teammates.
But even he was just as rattled.
Thwack-!
[Paack-!]
In the blink of an eye, Pak had slipped in behind him.
‘He's insanely fast!’
It was a speed Bailey Wright couldn't match on the same line.
He knew the guy was quick, but seeing it up close was beyond imagination.
[Oh! Pak! The touch was a bit heavy this time! The ball sails out beyond the dead ball line!]
Fortunately, Pak didn't hold onto the ball often.
But whenever he did, sirens blared in Wright's head.
‘Out of all the players I've faced, this guy's speed has to be the best...?’
Add Owen Precise's pinpoint passing to the mix, and it was a nightmare for Sunderland's defenders.
That's why Wright had dropped back to mark Pak.
Then, at the 24th minute of the first half.
Twitch.
Bailey Wright's face twisted uncomfortably.
The commentators, stretching their necks to watch, soon spotted Bolton's shift and raised their voices.
[Oh! Bolton Wanderers! They're already dropping deep and parking the bus!]
[Bed football in the making?]
[More like mud-wrestling football!]
Just as the commentators said, Bolton had suddenly lowered their line.
But it wasn't just sitting back—if Sunderland possessed the ball and invaded a certain zone, they'd swarm in and rough them up without fail.
The excited commentators added,
[It looks like Bolton's manager is exploiting Sunderland's current predicament! With a two-goal lead, he's minimizing risk, dragging them into a slog to rile up the players!]
One of the Black Cats pundits shot back immediately.
[But the opponent's Sunderland! I think they'll break through somehow. Look—even now, Bolton's pulled their last defensive line up a bit to avoid penalties, focusing purely on defense, right?]
* * *
Corey Johnson couldn't hide his discomfort.
“Damn it! Already switching to defensive football?”
Bolton had lately been praised for their attacking style.
Deep down, Johnson had hoped they'd stick to it against Sunderland for the full match.
That way, his team could exploit the space behind more often.
But right after going two up, Bolton dropped their line.
They kept their center of gravity central and slightly low, minimizing even penalty risks.
And that wasn't all.
Early in the first half, Pak had been relentlessly penetrating the box nonstop.
Now he was down by the center circle.
Instead of driving forward upon receiving the ball, he just nudged it around a few times.
Thud-!
Then he pinged a back pass, teasing Sunderland's players.
“Pak, Shearer, Gerard, and Dignity—they're all slotted in between our players.”
The assistant coach noted from beside him.
Just as he said, Shearer Kane and Pak had taken up positions on Sunderland's flanks, with the half-line as the formation's pivot.
David Dignity and Frank Gerard lurked below, swarming like moths to a flame whenever a Sunderland player got the ball.
Yet they constantly shuffled to spots perfect for receiving back passes from Shearer Kane and Pak.
“The back four... they're protecting the zones...”
And now an offside trap to boot.
Owen was just above the back four, shielded by Cole Palmer.
“Fuck...!”
A curse slipped from Corey Johnson's lips.
No wonder he felt pissed.
Not only had they gifted two early goals in the first half, but Bolton was killing the tempo too.
On the flip side, he had to admit Bolton's manager was clever.
‘He's really grinding their gears...!’
It was clearly a ploy to draw out Sunderland's impatience.
At the 32nd minute of the first half.
Thump-!
“Urk!”
Sunderland midfielder Jack Diamond, upon gaining possession, tried to surge forward but suddenly lurched right.
In a flash, David Dignity had thrown himself into the tackle.
Screech-!
Diamond barely regained balance, twisting his planted right foot to hold firm, but Dignity kept pressing in like he was burrowing into his pocket.
Their arms even tangled in the process.
Tweeeet-!
The ref finally blew for a foul.
At the 35th minute of the first half.
As striker Aidan McGeady barreled forward on a mazy dribble, Frank Gerard shouldered into him.
Thud, thump, thump-!
“You crazy bastard!”
Aidan McGeady spat curses as Gerard rammed his shoulder into him not once, but repeatedly.
His balance crumbled, and he was gradually shoved wide to the right channel.
At the 39th minute of the first half.
Thwack-!
Sunderland's playmaker Dave Phillips spotted a pocket of space for once and threaded a straight pass into it.
‘Got it—!’
Aidan McGeady, who had shifted to the left channel, exploded into a sprint and latched onto the ball right then.
Thump-!
But full-back Delicate launched himself froMad Dogiagonal angle, bundling McGeady out over the touchline in that instant.
“You fucking shithead!”
McGeady finally snapped, bellowing curses as he was pushed all the way to the advertising boards.
The game paused briefly amid the player clashes.
Clench-!
Corey Johnson's fists tightened on his thighs.
It was as expected, but Bolton's play was dirtier than anticipated.
“Those goddamn scum...!”
With the back four refusing to yield any box space, the game's tempo naturally died.
And just as Corey Johnson predicted, his Sunderland players were growing increasingly frustrated.
* * *
Bolton's mud-wrestling continued into the second half.
They even racked up stoppages with smart fouls.
Sunderland attackers would advance only to slip and sit or lose the ball under rough pressure.
But the ref held off on cards.
Bolton was only inducing long-range free kicks outside danger areas.
Plus, today's ref was lenient on fouls.
At this point, Corey Johnson was convinced.
“They've drilled that in practice?”
No way they could pull off those intelligent fouls repeatedly without practice.
Thump-!
Crash-!
Tweeeet-!
[Oh! David Dignity! He finally picks up a yellow card!]
In the process, David Dignity earned a booking after two verbal warnings.
Still, Corey Johnson's mood didn't lighten.
The score stayed 2-0 through 20 minutes of the second half.
But he clung to hope.
‘Just one goal, one goal...!’
One goal, and they could turn it around.
In the first half, his players had looked lost with the two-goal deficit, but they'd regrouped by the second.
Sunderland dominated possession in the second half too.
They just hadn't converted chances against the pressure.
‘And the cards are piling up!’
With repeated pressure, Bolton now had to watch their bookings.
Dignity's pressing had eased right after his yellow, hadn't it?
Others had warnings too.
Then, at the 24th minute of the second half.
Splash-!
[Goooooal-!]
[Aidan McGeeeeeady—!]
[Dave Phillips threads it through the gap, McGeady bursts between the center-backs, and just dabs it in with his right foot!]
After Corey Johnson's desperate wish, Sunderland finally broke their goal drought.
“Yes-!”
Johnson let out a small roar.
That was the turning point.
Just as he'd predicted, Sunderland's momentum surged.
* * *
Beeeep-!
[Oh! Sunderland! Dave Phillips with a screamer from distance—!]
Ting-!
[Bolton's keeper, Screech, stretches out his left foot desperately and deflects it!]
[Corner to Sunderland!]
At the 30th minute of the second half.
Thwang-!
[Aidan McGeady's crooooss—!]
Thud-!
[Dominic Shield heads it clear...!]
[Oh, the deflection falls to Sunderland midfielder Jack Diamond of all people...!]
Thwang-!
[Diamond's shooooot—!]
Twaaaang-!
[The ball crashes off Bolton's crossbar and flies high! It just clears the line—Bolton survives!]
“Fuck!”
After blowing two chances in seconds, Corey Johnson cursed in frustration.
But unlike before, his face was flushed with heat.
Just as predicted, right after the goal, Sunderland had seized complete control.
Just two minutes later, the £9 million (14.4 billion KRW) man Aidan McGeady unleashed a vicious inside shot.
Twaaaang-!
The commentators, eyes wide, jumped up in dismay.
[Oh! It clips the base of the post and deflects away!]
[Bolton escape twice thanks to the woodwork!]
The assistant coach beside Johnson twisted a smirk and muttered,
“Bolton's manager misjudged. Switching to defense too early with a two-goal lead was the mistake!”
Corey Johnson agreed.
“It's like stomping on their rising morale.”
And in that short span, Bolton had collected three yellows.
Plain and simple, the manager's strategy had backfired.
Johnson slyly curled his lip and added,
“He killed the tempo, used low-risk tactics to freeze the 2-0 scoreline.”
The offside trap to block penalties was smart too.
The problem? The opponent was Sunderland—once their fire lit in the Championship, it didn't go out easy.
And Bolton had dropped too soon.
“Tried to seal it before they could breathe.”
Hence this.
Glance.
Corey Johnson eyed the technical area beside him, hoping for an equalizer soon.
Bolton still led, but the momentum screamed Sunderland turnaround.
‘So they must be getting antsy...’
But Corey Johnson couldn't finish the thought.
His facial muscles twitched instead.
“What?”
The question slipped out unbidden.
In Bolton's technical area, Jeong-woo sat back in his folding chair, whistling with a grin.
Nostrils even flaring, like he was amused by something.
In that moment, a wave of unease crashed over Corey Johnson from that infuriating expression.