Rome Wasn't Built in a Day (2)
A football stadium is a far more intimate space than people imagine.
No matter how cavernous an arena may appear from the outside, once every tier is packed to the brim with spectators, the players hear every roar right in front of their faces. That raw proximity is what supporters call the atmosphere of the pitch—and the very reason football exists not merely as a pastime played in street alleys, but as a genuine sport.
When those thunderous cheers shake the stands, the echoes reverberate through the stadium's concrete bowels, carrying all the way into the tunnel and the dressing rooms where players await kickoff.
Just like right now.
"...I don't think even the derby against Watford was this deafening."
Dominic wore an uncharacteristically overwhelmed expression. If even he looked rattled, there was no need to check on the others.
Naturally, his unease wasn't simply because the Luton Town faithful were being loud. Familiar chants were second nature, and no player disliked the roar of their own supporters without good reason.
No, what made the walls rattle this evening was an anthem belonging not to Luton Town, but to Newcastle United.
"Even if they're on a winning streak and riding high, this is an away match against a lower-league side. How did this many show up?"
"How is that even possible when the away allocation is tiny?"
"Maybe they bought tout tickets."
The Luton players huddled in small clusters, doing their best to shake off the mounting dread. The sting of last season's defeat against Newcastle seemed to run deep; despite this being a home fixture, the squad's collective composure was fraying.
Or perhaps, precisely because it was Kenilworth Road, the pressure to deliver before their own fans had wound their nerves far too tight.
I, on the other hand, felt completely normal.
From my perspective, this was a battle where we had nothing to lose.
If we went down, the keyboard critics back home would slander me as always, ignoring the sheer gulf in club caliber. But compared to what local British fans endured from their media, domestic hate was a walk in the park. Besides, I was more than ready to teach online trolls the terror of a courtroom gavel.
On the flip side, if I scored and we toppled Newcastle...
Every football forum in South Korea would practically detonate.
Ever since their massive influx of investment, Newcastle had consistently battled for UEFA Champions League qualification. Their fanbase and cultural footprint dwarfed those of Leicester City, who had only recently clawed their way back up to the Premier League following relegation.
While I was casually scrolling on my phone and firing off a few forum posts with not a care in the world, the gaffer stepped into the locker room.
"Why does everyone look so stiff?"
"Not me, Boss."
"Judging by your tone, that much is obvious. Ah, Han, if only I had eleven of you on the pitch, life would be much simpler."
"Tell me about it. Though I think two of me might be doable..."
"Haha! Now that was actually rather amusing, Han."
Perhaps owing to his background as a British-German—what an awkward combination of words—the manager had a habit of chuckling at jokes that barely qualified as humor.
Needless to say, not another soul in the dressing room laughed.
"Right then. Time for everyone to snap out of it."
"Yes, Boss!"
The replies were prompt, if nothing else.
Still, having their eyes locked on the manager was a marked improvement over staring blankly into space. At least now, Gordon could re-inject some sense of purpose into their heads.
"Let me make one thing clear: tonight will be entirely different from the Leicester City match."
All traces of humor had vanished from Gordon's voice.
It was a stark acknowledgment of Newcastle's sheer strength, and the manager's frankness weighed heavily on the squad's shoulders.
"They will have analyzed every single facet of our game. Unlike Leicester, they had ample time to prepare, and unlike before, there is plenty of footage of our recent matches."
"......"
"I imagine some of you are wondering why on earth I'm saying something so demoralizing."
"...Pretty much, yeah," Dominic blurted out, unable to hold his tongue as always.
"What I mean to say," Gordon continued, "is that this will be their fatal mistake."
"Pardon?"
"Their strategy is obvious. They've set out to deploy an absolute counter to everything we do."
The projector whirred to life, beaming the starting lineups and tactical shapes of both Newcastle and Luton Town onto the whiteboard.
Objectively speaking, Newcastle hadn't fielded all of their undisputed starters; several key figures were missing. Yet, even this rotated squad was overwhelming for an EFL Championship side. Furthermore, a glance at certain personnel made it clear they had been chosen specifically to nullify our tactics.
"Dominic, since you've found your voice, keep answering. What have we been focusing our training on for the past few days?"
"Rapid tactical transitions, Boss. Switching formations every ten minutes."
"Full marks this time. Well said."
Aside from the one match during the first half of the season when he netted a four-trick, Dominic had never received top marks from the manager. Even without an actual prize attached, he grinned, visibly chuffed. Whatever the case, it was a relief to see him loosen up before kickoff.
Gordon smiled faintly, having anticipated his reaction, before continuing.
"Just as we rehearsed, we will switch our formation every ten minutes."
Gordon alternated between our familiar 4-4-2 and 4-2-3-1 shapes on the board, cutting through the squad's lingering anxiety.
Even though we had drilled it relentlessly, hearing it laid out just before kickoff carried an entirely different weight.
"They may have prepped counters for two different setups, but they cannot adapt fluidly on the fly. Every adjustment will require fresh instructions from their touchline, and adapting or relaying those orders burns precious time."
The gaffer's point was crystal clear.
Possession shifts in a fraction of a second on the pitch; the seconds wasted on tactical recalibration and on-field confusion would be immense. We were to exploit that window ruthlessly.
Especially with Newcastle's midfield maestro, Aubert Rodriguez, left out of their starting eleven, that latency would be amplified exponentially.
"They place their faith only in data, but I place my faith in my players."
Of course, Gordon probably didn't trust every facet of my game.
While I could manage decent positioning through sheer instinct, tactical thinking using my head was still far from my strong suit. Adjusting my pressing triggers to match the formation was simple enough, but Gordon already knew that aerial duels and headers were beyond me for now.
Even so, he had pulled me aside before the match and whispered that I shouldn't worry about hunting for chances—just move with the tactical flow.
That instruction itself was a profound vote of confidence.
It meant he believed that, amidst the unfolding chaos, I would somehow scramble the ball into the net as a striker.
Gordon glanced at me for a brief second before sweeping his gaze across the rest of the room.
"Compared to those Newcastle lads, where do we stand? Will we be the ones fumbling when we shift between these shapes?"
"No, Boss!"
"Throughout the entire first half of the season, and straight into the second, we have run these two setups into the ground."
Gordon slammed his hand against the tactical board.
"So losing because we lack familiarity with our own tactics? Never going to happen."
The players held their breath at his declaration.
Gordon was never one to guarantee victory or make bold promises ahead of a match. Coming from him, such unshakeable conviction struck an entirely different chord.
In truth, the midfielders pivotal to these positional shifts had been taking extra tactical tutoring from the manager long before the winter transfer window, an absolute necessity given our thin squad depth at the time. The buildup play starting from the backline had received the same rigorous schooling.
Add in the intensive drills of the past few days, and alternating formations on the fly wasn't nearly as daunting as it sounded.
Naturally, their sharpness would dip slightly compared to playing their primary positions, but none of them were green enough to be called clumsy. Every man was already capable of slotting into at least one secondary role.
"Newcastle think they've prepared for every eventuality, but they are sorely mistaken. Their plan is nothing more than a sandcastle waiting to crumble after we shake it a few times. Understood?"
"Understood, Boss!"
"Then don't you dare shiver! Go out there and etch the name of Luton Town into their skulls!"
A roar erupted, momentarily drowning out the noise from the pitch outside as it filled the dressing room.
No one was trembling anymore.
Only a burning hunger for victory remained.
While the concrete tunnel had muffled the crowd's roars into a dull, thudding pulse against our eardrums, emerging pitchside felt as though thousands upon thousands of voices were piercing straight into our heads.
"Now this feels like a proper match."
"You really have nerves of steel, don't you?"
"Nerves of steel or not, can you even tell what they're chanting?"
To be honest, since the supporters weren't singing in unison, the Newcastle chants and the Luton songs blended into one massive wall of chaotic sound.
"Sounds great if you choose to hear it that way."
Since this was Luton Town's home ground, I decided to treat every decibel as support for us. As far as I was concerned, there wasn't a single Newcastle fan in the entire stadium.
Decision made.
"Once they expand the ground, there'll be even more heads in the stands. You lot aren't going to freeze up like this every time, are you?"
Having apparently received a tip-off from Ms. Myers, Teddy jogged over after the coin toss and spoke with easy familiarity.
"Just run. Once you get moving, confidence you didn't even know you had will kick in. That's how it was during my debut."
Captain Teddy's debut.
It was hard to picture. He felt like the type who had been brilliant from day one.
"Mind you, that doesn't mean I'm okay with losing, so play properly."
"Of course, Cap."
"If anyone fails to pull their weight today, I'll treat them to a batch of that special stew I've been simmering at home."
"......Come on, Cap, anything but that."
Captain Teddy had finally acknowledged just how atrocious his health food was—and had promptly weaponized it.
United in our fierce resolve to avoid eating whatever monstrosity he had brewed, we took our positions across the turf.