Chapter 2: The First Step
Monday, October 5, 2009
The Monday after Niels' first training session, something changed.
It wasn't that the Crawley Town players suddenly became stars as they didn't obiviously.
But there was a spark, a new energy in the air. Training finally had a heartbeat.
Gone were the days of drifting through drills, half-asleep and disconnected.
For the first time in a long while, the team knew someone was really paying attention, someone who truly cared if they improved.
Luka Radev was the player to watch.
Barely 17, the kid had raw speed and boundless energy, but it used to be all over the place like a firework shooting off without a clear direction.
Niels spent the week working with him, teaching Luka how to focus that energy when to burst forward and when to hold back.
By Wednesday, Luka was making smarter runs, cutting inside at sharper angles.
He still wasn't great at tracking back, which drove Milan crazy, but every day, his decisions on the ball were getting better and better.
"He's got something special," Milan muttered one afternoon, watching Luka breeze past a defender in a small-sided game, his boots kicking up grass. "Hope he doesn't flame out."
"He won't," Niels said, hands stuffed in his coat pockets. "We'll keep him grounded."
Milan gave him a sideways look, one eyebrow raised. "You think he's ready for more?"
Niels nodded, slow and thoughtful. "Maybe. But it's not just him. This whole squad's got something."
His gaze drifted to Marko Simic, the lanky center-back who was all arms and legs, still figuring himself out.
Marko had decent instincts but kept getting caught out of position.
Niels saw something in him, not in stats or drills, but in his quiet grit, the way he kept showing up, ready to learn.
During a defensive drill, Marko got spun twice in a row by a journeyman striker, an older lad with clunky boots and no speed. Milan started barking, his voice sharp, but Niels held up a hand.
"Let me handle this."
He jogged over, slowing the drill to a crawl. "Marko, your body's all wrong," Niels said, mimicking the stance. "You're chasing the striker, not steering him. Instinct's great, but if it's off, you're sunk. Think first, then move."
Marko nodded, his eyes locked on Niels, soaking it in.
He didn't talk much, but on the next rep, he was better, not perfect, but enough to hold his own. That was all Niels needed, small steps at a time, not miracles.
By Thursday, a few players started hanging around after training, asking questions, watching clips, even begging for extra drills.
They weren't doing it for Milan.
They were doing it because Niels made them feel like they mattered.
Niels started carrying a notebook, scribbling thoughts, player notes, rough sketches of pressing triggers or set pieces.
His weird flashes of insight, like he was seeing the game through some future lens, came and went, but even without them, he was shaping the team, bit by bit, in his own way.
Wednesday night, long after the stadium lights dimmed, Niels sat alone in the video room, the screen flickering with Grimsby Town matches.
He studied their game, long balls flying over the top, sluggish build-up, shaky defending on corners.
Niels was so focused, he didn't even hear Milan come in.
"Planning world domination?" Milan teased, holding two steaming mugs of instant coffee, the kind that tasted like burnt dirt.
Niels didn't look up. "It's just Grimsby."
Milan leaned against the doorframe, a smirk playing on his lips. "Tactics are yours this weekend."
Niels spun around, eyes wide. "You're serious?"
"You've been running the sessions, shaping the team. You've earned it," Milan said with a shrug. "We're bottom of the table. It's time to shake things up."
Niels swallowed hard, a mix of nerves and excitement bubbling inside him. "You really think the squad's ready for me to take over?"
Milan tilted his head, confident. "Doesn't matter what they think. I think you're ready to show what you're made of."
The words hit hard, but they sparked something fierce in Niels' chest.
He nodded, tightening his grip on the notebook.
The weekend arrived quickly.
This wasn't just a practice game, it was Crawley Town's real League Two match against Grimsby Town, Matchday 11. The team was still struggling near the bottom, fighting to stay in the league. Every single point mattered.
Before they got on the bus, Milan handed Niels a clipboard. "Your lineup. Pick it."
Niels took a deep breath and chose grit over flair, he knew they couldn't afford any mistakes.
Luka was in the starting eleven; his energy was too valuable to leave out.
But Marko was left on the bench. his positioning wasn't reliable enough for a game this important.
Niels moved a holding midfielder deeper to protect the defense, keeping things solid and practical, with no risks.
Kickoff:
The match was a battle from the first whistle.
Grimsby came out swinging, hoofing long balls to exploit Crawley's wobbly defense.
Crawley couldn't string passes together early, the ball slipping on the damp pitch, players stumbling.
Niels stood on the touchline, shouting for calm, urging them to stick to the plan, keep their shape.
Luka, for once, didn't chase every chance to attack. He held his spot, reading the game like Niels had taught him.
The game stayed locked at 0-0, a tense, scrappy fight. Grimsby's fans, a small but loud bunch, jeered every Crawley touch.
The away supporters, a couple hundred in red scarves, kept chanting, "Red Devils!" their voices a lifeline in the cold.
Then, with ten minutes left, it happened.
A quick one-two on the right opened up space.
Luka took a sharp touch, slipped past one defender, then another, his boots flying down the wing.
Just outside the box, he cut inside, hesitated for a heartbeat, then curled a left-footed shot toward the far post.
The ball soared in a perfect arc, sailing past the keeper's desperate dive and slammed into the back of the net.
"GOAL! 1-0, Crawley!"
The away fans exploded, scarves waving, voices shaking the tiny stand. The bench surged, players shouting, fists pumping.
It wasn't just the goal's beauty, it was the proof, Niels' plan, his work with Luka, the team's shape, all clicking in one electric moment.
Grimsby pushed hard in the final minutes, lobbing balls into the box, but Crawley's defense held, Liam McCulloch clearing a late header off the line.
When the whistle blew, 1-0, the players trudged off, exhausted but buzzing, shaking hands, clapping the fans.
Milan gave Niels a slow nod in the tunnel. "Not bad, kid."
Later, in the staff room, Milan leaned back with his feet up, flipping through a report. "You want more of this?"
"Yes," Niels said without a second thought.
"Good," Milan smiled. "Next matchday, it's all yours again."
That night, Niels couldn't sleep.
He sat at his desk, notebook open, his mind buzzing with ideas like how to build from the back, press hard without running out of steam, and protect a narrow lead.
Every formation, every move suddenly felt like it mattered more than ever.
Crawley had climbed from 21st to 20th.
The win didn't make them safe, not with the relegation zone still close, but it was something to build on.
Their next test was Macclesfield Town, away, a team with a bruising midfield and a relentless press. No TV cameras, no big crowd, just a fight.
For Niels, it wasn't just a game.
It was a chance to show what he could do, to prove he was here to change things, no more playing it safe.