Chapter 71: The Footsteps of English Premier League Part 2
Translator: Nyoi-Bo Studio Editor: Nyoi-Bo Studio
At the Sheffield United substitutes bench, Warnock walked back and said to a substitute player sitting on the bench, “Are you ready? You’re going out to play.”
“Yes, boss.” The man stood up and took off his jacket, exposing the alternating red and white of the Sheffield United home jersey; the name on the back read Jack Lester.
He came down from the substitutes’ bench, stood on the sidelines, and waited for the fourth official to bring him onto the field.
Tang En felt strange seeing a player that he had once coached standing on the sideline in his opponent’s jersey, playing against him. The two men stood no more than two meters apart. He frequently glanced at Lester, who was standing on the sidelines, but Lester did not seem to see him. He just stared at the field.
Tang En looked at Lester, and then at Warnock again. What did that old man have in mind with bringing on a striker?
“Hey, Jack.” Twain decided to take the initiative to talk to Lester. They had not had a chance to say hello before the game. It should be fine to have a little chat now, and try to figure out what the opposing manager was planning.
Lester looked back at Twain and smiled. “Sir, I didn’t expect to meet you under these circumstances.”
“Yeah, I didn’t expect to either. Hey, Jack, why is Neil bringing you on? You already have two forwards, and their performances aren’t bad.”
“Obviously, it’s so I can beat your team, sir.” Lester winked, “As you said before, one has to be worthy of every penny one earns.”
Tang En rubbed his head. He had not expected to be tripped up by his own words. “Yes, you’re right. We are rivals now… damn opponents!” He lightly swore the last bit as he walked back to his seat.
Jack Lester was brought on to replace Peschisolido, who had scored a goal. He did well, even though he was thirty-two years old. Although he had scored a goal, Warnock clearly did not consider him enough of a threat to Dawson to stay on the field. He needed someone who knew more about the Forest team’s defense system to charge and attack. And that person was Jack Lester.
For Sheffield United’s substitution, Twain made no adjustments. He sat quietly and watched the game. The situation had not shown any signs of worsening, and he was not required to do anything.
But the dark clouds in his mind were gathering more and more, and pressure was building up in his chest.
“Michael Brown! 2:3! Sheffield United scored in the 68th minute!” Motson screamed. Next to him Mark Lawrenson was dancing for joy.
Motson’s voice rang out again just three minutes later. “Steve Kabba! It’s incredible, Sheffield United equalized the score! Nottingham Forest has suffered a heavy blow!”
Lawrenson saw that he had hope of keeping his beard, so he was in the mood to give a point-by-point commentary on the Forest team conceding.
“Scimeca’s ability is limited. A defensive midfielder fundamentally cannot withstand Sheffield United’s offense at all. It had looked like they were playing 5-3-2 formation after Warnock brought off Michael Tonge, but in fact, the formation was 3-5-2 during their attack. The two full backs on the wings pressed on to become midfielders. The intense pressure of five midfielders was not something that Scimeca could bear alone. Once the midfield defensive barrier was lost, Michael Dawson’s defensive line was directly confronted with wave after wave of offense, and was unable to stop it. Twain ignored Michael Brown, and now he has paid the price!”
Twain looked at the Sheffield United players, cheering and celebrating the goal. He could hardly believe what he was seeing. In less than ten minutes, the situation on the field had changed so much. What was going on? He was afraid of falling into Warnock’s trap, and had tried every possible means to avoid it; but in the end he was still trapped, and was sinking deeper and farther.
He glanced at Warnock and found that the other man was looking at him too. As the two men looked at each other, Warnock shrugged with a smile and turned away without another glance at him.
Tang En felt a burst of fury explode in his chest.
I was tricked! Duped by this damned old man!
Starting with the steady performance of losing two goals in the first half, the old man had been pretending all along, including a half-time handshake. It was all an act, to make him think that Warnock was plotting something and make him paranoid, and then force him to walk into another trap he had set.
He brought off Michael Tonge to trick him into replacing Bopp, thus cutting down one defensive midfielder and reducing the defensive pressure on their midfield. He knew that Twain did not attach too much importance to Michael Brown, who appeared to be a defensive midfielder, so he used him to organize offense. One of those two goals one was personally scored by Brown, and he had instigated the other one. He was the real core of Sheffield United for this match! Tonge was just a decoy!
Tang En was furious! He had always enjoyed the thrill of using manipulative tactics against his opponents, but never thought he would play into someone else’s hands. As much as he loathed to do so, Tang En had to admit he was young and inexperienced compared to the 54-year-old Neil Warnock. The difference between the two of them was twenty years of experience.
Twain’s bad luck did not seem to be over, and he was doomed to exhaust all the luck from his previous winning streak in this crucial game. The Forest team fell into a panic after Sheffield United equalized the score. Their main right back, John Thompson, twisted his ankle during a desperate fight with Steve Kabba, and was unable to continue in the game.
“Son of a b**ch!” When he saw the team doctor, Fleming, shake his head towards him, Twain swore in frustration. He turned to look at the bench; one of the five substitutes had been used, with four left.
Eventually, Twain’s gaze rested on a young-looking kid.
“James, go warm- damn it, there’s no time for you to warm up. You have to go play for me now!” He grabbed the kid from the bench and pushed him to the sidelines. “Just do what you did during training!”
Apart from that, he really did not know how to brief the 17-year-old on what he should pay attention to for his debut on the field. James Biggins was a right back, who was only arranged by Twain to make up the numbers in the substitutes’ bench for the game. He had not anticipated that he would receive his first chance to represent the First Team.
Seeing the kid trembling as he ran onto the field, Tang En did not have very high expectations of him; he was helpless too.
One had to wonder if young James Biggins ever had a dream like this:
When the team was in danger, as an unknown player sitting on the substitutes’ bench watching the game, he was suddenly called up by the manager, who patted him on the shoulder and said to him, “James, our team is depending on you! Go out there and wipe out those bastards! Win this game!”
The assistant manager and other teammates also nodded and echoed, “Yes, yes! You’re the only person who can fix this for us, James! You’re a genius, you can do it!”
Then, with his head held high and chest puffed out, he set foot on the field and led the team in a comeback to victory under the opponents’ disdainful gaze, and finally made all the opponents kneel in front of him, begging for mercy, and surrender…
But the truth was, this type of situation could turn a talented hero famous in one match, but it could also be a blow to a young man who was still full of hope for the future. This kind of pressure was not something that ordinary people could withstand.
James Biggins was well aware of the current situation. The team had gone from leading with a huge advantage, to their opponents catching up. The morale of the team was badly hit when the main player was injured and forced out of the game. But he did not know what he was going to do. What was he supposed to do?
Twain had not told him, and his mind could not think of what he should do.
He was at a loss, and just stood at the right back position, looking at the ruthless Sheffield United players rushing towards him.
Great cheers and applause broke out again in the Bramall Lane Stadium. The Forest fans were collectively silent instead, and not just in the stands. It was a sea of silence, even in the bars of Nottingham.
“Oh my god! What’s going on in these twenty-eight minutes?” Motson groaned. “In the first half, Sheffield United did not even score a goal. But in the second half, starting from the 51st minute, they scored four goals! 4:3! Now the home team is leading! Nottingham Forest suddenly went from being in the lead to playing catch up. Poor James Biggins, this is the first time the 17-year-old is representing the First Team on behalf of Nottingham Forest, but he scored a goal against his own team!”
Biggins knelt in front of the goal. The ecstatic Sheffield United players ran past him. The football was lying quietly in the goal. Biggins’ head was down, and could not see the other players’ expressions. He felt like dying, like he had become a sinner on the team.
Sitting in the technical area, both Des Walker and Ian Bowyer held their heads in their hands. None of them had imagined that this could happen. Their situation was so unbelievably good by the halftime interval, but now it was incredibly bad.
From 2:0, the score had become 3:4. The way this game had been played was truly upsetting.
Standing on the sidelines, Tang En was watching the game numbly. He did not have the energy to care about how excitedly Warnock was celebrating the goal.
It was almost as if he could hear the sound of the footsteps of the Premier League passing him by him, and then the sound gradually drifting away.
What was the meaning of this score? Nottingham Forest had lost to Sheffield United in their home game with a score of 1:2, and now they were behind in this away game at 3:4; the total score was 4:6. This meant that, to enter the finals of the playoffs, they would need to score at least two goals in the remaining eleven minutes to even have hope of being qualified.
This was a very harsh requirement for the Forest team at this juncture.
Due to the presence of Biggins, the Forest team’s defense was disorganized, and the morale of their opponents was soaring. For the remaining time, it would be considered good just to not concede any more goals.
Michael Dawson lowered his head to comfort Biggins, who had scored the goal. He had done everything that a team captain could do, but could not bring victory to the team. Perhaps his heart was in more agony than that of Biggins.
Looking at the stupefied players on the field, Tang En asked himself, “Is this the end?”
“Tony! If you can’t lead the team to the Premier League next season, I’ll make you pay!” Michael’s roar came from afar, and Tang En looked back at the stands behind the technical area.
It was a sea of jubilant red-and-white Sheffield United fans. Where was Michael?
Another voice came from his side. “Manager Tony Twain, have you ever thought about what will happen in the end if we can’t get promoted to the Premier League this season?”
Can’t get promoted, can’t get promoted, can’t get promoted…
Michael, Little Gavin… No! I can’t let this happen. I must not let this happen!
Twain marched back and said to a grave-looking Walker, “Where’s Westcarr? Let him play!”
“Twain has brought off his only defensive midfielder, Scimeca, and brought on the 17-year-old striker Craig Westcarr. Can Nottingham Forest team score two goals in the remaining ten minutes by switching to playing 4-3-3? Honestly, I don’t have too much confidence… Before this, Westcarr had three experiences of being brought on as a substitute to play and not scoring. His ability is not good enough to be given this important task. I don’t understand why Twain made this adjustment. It’s useless!” Motson mercilessly criticized Twain’s on-the-spot command. Next to him, Lawrenson was snickering. It looked like his beard was saved. And that was what was upsetting Motson.
Evan Doughty turned his head to look at the television at the corner of the luxury box. Watching the game on the television was clearer than watching the field. Upon hearing what the commentator said, he smiled and said to his father, Nigel Doughty, next to him, “You see, I told you. He can’t be depended on.”
It was as if Nigel had not heard his son; he was focused on the game. Just when Evan thought he was being ignored again, the old man said in a low, slow voice, “You can say whatever you want, either way you’ll be in charge soon. You can do whatever you want…”
As it turned out, the best description of Twain’s substitution was “foolhardy.” By removing their only defensive midfielder and switching to play a completely unfamiliar 4-3-3 formation, the Forest team became increasingly overwhelmed. They did not know what the manager wanted to do, and they did not know what they were supposed to do. Some players wanted to break through and score goals as soon as possible, while the others wanted to make certain that the defensive line would no longer concede. The team fell apart at the last minute, and was split into two sections. One section was in the front and the other section was in the rear.
Tang En had lost control of the team. He stood on the sidelines and was unable to issue any useful instructions. He could only watch and wait… wait for a miracle.
The cheering in the stands at Bramall Lane Stadium was getting louder, and Sheffield United’s manager, Warnock, was already eager to high-five the people around him in celebration. These were his true colors.
At the 91st minute of the game, James Biggins scored a goal with a header from a corner ball, redeeming the goal that he had shot. But this goal did not help the team, because it came too late.
A minute later, the referee blew the whistle at the end of the game and thunderous cheers erupted at Bramall Lane Stadium; the home fans wildly celebrated their team reaching the playoffs, and Tony Twain became the loser again.
The dream that he had striven towards for half a season was shattered. In a flash, his mind went blank and he stood on the sidelines, staring vacantly. He did not even see Warnock walking towards him with his hand outstretched.
The noisy stands faded away, the green stadium disappeared, and his surroundings went dark. The ecstatic Sheffield United players, the dejected Nottingham Forest players, Neil Warnock who had shrugged his shoulders with a smirk, Ian Bowyer who closed his eyes in agony, Des Walker who was trying his best to comfort the players, Michael Bernard wherever he was, and Gavin Bernard who was lying quietly in the ground; these people tightly surrounded Tang En, making his chest tight and short of breath.
He felt a tightening of his heart.
The season was over.
Ten days later, at Bradford City’s Valley Parade Stadium… the stadium had a nice name, but did not give Warnock the glory he had dreamed of. His team would concede three goals to Wolfhampton Wanderers, and lose the qualification to advance to the Premier League. Warnock had used all of his energy to deal with the tough Tony Twain and won, but he had exhausted his last ounce of strength while doing so.
Three days after that semi-final game, on May 19, on the southern coast of Iberian Peninsula, at the Estadio Olímpico de Sevilla in Seville, a Portuguese man named José Mourinho would defeat Brian Clough’s pupil, Martin O’Neill, by 3:2 in overtime. Portugal’s FC Porto would beat Scotland’s Celtic F.C. and win the 02-03 season UEFA Europa League.
This victory had made the whole of Europe aware of the young Portuguese coach, who was not used to smiling or saying much, and his group of outstanding players.
But none of this had anything to do with Twain. His season ended on May 16. This was his first season as a professional manager leading a professional team. Although it was incomplete and imperfect, it had profoundly impacted Twain’s future.
He would forever remember these two games that he lost to West Ham United and Sheffield United. A voice would always reverberate in his heart to remind him:
How painful it is to fail.
