Reborn in Football to Build Top Clubs from English League Two

12: Tactics on the eve of a cup matchThe euphoria of a 4-0 thrashing of their arch-rivals had the entire city of Hartlepool buzzing.

In the pubs, fans repeatedly chanted Vardy’s name, celebrating this long-awaited victory; in the newspapers, the Hartlepool Mail dedicated its entire sports section to praising this epic Derby triumph, equating Vardy’s name with ”miracle” and ”hope.”

However, in the midst of this sea of joy, the atmosphere in the club chairman’s office remained as calm as deep water.

Lin Feng’s gaze had long since moved past the exhilarating victory; his thoughts and vision were focused on the next challenge—the League Cup first-round away match against Rochdale in two days.

Hartlepool United, this dilapidated ship, had only just begun to sail away from the stranded beach.

The funding gap and the construction of the Phoenix Training Center weighed on his mind like invisible burdens.

But every step of victory would buy him more time and trust.

”Boss,” Old John Mcdonald pushed open the door, his face still flushed with unwaning excitement.

The way he looked at Lin Feng had completely changed.

If before it was obedience tinged with doubt, then after witnessing the crushing victory in the A19 Derby firsthand, his eyes now held only profound admiration, even a hint of worship.

He felt like a novice apprentice facing an unfathomable tactical master.

”John, sit,” Lin Feng pointed to the sofa opposite, gesturing for him to sit down. He noticed Old John’s posture and understood; this was exactly what he had hoped for.

Old John almost scurried over, respectfully sat down, and leaned slightly forward.

He licked his dry lips: ”Boss, your tactics... they’re simply brilliant! I’ve coached for half my life and never seen football played like this! That kid Vardy, just as you said, is the sharpest knife! He tore through Darlington’s defense, it was incredible!” He paused, his tone very humble,

”The next match is the League Cup, against Rochdale, and they’re a tough nut to crack, good at defensive counter-attacks. How... how should I set up? I’d like to hear your thoughts.” Old John felt his football philosophy being overturned, being reshaped, and he eagerly wanted to draw more ’heavenly’ wisdom from Lin Feng.

Lin Feng knew that Old John, this final puzzle piece, had been completely won over.

His brain worked rapidly, and the data and tactical models for Rochdale from the World-Class Club Development Platform instantly became clear.

From the team’s usual formations to the characteristics of key players, from defensive habits to attacking routes, everything was laid out before him like a transparent chessboard.

”Rochdale, a typical League Two team, defends very deep, with good midfield interception ability, and they particularly rely on their core midfielder and two fast wingers for counter-attacks,” Lin Feng said without consulting any material, as if he had played a friendly match against Rochdale just yesterday and knew every detail of his opponent.

He stood up, walked to the small whiteboard in the office, picked up a pen, and drew a simplified football pitch.

He simply drew two circles in the area representing Rochdale’s defense, then pointed to the outside of the two circles and said: ”You see, to maintain compactness and density within the penalty area, their wide defense will inevitably expose gaps. This is like ’empty space’ in Go; it looks safe, but it’s actually where we can place our pieces, it’s the weakest area of their defense.”

Lin Feng’s pen drew two sharp diagonal lines into the ”empty space,” piercing deep into their territory.

”We don’t need to fight them hand-to-hand in the penalty area, to go head-to-head. What we need to do is tear open their defense through quick wide penetrations and sudden through balls from the midfielders. Vardy’s speed is still our trump card; we need to let him assault their defense, create one-on-one opportunities for him.”

Old John listened intently, completely absorbed. He felt that Lin Feng’s tactical analysis transcended football itself, becoming an art, a philosophy.

The Go ’empty space,’ the ’torn open’ defense—these metaphors enlightened him; he had never understood the essence of tactics so clearly.

He felt he was not facing a twenty-six-year-old young man, but a football demon who had lived for hundreds of years, a ”magician” who could see all the secrets on the pitch.

He even had an absurd thought: could this boss be the ”chosen one” sent by God to save Hartlepool?

”I understand, Boss! Use speed, attack their flanks!” Old John stood up excitedly, his eyes filled with fervor.

”Also,” Lin Feng added, ”continue to start Vardy. He needs more games to hone himself, to adapt to the rhythm of professional League. That kid has a wild streak, a kind of obsession with victory. He needs to be tempered, but his talent and that ’beast’s heart’ are indispensable cornerstones for our future. He is the core of our tactical system, and we must give him absolute trust.”

”Yes, Boss!” Old John’s voice was full of power; he felt completely conquered by Lin Feng’s football philosophy, his inner demons dispelled.

Over the next two days of training, the morale on Hartlepool United’s training ground was high.

After tasting victory, the players had one hundred percent trust and execution for the new tactics conveyed by Lin Feng through Old John.

Everyone was like a wound-up clock, tirelessly practicing wide attacks and quick counter-attack routines.

On the training ground, sweat and shouts intertwined, and the players’ eyes sparkled with excitement; they began to truly believe that this team, on the brink of dissolution, could truly rise from the ashes.

Meanwhile, at the pre-match press conference, Sophie Green once again threw a sharp question at Old John Mcdonald.

”Coach McDonald, the new tactical style displayed by Hartlepool United in the Derby match was astonishing. Was this a secret weapon you had been brewing this summer?”

Old John faced the camera. He cleared his throat and, following Lin Feng’s earlier instructions, answered vaguely: ”This is the result of the combined efforts of our entire coaching staff and players; we just found the most suitable playing style for our team.” His eyes were a bit shifty as he spoke, as if deliberately avoiding something, and his hand unconsciously tightened its grip on the microphone.

This subtle change in expression was keenly observed by Sophie Green.

Her slender fingertips tapped her notebook, her sharp eyes catching every subtle expression of Old John.

She knew Old John too well; he was a straightforward person, rarely evasive in front of the media.

His hesitation and evasiveness at this moment were completely at odds with his usual demeanor.

This was not the pride a meritorious coach, who had just achieved a historic victory, should have.

He seemed to be reciting something, as if... covering for someone.

Sophie’s intuition told her that the true ”tactical master,” the one who had changed Hartlepool United, was hidden behind the scenes.

And that person was very likely the mysterious Chinese boss—Lin Feng.

On the evening of August 7th, Hartlepool United’s team bus, carrying the entire squad, slowly drove towards Rochdale.

The pressure of playing away made the atmosphere in the bus much more serious than usual. A light drizzle began to fall outside the window, hitting the bus windows, as if foreshadowing that tonight’s match would not be easy.

Inside the bus, apart from the faint hum of the engine and the sound of raindrops hitting the windows, there was only the players’ steady breathing. They all knew that the Derby victory was just the beginning; the real test still lay ahead.

Lin Feng sat by the window, his gaze fixed on the rain-washed scenery outside.

This was the first cup competition challenge he had faced since taking control of the club.

He wanted to win, not just to advance, but also to further solidify the team’s confidence and build momentum for the upcoming League campaign.

He wanted this team, like a phoenix, to be reborn in every challenge.

The television broadcast vehicles were already prepared outside Spotland Stadium.

In the commentary box, Andy Gray and Martin Tyler were in position, ready to once again commentate on this highly anticipated first-round League Cup match.

All eyes were on this team, which had just made the biggest news in the first round of the League, eager to see if their magic was a fleeting phenomenon or the prelude to a storm.