Reborn in Football to Build Top Clubs from English League Two

78: Collective loss after taking the leadAs soon as the whistle for the second half blew, Grimsby’s players rushed forward like sharks smelling blood, howling.

Hartlepool United’s players, still immersed in the relaxed, “we’ve got this” atmosphere from halftime, were a step slower than usual.

They seemed to still be in last night’s dream, a dream with Wembley’s cheers and an early vacation, forgetting there was still a match to play.

Jordan Henderson’s careless cross in midfield went directly to the opposing attacking midfielder.

The man paused, then realized it was a gift from the opponent.

He quickly dribbled forward; if Henderson hadn’t reacted quickly with a fierce sliding tackle, bringing both the man and the ball down, the opponent would have launched a dangerous counter-attack.

Even so, Henderson just grinned at the opponent, as if it were a harmless mistake. He even shrugged, indicating he was just “careless.”

Old John paced anxiously on the sidelines, shouting at the top of his lungs: “Concentrate! Everyone, concentrate!”

He even adopted Lin Feng’s usual metaphors, yelling, “Maintain formation! Like a chain!”

But his voice was quickly drowned out by the increasingly loud cheers at Blundell Park.

The players seemed not to hear, or rather, didn’t want to hear.

They still played at a leisurely pace, with midfielders’ running and pressing significantly reduced, and the gap between the defense and midfield so large a double-decker bus could drive through it.

Ben Clark and Chris Smalling, the young center-back pairing, appeared indecisive in several defensive plays, lacking communication and being too spread out.

Smalling even watched as the opposing winger surged past him in one defensive moment.

He didn’t choose to press tightly but was a step slow, only symbolically reaching out to block.

Kasper Schmeichel became the busiest man in front of the goal, at one moment flying to tip an opponent’s shot over the crossbar, at another rushing out of the box to clear the ball with a big kick.

He roared at the defense, trying to make them concentrate.

But his only response was his teammates’ indifferent shrugs and the increasingly loud cheers of Grimsby fans.

His face was covered in sweat, his brows furrowed, and his eyes filled with frustration at his teammates’ lack of focus; the feeling of being isolated and helpless made him increasingly agitated.

“Hartlepool United’s performance today is strange,” the radio commentator also noticed something was off, “They completely lack their usual pressing and discipline, playing too casually, giving Grimsby Town too many opportunities. This League Two leader seems a bit ‘distracted’ today.”

In the sixtieth minute, the alarm finally sounded.

Grimsby Town’s midfielder Isaiah Rankin received a cross from a teammate outside the box, with no defensive player within two or three meters of him.

Jordan Henderson and Mark Tinkler both stood still, making no attempt to interfere. Rankin calmly adjusted his steps and unleashed a powerful shot.

The ball, like a cannonball, struck the leg of the retreating Ben Clark, creating a bizarre deflection. It arced over Schmeichel, who had already committed to a save, and slowly rolled into the net.

One-one!

This goal stunned Hartlepool’s players.

They looked at each other, their eyes full of bewildered “how could this happen?” The faces that had been chatting and laughing just minutes before were now filled with panic and a hint of disbelief.

They didn’t even have time to complain before Grimsby fans erupted in deafening cheers.

In the VIP box, Lin Feng’s face was ashen.

He picked up the phone and said: “Substitutions! Replace Joel Porter with Snodgrass, and Ben Clark with Nelson! Immediately! Tell them, this is their last chance!”

Old John received the call on the sidelines and immediately put up the substitution board.

Captain Nelson and starting winger Snodgrass rushed onto the field, attempting to stabilize the situation.

Nelson immediately shouted at his teammates after coming on, trying to wake them up.

But Hartlepool United’s rhythm was completely disrupted.

The players became anxious, no longer seeking intricate passes, but simply hoofing the ball forward, hoping to find Vardy.

But Vardy was tightly marked by the opposing defenders, unable to get comfortable possession, and he himself seemed somewhat agitated, with several attempted breakthroughs proving fruitless.

To make matters worse.

In the seventy-fifth minute, substitute full-back Peter Hartley’s reckless tackle on the left flank was easily evaded by opposing winger Cieran Toner.

Hartley chased desperately from behind, but Toner was faster. He dribbled to the byline and delivered a high-quality cross, the ball accurately finding the center of the box.

Inside the box, Grimsby’s striker Michael Reddy, like a bull, suddenly charged out from behind Chris Smalling.

Smalling evidently hadn’t anticipated such strong impact from the opponent, jumping a step late and being pushed aside by Reddy’s physical challenge.

Reddy leaped high, delivering a powerful header that slammed the ball into the net!

Two-one! Grimsby Town took the lead!

The entire Blundell Park erupted!

The home fans’ cheers were like a tsunami, almost tearing off the stadium roof.

Hartlepool United’s players, however, stood frozen, as if their souls had been drawn out, their faces filled with disbelief and dejection.

Vardy furiously kicked the turf, while Sigurdsson lowered his head, biting his lip tightly.

In the final moments of the match, Hartlepool United attempted to counter-attack, but their mindset was completely unbalanced, with frequent passing errors, and several threatening attacks ended in rushed shots.

Vardy’s several breakthroughs were stopped by opposing defenders using foul tactics, and Sigurdsson’s long-range shots also lost their accuracy, flying high over the crossbar.

In the box, Lin Feng watched the team’s clumsy performance on the field, like headless chickens, and the last bit of warmth in his eyes disappeared.

He didn’t roar in anger, but watched calmly, and in that calm gaze, a coming storm of thunder, unbearable for anyone, was brewing.

The post-match locker room would be even colder than the light rain outside.