Reborn in Football to Build Top Clubs from English League Two

112: Children’s ”War Games”At Victoria Park for the first round of the EFL Trophy, more than half of the stands were empty.

This desolation was in stark contrast to the packed stadium during League matches. However, the hardcore fan section was still bustling, a small ocean of blue and white scarves. They were there to see the ”youth academy prodigies” mentioned by the owner.

The local radio commentator’s voice was filled with unconcealed confusion.

”Hartlepool United’s lineup tonight... I must say, it’s very surprising. This is almost an U21 youth team. Let’s look at this formation...”

The commentator paused, seemingly to confirm that the formation diagram in his hand wasn’t printed incorrectly.

”A... 4-6-0, a formation without a striker. The goalkeeper is number 24 Scott Carson; in defense, the captain’s armband is on number 2 Kyle Walker’s arm, partnered by number 23 Chris Smalling, number 25 Peter Hartley, and number 22 Hugh Robertson.”

”The real surprise is in midfield, where they’ve stacked six players! Number 7 Liam Bridcutt, number 21 Anthony Sweeney, number 6 Gary Liddle, and three kids: number 19 Tom Ince, number 33 Oliver Baker, and another youth academy player, Mark Donaldson.”

”As for the away team, Rotherham, they’ve fielded all their main players, a standard 4-4-2, with experienced Lee Williamson and Chris O’Grady upfront. They clearly intend to win this match easily.”

The whistle blew.

The situation on the field was exactly as the commentator predicted, or even worse.

Hartlepool’s young players, like a group of children thrown into an unfamiliar jungle, were completely lost. They instinctively passed forward, only to find no one there.

”Tom! Drop back!”

”Oliver! Support!”

On the field, the players’ shouts rose and fell, but the more they shouted, the more chaotic their movements became.

Tom Ince and Oliver Baker, the two teenagers entrusted with the heavy responsibility of ”false nines,” were completely struggling. They tried hard to drop back and get the ball, but Rotherham’s two experienced center-backs didn’t follow them out, simply staying in their positions, watching them run back and forth like two fools.

The connection between the midfield and the attack was completely severed.

Rotherham’s players seized the opportunity. They used their physical advantage to rampage through the midfield, and each collision sent Hartlepool’s youngsters sprawling.

The ball was intercepted again and again, then simply and roughly hoisted into Hartlepool’s penalty area.

In the 21st minute, the chaotic defending finally paid a price.

Rotherham earned a corner kick. The ball was delivered, and bodies tumbled in the box. The away team’s center-back, Ian Sharps, like a wild bull, pushed past Smalling, who was marking him, and powerfully headed the ball.

Scott Carson couldn’t make the save.

Zero to one.

The away team took an easy lead. Rotherham’s players celebrated with smiles and high-fives, as if scoring a goal in a training match.

Old John, on the sidelines, paced back and forth in the technical area, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. His heart was far more anxious than his expression let on.

What kind of football is this?

Just then, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

He quickly pulled it out and glanced at it; it was a message from Lin Feng, just a short sentence.

”Chaos is part of the plan. Tell the kids not to be afraid, keep running, use movement to tear open space. Trust the system.”

Old John put away his phone and stopped pacing.

At the same time, in the club office, Lin Feng calmly watched the holographic screen in front of him. The screen showed no broadcast, only countless flickering data points and a heat map of player movement covering the entire field.

On the surface, Hartlepool was completely on the defensive.

But in terms of data, Rotherham’s two central midfielders had already run fifteen percent more distance than Hartlepool’s Bridcutt and Liddle. Their running routes were being unconsciously pulled by the ”decoys” Ince and Baker, gradually deviating from their most comfortable defensive areas.

An invisible net was slowly tightening.

The whistle blew for halftime.

Zero to one.

Hartlepool’s youngsters walked off the field with their heads down, their faces filled with frustration and self-doubt. On the other side, Rotherham’s players were chatting and laughing, even already discussing their next-round opponent.

The radio commentator gave his halftime summary.

”It seems Mr. Lin Feng’s bold tactical experiment is going to end in a complete and utter failure. It proves that no matter how innovative the tactics, football matches ultimately still need strikers to solve problems.”

In the changing room, there was a deathly silence.

Several young players didn’t even dare to look up, just staring at the tips of their shoes. Losing wasn’t scary; what was scary was this feeling of powerlessness, of being unable to fight back.

Vardy and Henderson sat in their places, saying nothing. They were there to support their younger teammates, but at this moment, they didn’t know what to say either.

The changing room door was pushed open.

Old John walked in.

He didn’t erupt in anger as the players expected; there wasn’t even a trace of anxiety on his face. He walked straight to the tactics board and tore off the first-half tactical diagram.

Then, he took out a folded piece of paper from his pocket—it was one Lin Feng had prepared long ago.

He unfolded the paper and taped it to the tactics board.

It was an even stranger tactical diagram, with no player names, only dense arrows and a few geometric shapes drawn in red pen.

All the players in the changing room looked up.

Old John looked around at the dejected youngsters and began to speak.

”Kids.”

His address made everyone pause for a moment.

”The boss asked me to give you a message.”

He paused, tapping the strange diagram with his finger.

”He said, in the second half, we’re not playing football anymore.”

”We’re going to play a game.”

Old John’s face showed a mysterious, even slightly cunning smile.

”This game is called ’Space Hide-and-Seek.’”