Chapter 778: Another Bad News Out of Nowhere?!

Fortunately, the only game delayed here was the game against Fortuna Dusseldorf. A few days later, they still had to face Union Berlin, and while the coronavirus incident was enough to disturb the players’ minds, at least the next game was not that far from the game against Augsburg, so the momentum they carried was still quite strong.

It also helped that the opponent they would face later was a team that was one spot above them. Yeah, Union Berlin was in 11th place right now, a true middle-tier team that was always occupying 10th or 11th place constantly.

The point difference here was just 2 points, with Union Berlin having gotten 31 points so far while Schalke had 29 right now. A win against them would be enough to catapult Schalke to 11th place, the best they had ever been in this season.

The mere thought of reaching a new height was, of course, quite exciting for the players, as motivation was at its peak right now. However, for Frohling, the opponent right now was a bigger headache than anyone else he had faced so far.

"This time, Union Berlin is exactly like us." The man spoke in the meeting. "They are a very disciplined defensive team, relying on a low- to mid-block defense with a structure as solid as a fucking brick. For them, stability matters more than creating a goal itself, and they themselves are not a very strong offensive team in the first place. That’s why they are the team with the most draws in the league right now."

Well, without the coach explaining further, some smart players frowned immediately, having already foreseen the problem that would arise in that game later.

"The only weakness, if I could even consider it one, is probably their aggressive playing style." The coach continued. "So far, they are also the team with the most yellow cards in the Bundesliga, way ahead of any other teams in this country. However, even so, the number of red cards that they get is somehow quite minimal, and the data shows that they didn’t have any decline in performance even after some players started to get targeted by the opponent. So, we are in a real blind spot right now."

This was definitely a nightmare for Frohling. After all, while he was a good coach in a counterattack style, when it came to tearing apart the opponent’s defense that played with the same style as him, the man didn’t have anything in his arsenal that could help him do that.

The most annoying thing was that Union Berlin was not like Augsburg or Werder Bremen. No, their aggressiveness was not like a bunch of thugs, but like a group of organized crime that knew where they should strike to hurt the opponent more.

It was clear before the game began that Nassim Boujellab and Morita would be targeted here. They wouldn’t even care about Daniel Caligliuri, knowing that isolating the man would be enough to kill his ongoing momentum.

In the end, there was no clear solution to this, not one that Schalke’s players could pull. All they had to do was to sharpen what they had right now, hoping that the opponent would let out a little slip that would give them a chance to strike.

"Even if we cannot win, at least I will be satisfied with just a draw, so don’t mess things up, defense!" Frohling glared at Ozan Kabak and the rest of the defensive line at the end of the meeting.

The Turkish defender gulped nervously, somehow wanting to curse right now. Who would’ve guessed that the coach would be shameless enough to throw the pressure on them?

Still, it seemed that the God of football thought that the game wasn’t difficult enough for Schalke, as a few days later, the difficulty suddenly increased by two levels. Two pieces of bad news suddenly struck them out of nowhere, enough for the coach’s series of curses to be heard by all the people in Berger Feld.

"What do you mean Morita and Bastian cannot play?!" He widened his eyes in shock and disbelief when the head of the medical team suddenly reported this matter to him.

"Well, it is exactly what I said; they have to take a rest right now." The man, an old man with white hair and wrinkles on his forehead, said, not even flinching at the glare that he received right now. "Morita came to me earlier this morning to complain about the tightness in his pelvis, and after a quick check, we have determined that his hamstring is sprained there, a product of overtraining. Did you not keep your eyes on your players’ health or what?" He narrowed his eyes dangerously.

Well, all the complaints on the tip of Frohling’s lips were swallowed immediately. The man in front of him was a veteran on the team, having been serving here for more than 30 years. Even the head coaches in the past had to bow when this man spoke, and Frohling was not an exception here.

"What about Bastian? What happened to him?" He decided to shift the topic to the other player who wouldn’t be available for him in the next game.

"Him? He called the medical team earlier in the morning, asking for someone to pick him up. He fell from the stairs quite badly, fracturing his metatarsal in an awkward fall. He could still laugh and chat with the doctor in the hospital right now, but we still don’t know how difficult the situation is. Everything will depend on the result of his CT scan, and you have to be ready to lose him for the rest of the season."

This time, Frohling didn’t hold back anymore. Curses after curses were thrown, and the man in front of him just raised one of his eyebrows slightly, somehow feeling impressed at the coach’s colorful language.

In the end, the man shifted his attention to the phone lying on the table, and after searching for a name there, he made a quick call and shouted, "TOMASZ! TEAM MEETING RIGHT NOW!"