Chapter 256: Morning Papers

Chapter 256: Morning Papers

Monday morning at Broadfield had a different kind of chill to it.

The frost on the pitches was melting under a weak winter sun, but inside his office, Niels was staring at a stack of newspapers. Gary had left them right next to his coffee mug thoughtfully, or maybe just unhelpfully.

Niels flipped through the sports pages.

After the gritty 1-0 win at Swindon, the talk around Crawley Town had changed. In the first half of the season, the media just called them lucky overachievers.

Now, they were getting praised for their defensive toughness. People were finally talking about them as a team that knew how to dig in and grind out ugly away wins.

But the main focus was on the midfield.

One local writer gave a whole page to Kieron Marsh. The headline called him the team’s new anchor. The piece highlighted his tackle success rate, his positioning, and how the eighteen-year-old completely shut down Swindon’s late push. It was well-deserved praise for a kid who had stepped up when the club really needed him.

Just one page over, though another journalist took the exact opposite stance.

This column was all about Jamal Osei. The writer argued that leaving a player with Jamal’s experience and salary on the bench was a massive waste.

The point was clear: if Crawley actually wanted to catch Southampton and win automatic promotion, they couldn’t afford to keep their most creative composed midfielder sitting in a winter coat for seventy minutes.

Niels pushed the papers away and took a sip of his lukewarm coffee.

It was a classic media trap, trying to stir up a controversy out of nothing. But Niels also knew that whatever the papers said always found its way into the dressing room.

Down in the canteen, the players were already talking about it.

When Niels walked past the open doors to grab a fresh coffee, he saw a few of the younger lads scrolling on their phones, quietly discussing the articles. Kieron sat in the corner with his breakfast, looking like he just wanted to ignore his phone completely.

Jamal was at another table, sipping tea and chatting with Liam McCulloch, totally unfazed by the noise.

There was no actual hostility, but the tension was real. The press had drawn the battle lines for everyone to see.

A few hours later, Niels was just finishing his review of the Swindon match footage when his office door opened.

Emma Hayes walked in carrying her usual tablet. The Sporting Director looked sharp, but she had faint dark circles under her eyes.

The January transfer window was clearly messing with her sleep.

"Good result on Saturday," Emma said, skipping the small talk and taking a seat across from him. "The board is very pleased. Three points away and keeping pace with Southampton. That’s exactly what Mr. Hargreaves wants."

"It wasn’t pretty, but we needed it," Niels agreed, closing his laptop.

Emma nodded, but she didn’t get up to leave. She glanced at the stack of papers pushed to the corner of his desk.

"I see Gary dropped off your morning reading," she noted, a slight edge to her voice.

"He likes to make sure I know what people are saying," Niels replied calmly. "Not that it changes anything we do on the pitch."

Emma crossed her legs and leaned forward a bit. "It might not change things on the pitch, Niels, but it changes things in the boardroom. Richard and the Chairman were asking questions yesterday."

Niels sighed quietly. "About Jamal."

"Yes, Jamal," Emma confirmed. "He’s one of the highest earner at this club. We worked incredibly hard to bring him here to be the centerpiece of this team. And right now, the local press is arguing over whether an eighteen-year-old academy kid just permanently took his spot."

"It’s not a permanent benching," Niels said, keeping his voice steady. "I managed the game on Saturday. We needed Kieron’s physicality against Swindon. Jamal came on and helped us close it out against Brentford. They’re both vital."

"I know that, and you know that," Emma said, tapping her fingers on her tablet. "But the people upstairs look at the wage bill, and then they look at the starting eleven. They’re starting to ask me if Kieron has permanently taken Jamal’s place in your plans."

Niels looked Emma right in the eye. He wasn’t about to let boardroom politics dictate his team.

"He hasn’t taken Jamal’s place permanently," Niels told her, his tone final. "But he has the spot for now. There’s a difference."

Emma held his gaze for a moment, taking that in. She respected that Niels only played whoever deserved it, even if it made handling the executives a lot harder for her.

"Alright," Emma finally said, standing up. "I’ll tell Richard. Just... manage the egos, Niels. We still have the Valencia situation hanging over Dev. I can’t afford to have Jamal’s agent knocking on my door asking for a transfer because his client isn’t playing."

"Jamal is a professional. He understands the situation," Niels said.

Emma gave a tired smile. "Let’s hope so."

When the long workday finally wrapped up, Niels drove home in silence.

The shift from the loud, high-pressure environment of the training ground to his quiet, empty apartment was always a bit jarring. He unlocked the door, dropped his keys on the counter, and didn’t even bother turning on the main lights. He just grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and sat down heavily on the sofa, the silence ringing in his ears.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket.

His screen lit up with a few unread messages. Most were from Gary or the scouting department, but the name at the top made his chest tighten.

It was his mom.

Niels opened the text.

’Hi Niels. Are you coming home soon? We haven’t seen you since before Christmas’.

Niels stared at the glowing screen in the dark. He rubbed his eyes, the deep exhaustion of the football season washing over him and typed a quick reply.

’I can’t right now. The schedule’s too packed. We have a game every few days until February.’

The typing bubbles popped up almost instantly. A few seconds later, her reply came through.

’I know you’re busy. But we miss you. Your father keeps asking when you’re coming home.’

Niels stopped breathing for a second.

The words hit him harder than any loss on the pitch ever could.

He stared at the message, a familiar guilt sinking heavy in his stomach. It was the unavoidable cost of the life he’d chosen.

The football life.

It demanded complete obsession fourteen-hour days, endless video sessions, and weekends in freezing stadiums hundreds of miles away. You couldn’t be a successful manager and still be the son who came home for Sunday dinner.

The job just didn’t let you. He spent all day managing the moods, careers, and lives of twenty-five grown men, while his own family was only a three-four-hour drive away, waiting for him to make time for them.

Years ago, he promised himself he wouldn’t let the game consume him entirely. He promised he’d find a balance.

But sitting in his dark apartment, visualizing the league table, feeling Southampton breathing down his neck and the boardroom questioning his lineups, he knew that balance was a lie.

His thumb hovered over the keyboard. He wanted to call and promise he’d be on a flight tomorrow morning. But he had a tactical meeting at seven a.m. and a press conference at noon.

Niels slowly typed out his reply, hating how hollow the words felt.

’Tell Dad I miss you both. I promise I’ll come visit when the football settles down.’

He hit send and tossed the phone onto the cushion beside him. Leaning his head back against the sofa, he stared up at the dark ceiling.

He’d made that exact promise a dozen times before. And deep down, he knew the harsh truth of the industry he’d given his life to.

The football never settles down.

It just keeps going.