Chapter 258: Overthinking

Chapter 258: Overthinking

The Sunday papers focused heavily on the 0-0 draw with Walsall.

Crawley had controlled most of the match, setting the tempo and dominating possession, but the headlines were all about the missed chances.

Local reporters zeroed in on the Walsall keeper’s heroics and more specifically, Dev Patel’s reaction in the seventy-eighth minute.

When the keeper tipped Dev’s curling shot over the crossbar, the young winger didn’t scream or yank his shirt over his face. He didn’t even kick the turf. He just turned around and jogged back into position, his face completely blank.

His post-match interview didn’t give away much either. Dev had stood in the mixed zone, offering the usual rehearsed answers into the microphone.

"We needed to win," he’d said flatly. "It was a good save. We just have to keep working and look forward to the next match."

Behind that calm front, though, it was a completely different story.

Dev spent his entire Sunday evening replaying that exact moment. He felt the clean strike off his boot, saw the ball lift, and watched the keeper’s fingertips push it just an inch too high. He ran through it over and over, trapped in his own head, trying to rewrite a play he couldn’t change.

By the time the squad got back to training at Broadfield on Monday morning, Dev’s overthinking had turned into nervous energy.

During the small-sided games, he was trying way too hard. Every time he got the ball, it looked like he felt he had to do something magical.

Instead of playing a simple one-two with Tom Whitehall to beat the press, Dev took three extra touches and tried a complex drag-back that immediately lost them the ball.

Instead of crossing early when he had the space, he tried to beat his fullback again and ran the ball straight out of play.

He was forcing tough passes and taking risks he didn’t need to take.

On the touchline, Niels watched him closely. He saw the desperation in Dev’s game, but he didn’t blow the whistle to stop it.

Not yet.

Reece Darby noticed it, too. Playing right-back just behind Dev, he had a front-row seat to the mess. But what bothered Reece more than the turnovers was where Dev kept looking.

After almost every mistake, every heavy pass or failed dribble, Dev’s eyes darted straight to the touchline. He was constantly checking the coaches’ reactions, looking for validation that just wasn’t there.

When the session ended and the guys headed inside to get warm, Reece caught Dev alone near the edge of the pitch. Dev was untaping his wrists, his jaw tight.

"You’re running yourself into the ground out there, mate," Reece said, keeping it casual but direct.

Dev looked up and gave a quick, defensive shrug. "Just trying to stay sharp. We need more of an edge up top if teams are going to park the bus like Walsall."

Reece shook his head. "That’s not an edge, Dev. I’ve been watching you all morning. You’re trying to prove something. You’re forcing it."

"I’m just playing my game," Dev brushed him off, turning to grab his water bottle.

"No, you’re not," Reece said, stepping in his way so he couldn’t leave. "Your game is taking a touch and destroying a fullback. Your game is simple and fast. Right now, you think every single touch has to be a highlight."

Dev stopped, his grip tightening on the bottle. He opened his mouth to argue but Reece cut him off.

"You’re still trying to impress people who aren’t even playing the game."

Dev stood frozen on the grass. The words hit a little too close to home. He didn’t have an answer. Reece didn’t wait for one, either. He just patted Dev on the shoulder and jogged toward the tunnel, leaving the young winger alone with that thought.

The next morning, Niels changed the training schedule.

When the squad moved on to attacking drills, he pulled Dev aside and set up an isolated drill just for him on another part of the pitch.

Gary laid out some orange cones and mannequins around the penalty area.

"Five different situations," Niels explained, pointing to the zones. "The ball comes to you, and I want a quick decision. No extra tricks. One or two touches if you can. If it’s a pass, play it. If it’s a cross, whip it in. If it’s a shot, take it. Do exactly what the situation needs, nothing more."

Gary blew his whistle and started pinging balls at him fast.

The first pass went wide. Dev took one touch to control it and instantly whipped a perfect, dipping cross into the box. The second came hard to his feet with his back to the goal; he laid it off first time for an imaginary midfielder.

The third was a through ball down the channel. Dev sprinted onto it and tucked a clean, low shot right into the bottom corner.

It was brilliant, instinctive football. Dev didn’t miss a beat. The drill was moving so fast he barely had time to think. He just reacted, trusting his natural talent to make the right call.

"Good," Niels called out, raising a hand to stop the balls. "Now, we add bodies."

He waved Callum Haines and Harry Thompson over to jump in as live defenders.

Instantly, the space shrank. The passing lanes closed up. The pressure wasn’t just about the speed of the pass anymore, it was physical and mental.

Gary played the first ball.

As soon as Dev had an extra split second to think about the defender, his sharp, instinctive play disappeared. He got the ball and looked up.

The noise of the transfer rumors, the £27 million price tag, and the pressure from the Spanish papers all rushed right back into his head again.

Instead of playing a simple pass out wide, Dev tried to chop hard back inside to beat Harry. The veteran center-back read it easily, stood his ground, and took the ball right off him.

"Reset!" Niels shouted.

Gary played another ball. Dev took it on the half-turn. He had a clear shot at the near post, but he hesitated. He tried to shift it onto his stronger foot to make the finish look better, and Callum slid in to block it.

"Reset!"

Dev got more and more frustrated, his shoulders dropping with every mistake. He was overcomplicating everything. He kept trying to beat guys instead of passing, forcing tough shots instead of just taking the simple option.

Within five minutes, the whole drill fell apart.

Niels blew his whistle, bringing the mess to a sudden stop, and walked over to Dev.

The winger was bent over with his hands on his knees, breathing hard in the freezing air and glaring at the grass.

"Look at me," Niels said, his voice calm but firm.

Dev looked up, his eyes full of frustration.

"Your ability isn’t the problem," Niels said bluntly. "Those first five reps without the defenders? You proved you already know the right decision. Your instincts are elite."

Niels pointed to the two defenders jogging back to the main group.

"The problem is what happens when you start thinking about how people will judge you," Niels explained. "You see a defender, and you think you have to beat him to live up to the hype. You see an angle for a shot, and you try to make it spectacular instead of just making it count. You’re letting the outside noise dictate how you play."

Dev stood there quietly. The truth of the manager’s words hit him hard.

"You don’t need to prove your worth every time you touch the ball, Dev," Niels said quietly. "You just need to play the game."

Dev gave a slow nod. Logically, he understood exactly what Niels meant.

But actually, accepting it and shutting out the noise that had been building in his head for weeks was a whole different story.

Long after training ended and the rest of the team went inside for lunch, Dev stayed out on the freezing pitch.

He grabbed a bag of footballs and lined them up around the edge of the box. The pitch was totally empty. There were no defenders rushing him. No pressure, no manager watching with a clipboard, and no Spanish reporters dissecting his every move.

He ran through the drills alone.

He took a touch and curled a dipping shot right into the top corner. He grabbed another ball, drove hard to the byline, and whipped a perfect cross into the empty six-yard box. He played practically perfectly. His technique was flawless, and his decisions were sharp and instant.

But standing there in the biting wind, watching that last ball hit the back of the net, he didn’t feel relieved at all. It just frustrated him.

Because standing out there completely alone, he knew for a fact that the problem wasn’t his football. It wasn’t his boots, the wet grass, or his fitness.

It was the voice in his head telling him he always had something to prove.

Dev stared out at the quiet, empty stadium, wondering exactly who he’d been trying to impress this whole time.