132: The "Sponge" of the Stadium of Light (Part 2)

Tinkler and Sigurdsson were also performing the same task.

The running trajectories of the three formed an impenetrable net on the field, stubbornly resisting wave after wave of the opponent's attacks.

In the fifteenth minute, Sunderland had an excellent opportunity.

Richardson successfully broke through on the wing, and his cross accurately found Chopra at the far post. Chopra's shot had an excellent angle and sufficient power.

But Schmeichel once again demonstrated world-class goalkeeping ability.

He flew to the bottom left corner, his palm accurately touching the ball. The ball grazed the post and flew out of bounds, and the entire crowd marveled at the save.

“Schmeichel! It's Schmeichel again!”

Martin Tyler's voice was filled with surprise and admiration.

“This young Denmark goalkeeper's performance tonight is simply divine!”

Sunderland's players began to show a hint of impatience.

They originally thought that facing a League One team, they could easily win due to the difference in strength.

But now twenty minutes had passed, and not only had they not scored, but they had also rarely truly threatened the opponent's goal.

Roy Keane became increasingly agitated on the sidelines.

He constantly roared at the field, his voice sounding particularly harsh in the night wind. His gestures became more exaggerated, and his expression became more severe.

“Go up! Keep pressing up!”

“Speed up the tempo! They can't hold on!”

Every word from Keane carried strong emotional overtones.

As a legendary player known for his iron will, he could not accept his team being passively beaten by a League One team.

But the more anxious they became, the more disorganized Sunderland's attacks became.

The originally fluid passing and control became a bit rushed, and the once precise passes began to go astray.

To score as quickly as possible, the players opted for more individual breakthroughs and long-range shots, which instead reduced the efficiency of their offense.

Lin Feng quietly observed all of this from the private box.

The World-Class Club Development Platform continuously updated various data for Sunderland players.

Energy consumption curves, psychological fluctuation indices, success rates of technical actions—every number confirmed his judgment.

A subtle smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

The “sponge” was working. Every impact from the opponent was absorbed, and every bit of effort was being consumed.

And this consumption was not only physical but also psychological.

When a strong team cannot gain the expected advantage over a weaker team, frustration begins to spread.

In the thirtieth minute, Sunderland had another opportunity.

Leadbitter got a chance for a long-range shot from the edge of the penalty area. His shot had great power and a good angle.

Schmeichel made a brilliant diving save.

His body stretched out in the air, his arm fully extended. The ball grazed his fingertips and flew out of the goal, another world-class save.

The Hartlepool fans in the stands erupted in thunderous applause.

They were wild with excitement for their goalkeeper's brilliant performance and proud of their team's tenacious defense.

Every successful defense would trigger cheers from the entire stadium, and every averted danger would make the atmosphere even more intense.

As the first half drew to a close, data showed that Sunderland had over seventy percent possession.

Their shots on goal were also far ahead, and all their attacking statistics showed an absolute advantage.

But the score remained 0-0; they were still unable to break through the goal defended by Schmeichel.

Hartlepool United's defense became increasingly stable.

After adapting for the first thirty minutes, the players had gradually grown accustomed to the intensity of Premier League-level play.

Their positioning was more reasonable, their coordination more tacit agreement, and their ability to resolve danger grew stronger.

In the forty-second minute, Sunderland's last offensive push also came to nothing.

Jones's turn and shot in the penalty area was blocked by Nelson's body, and the ball flew into the stands.

This was their twelfth shot of the first half, but not one truly tested Schmeichel.

The referee's whistle blew, ending the first half.

The score was still 0-0.

Sunderland's players walked with their heads down towards the locker room tunnel.

Their faces were filled with the frustration and confusion of being unable to score after a prolonged attack.

As a Premier League team, they had originally thought this would be an easy match. But reality hit them hard.

Hartlepool United's players, however, looked much more relaxed.

Although they were on the defensive in the first half, they successfully executed their predetermined tactical plan. More importantly, they had gained a psychological advantage.

To be able to draw with a Premier League team was a victory in itself.

Old John walked at the very back of the team, his phone vibrating.

The message from Lin Feng was short but clear:

“Perfect first half. In the second half, it’s time to squeeze the sponge.”

Sky Sports' camera focused on Roy Keane on the sidelines.

The Irishman was furious with his assistant coach. His face was red with anger, and the water bottle in his hand was crumpled out of shape.

“This is impossible!”

His voice clearly carried into the live broadcast.

“They're just a League One team! How can we not be able to deal with them!”

The assistant coach tried to comfort him, but Keane clearly wasn't listening to any advice.

He paced back and forth on the sidelines, each step heavy.

As a legendary player who had never given up in his career, this passive situation made him feel an unprecedented sense of frustration.

Sunderland fans in the stands also began to show unease.

They had come to the away game with absolute confidence, expecting to watch an easy and enjoyable match. But the current situation completely exceeded their expectations.

“How can these amateur players stop our attack?”

“What is Keane doing? Make a substitution!”

The fans' voices began to carry doubt and dissatisfaction. This change in mood undoubtedly added insult to injury for the team.

However, in Hartlepool United's locker room, the atmosphere was completely different.

The players sat together, excitement and anticipation written on everyone's faces.

They knew they were making history, doing something incredible.

Old John stood in front of the tactics board, holding the detailed instructions Lin Feng had just sent.

The tactical adjustments for the second half were ready.

Now, it was time to transition from defense to counterattack.

In the locker room.

Old John held his phone, Lin Feng's voice coming clearly through the earpiece.

“The time has come.”

Lin Feng's words exuded absolute confidence.

“In the second half, continue to defend for the first fifteen minutes, completely wearing down their patience. After fifteen minutes, the 'sponge' begins to counterattack.”

Old John silently recited every detail.

“Tell Vardy and Walker, their showtime has arrived.”

Hanging up the phone, Old John turned to face the players sitting on the bench.

Vardy wiped the sweat from his face, propped himself on his knees, and asked in a hoarse voice, “Boss, how do we play in the second half?” His words ignited the eyes of everyone.

“Lads, you did perfectly in the first half.”

Old John's voice echoed in the small space.