140: Derby's heritage

On the main pitch of the Phoenix Training Center, autumn sunlight filtered through thin clouds, casting dappled shadows.

Lin Feng stood on the sidelines, hands in his pockets, his gaze sweeping over the young players, whose average age was under twenty.

They were conducting their final tactical drills; every pass, every run, carried the rawness of their inexperience, yet also sparkled with promising potential.

"Forget the score, play our own football."

Lin Feng's voice echoed across the training ground, not particularly loud, but possessing an undeniable authority.

"What I want to see is a glimpse of the first team in these kids."

Old John and Youth Academy Director Pulis stood beside him, both looking a little nervous and excited.

This was the first true test of the club's youth academy system.

"To the left! A little further back!" Goalkeeper Carson's voice boomed on the field, sounding far more seasoned than his actual age.

As the captain of this hastily assembled team, he bore immense pressure.

Chris Smalling and Peter Hartley partnered at center-back, both over 1.85 meters tall, forming a solid barrier in the penalty area.

Liam Bridcutt shuttled back and forth in midfield; his refined technique and accurate passing made him the brain of this young team.

Most striking was the slender 15-year-old on the front line.

Liam Jones was practicing off-the-ball movement; his speed wasn't exceptional, but his awareness of positioning was incredibly sharp.

His runs were cunning; as soon as a defender's attention was drawn away, he would already have slipped into an unmarked area.

"Time out!"

Lin Feng walked onto the field, and all the players immediately gathered around him.

Their eyes held both eagerness and tension, awaiting their boss's final instructions.

"I know you're nervous; that's normal."

Lin Feng's gaze swept over each young face.

"But tonight, you need to forget your age, forget the outside skepticism."

He pointed to the first team's group photo hanging on the wall of the training center's main hall.

"See those big brothers? Vardy, Henderson, Sigurdsson."

"Their achievements today also started from the stage you are at now."

Fifteen-year-old Jones subconsciously swallowed, his palms beginning to sweat.

"Liam, come here."

Lin Feng beckoned to the youngest striker.

Jones nervously walked up to Lin Feng, his body trembling slightly.

"Do you know how Vardy makes his runs?"

Jones nodded, a flicker of determination in his eyes.

"Then don't overthink it; do what you've been doing in training."

Lin Feng lightly patted his shoulder.

"The essence of a derby is controlling emotions."

His voice grew serious.

"Whoever loses their composure first, loses."

"Respond to their tackles with your passes."

"Tease their provocations with your runs."

George Smith was eager on the wing, his eyes burning with fighting spirit.

This 19-year-old winger was fast and skillful, one of the academy's star players.

"Remember, what you're wearing is the Hartlepool United jersey."

No sooner had Lin Feng finished speaking than a training assistant came over to remind the team it was time to prepare for departure.

The players began packing their gear, the tension in the atmosphere growing thicker.

On the streets of Hartlepool, fans had already begun to gather.

They held banners and sang team songs, ready to send off this young team.

"Let the kids know our support!"

"A derby is a derby, no matter who plays!"

"The spirit of Hartlepool United never dies!"

But some voices expressed different opinions.

"How can they send the reserve team to a derby?"

"This is disrespectful to Darlington!"

"Has the boss bitten off more than he can chew this time?"

Sophie Green stood outside Victoria Park stadium, conducting her final interviews for tomorrow's report.

Her notebook already contained the differing opinions of over a dozen fans.

"This isn't just a derby."

She silently conceived the title for tomorrow's column.

"It's also a referendum on the future of the club."

"Lin Feng is, in the boldest way, demonstrating the results of his youth academy system to everyone."

In the parking lot of the Phoenix Training Center, a silver bus waited silently.

The Hartlepool United crest and the words "Pride of the North" were emblazoned on its side.

Players boarded one by one, each with a serious expression.

Smalling, as one of the few players with "big match experience" in the team, voluntarily sat in the front row.

He turned around, looking at his younger teammates behind him.

"Guys, don't carry all the pressure yourselves."

His voice was relaxed.

"We are a team; whatever difficulties arise, we face them together."

Bridcutt nodded, his fingers lightly tapping the armrest of his seat.

He mentally replayed every detail from the recent training session, ensuring his passing lanes were sound.

Jones sat by the window, his gaze fixed on the gradually receding Phoenix Training Center outside.

He recalled his first time here, when he was a nervous 14-year-old.

Now, he was about to represent the club in the first real derby of his life.

The bus left Hartlepool, heading south towards Darlington.

The atmosphere inside was starkly different from when the first team departed.

There was no veteran composure, no seasoned player's calmness, only the irrepressible excitement and nervousness of youth.

Smith put on his headphones and closed his eyes, resting.

The rhythm of the music helped him stay focused, tactical points from training constantly replaying in his mind.

Hartley gently stretched his ankles in his seat, ensuring his physical condition was at its best.

As a center-back partner, he needed to form a tacit understanding with Smalling.

Carson quietly watched out the window from the back row, occasionally exchanging a few words with the substitute goalkeeper beside him.

He knew he was not just a goalkeeper, but also the commander on the field.

The bus sped down the highway; each road sign marked "South" meant one step closer to that hostile stadium.

An hour later, the outline of Darlington appeared on the horizon.

The players' heart rates began to accelerate.

As the bus entered Darlington city, scattered figures of fans began to appear on both sides of the street.

Seeing the Hartlepool United crest, they immediately made various provocative gestures.

"Look, it's those 'kindergarten' kids!"

"Tonight, we'll show you what real football is!"

"Go back to your northern hole!"

Jones watched these scenes through the bus window, his fists unconsciously clenching.

Smalling noticed his reaction and said softly:

"Ignore them; this is just part of psychological warfare."

"It'll be even louder when we get to the stadium."

"But remember, the louder the boos, the more they fear us."

The bus finally arrived at Darlington's home ground.

A large crowd of home fans had already gathered outside the stadium.

When they saw the Hartlepool United team bus, boos immediately erupted.

Even more excessively, some held up huge banners.

"Welcome Hartlepool Kindergarten!"

"Kids, remember to go home early!"

"Darlington Adults vs. Hartlepool Children!"

Jones looked at the mocking slogans outside the window, his face turning pale.

His hands were tightly clenched into fists, his fingernails almost digging into his palms.

The 15-year-old had never experienced such intense hostility.

Smith patted his shoulder:

"Liam, look at me."

Jones turned his head, a hint of fear in his eyes.

"The more they mock us like this, the louder our goals will sound later."

Smith's eyes gleamed with fighting spirit.

"Imagine what their faces will look like when we score."

Bridcutt also joined in the comforting:

"The boss said the essence of a derby is controlling emotions."

"They've already lost control, and we're still calm."

"That's our advantage."

The bus slowly drove into the players' tunnel.

The roar of the engine temporarily drowned out the boos from outside.

Old John stood up, surveying each young face in the bus.

"Gentlemen, we are now entering battle mode."

His voice was calm but carried undeniable authority.

"From the moment you step off this bus, you are professional players."

"Age is just a number; skill is the truth."

The players began to organize their gear, check their boots, and tighten their shin guard straps.

Carson was the last to stand up, he looked around at his teammates:

"Remember what the boss said."

Though his voice was young, it carried the authority expected of a captain.

"We are not here to survive."

"We are here to conquer."