147: The "timid" opponent and the "hungry" lion

The turf at Victoria Park shimmered in the autumn afternoon sun.

The air was filled with the faint scent of fresh-cut grass, mixed with the aroma of fish and chips drifting from the distant town.

Nearly ten thousand fans had already gathered in the stands, with blue and white scarves and banners adorning the entire stadium, making it look magnificent.

“Hartlepool! Hartlepool!”

Deafening chants surged from all directions, as if to tear the sky apart.

In the player's tunnel, Hartlepool United's players were making their final preparations.

Vardy sat on the bench, hands tightly gripping his boots, his gaze fixed intently on the ground.

Henderson, meanwhile, hummed the team song softly beside him, his fingers rhythmically tapping his thigh.

On the big screen in the locker room, the report that had left everyone deeply impressed still remained on display.

The Gillingham manager's words were clear in their minds: “Our goal at Victoria Park is simple: to try and get a corner kick.”

Lin Feng stood in front of the screen, his gaze sweeping over every player present.

“Gentlemen, the opponent is already down.”

As soon as he finished speaking, the locker room erupted with the players’ roars and the sound of them banging on lockers.

“But our goal isn't just to walk all over them.”

Vardy looked up, a glimmer of confusion in his eyes.

“It's to show them, with an impeccable, dominant performance, just how big the gap between them and us truly is.”

Lin Feng took a step forward, placing his hands on the tactics table.

“I demand that you fight for the first goal as if it's nil-nil.”

“Run for the second goal as if you're one goal down.”

His tone began to rise, carrying an undeniable resolve.

“What I need is ninety minutes of pressure, ninety minutes of dominance!”

The locker room instantly burst into thunderous applause and shouts.

The fire of fighting spirit reignited in the players' eyes.

Sigurdsson suddenly stood up, vigorously patting the team badge on his chest.

“For Hartlepool!”

The other players also stood up, their voices merging into a torrent.

“For Hartlepool!”

Outside the player's tunnel, Sky Sports cameras were already in position.

Commentator Martin Tyler sat in the commentary booth, holding a thick binder of material.

“Welcome to Victoria Park.”

His voice reached thousands of households via radio waves.

“League leaders Hartlepool United are hosting Gillingham.”

“The Gillingham manager's pre-match comments have made this match full of drama.”

The camera panned across the fervent fans in the stands.

The blue and white sea surged, and anticipation was written on everyone's face.

“Let's see how Hartlepool United will respond.”

Footsteps echoed from the player's tunnel.

The two teams' players walked out side by side; Hartlepool United's players held their heads high, full of confidence.

Gillingham's players, however, seemed a bit nervous, occasionally glancing at their opponents.

“The home team, Hartlepool United, is playing with their full strength, in a 4-3-3 formation.”

Martin Tyler's voice continued.

“Goalkeeper Schmeichel, with a backline of Walker, Shawcross, Nelson, and Robson.”

“Midfielders Henderson, Sigurdsson, and Tinkler.”

“Forwards Maloney, Vardy, and Snodgrass.”

The camera gave a close-up of the away team.

“The away team, Gillingham, has deployed an extremely conservative 5-4-1 formation.”

“Their goalkeeper is Simon Royce; they are almost entirely defending, setting up a solid defensive wall.”

The referee's whistle echoed through the stadium.

The match officially began.

Gillingham indeed retreated entirely, with ten players almost all falling back into their own half.

They formed two defensive barriers in front of the penalty area, blocking all space.

The center-backs and full-backs stood in a tight horizontal line.

The midfielders were positioned about ten meters in front of them, forming the second line of defense.

The lone striker stood isolated near the center circle, more like a symbolic presence.

Hartlepool United, however, played with extreme patience.

Henderson took the ball in midfield; he didn't rush to pass it forward but instead passed it back to Shawcross.

Shawcross then passed the ball to Walker on the right wing.

Walker advanced along the flank, but facing two opposing defenders, he chose to pass horizontally.

The blue and white jerseys constantly passed the ball in the mid-to-backfield, and Gillingham's defense was forced to run from side to side, always a half-step too slow.

The fans in the stands began to grow a little impatient.

“Pass it forward!”

“Attack quickly!”

Scattered shouts came from various corners.

But the players strictly followed Lin Feng's tactical instructions, not rushing for success.

In the 18th minute, the opportunity finally arrived.

Kyle Walker and Snodgrass executed a brilliant one-two on the right wing.

Snodgrass deftly tapped the ball back, and Walker broke forward with the momentum.

Facing a defense that had already retreated into the penalty area, Walker chose not to force a breakthrough.

He suddenly sent a low, flat cross, and the ball quickly slid along the ground towards the goal.

Vardy, with keen awareness, darted in at the near post, poking the ball with his foot just before the opposing center-back.

The ball headed straight for the bottom left corner of the goal.

Simon Royce reacted swiftly, diving horizontally and securely holding the ball with both hands.

“Good save!”

A round of enthusiastic applause erupted in the stands.

Gillingham's manager on the sidelines wiped away a cold sweat; that last attack had sounded an alarm.

The rest of the match completely turned into a Hartlepool United attacking and defending drill in their opponent's half.

Their possession rate was as high as eighty percent, and almost every pass was accurate.

But facing the opponent's defensive wall, they were unable to open their goal-scoring account.

Gillingham's players were like eleven walls, firmly guarding their penalty area.

Whenever Hartlepool United's players tried to break through, two to three defenders would immediately surround them.

They resorted to fouls to stop the opponent's attacks.

In the 31st minute, Maloney was fouled on the edge of the penalty area, and the referee gave Gillingham a yellow card.

In the 39th minute, Henderson's long-range shot was blocked by the wall.

In the 42nd minute, Sigurdsson's free-kick narrowly missed the post.

In the VIP box, Lin Feng sat in his seat, looking calm.

His fingers tapped lightly on the armrest, his eyes fixed on the situation on the field.

Sophie Green next to him was a bit anxious.

“Their defense is indeed very tenacious,” she whispered to Lin Feng.

“This density of defense cannot be maintained for ninety minutes,” Lin Feng replied without turning his head.

He took out his phone and quickly drafted a text message to Old John.

“Be patient. Tell Gylfi and Henderson to try more long-range shots, to blast open their fortress with heavy artillery.”

Old John on the sidelines received the text message and immediately gestured to the players on the field.

Sigurdsson and Henderson understood and began to attempt more long-range shots.

In the 44th minute, Sigurdsson took a shot from 25 meters out, and the ball grazed the crossbar and flew out over the byline.

In the 45th minute, Henderson's powerful shot was barely saved by the goalkeeper.

The referee blew the whistle for the end of the first half.

The score was still 0-0.

Gillingham's players breathed a sigh of relief; they had successfully withstood the league leaders' first-half onslaught.

Their manager on the sidelines showed a triumphant smile, seemingly very satisfied with his defensive strategy.

As the players walked towards the player's tunnel, he didn't forget to give them a thumbs-up.

“Well done! Keep it up!” he shouted.

“Keep it up in the second half!”

Hartlepool United's players, however, looked a bit frustrated.

Vardy kicked the turf, his expression somewhat displeased.

Henderson walked towards the locker room, shaking his head.

The fans in the stands also began to stir.

A nil-nil score was clearly not what they wanted to see.

“What's going on?”

“Can't they break through?”

Various complaints rose and fell.

Just then, the camera captured an interesting scene.

Lin Feng in the VIP box was talking to Old John on the phone.

He had a confident smile on his face, seemingly assured of breaking the deadlock in the second half.

Old John's slightly anxious voice came through the phone.

“Boss, their defense is indeed very tight.”

“I know,” Lin Feng's voice remained calm.

“But have you noticed? Their physical exertion is starting to show.”

His gaze swept over the sweaty Gillingham players on the field.

“From the 38th minute onwards, their running distance significantly decreased.”

“In that defensive play in the 42nd minute, the left-back couldn't keep up with Walker's pace anymore.”

Old John carefully recalled the recent match footage.

Indeed, as Lin Feng said, Gillingham's players began to show signs of fatigue in the latter part of the game.

“What about the second half?”

“Continue to follow the instructions I just sent in the text message.”

Lin Feng hung up the phone and redirected his attention back to the field.

Sophie Green looked at him curiously.

“You don't seem worried at all?”

“A football match is ninety minutes,” Lin Feng smiled faintly.

“Some teams are good at starting, some teams are good at finishing.”

“And we are good at controlling the rhythm of the entire match.”

He stood up and adjusted his suit.

“The second half is when the real show begins.”