98: Revenge of the Broken

The moment the half-time whistle blew, hurried footsteps echoed through the player's tunnel at Memorial Stadium.

Bristol Rovers' players walked dejectedly towards the changing room, their revenge plan having suffered a major setback in the first half.

Hartlepool United's players, on the other hand, appeared relatively relaxed, but concentration was etched on every face.

In the away team's changing room, Old John stood in front of the tactics board, holding Lin Feng's instructions that he had just received.

"Gentlemen, listen up."

Old John's voice reverberated in the small space.

"They're desperate now, and they'll attack even harder in the second half. Our opportunity lies behind them."

He drew a slow wavy line on the tactics board.

"Slow down the tempo, wear down their stamina with passes, like boiling a frog in warm water."

Jamie Vardy looked up, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

"So, let them jump first, and then we cast our net?"

"Exactly."

Old John nodded emphatically.

"The boss said this is the 'Tide Theory'. In the first half, we were a fierce rising tide, crushing their morale with our attack. In the second half, we need to be a calm receding tide."

Gylfi Sigurðsson nodded thoughtfully.

As the team's creative core, he best understood the essence of this tactic.

"Hidden within a seemingly calm rhythm are deadly undercurrents, waiting for the opponent to make a mistake."

As soon as Old John finished speaking, a chorus of responses rang out in the changing room.

"Understood!"

Meanwhile, the atmosphere in the home team's changing room was starkly different.

Bristol Rovers' head coach was roaring at his players.

"What the hell were you playing in the first half?"

"Being led by the nose by a bunch of promoted teams, is this your standard?"

Rickie Lambert sat in the corner, silently adjusting his shin guards.

His gaze remained firm; that shot that hit the post had shown him the opponent's goalkeeper's weakness.

As the second half began, Hartlepool United indeed changed the pace of the game.

They were no longer eager to attack, but instead patiently played the ball around in their own half.

The ball circulated among the blue and white striped shirts, every pass precise.

Bristol Rovers' players were tormented by this rhythm, spinning in circles.

They charged frantically at the ball like a group of bulls provoked by a red cloth, but always missed.

Their stamina rapidly depleted in this pointless running.

In the 58th minute, the opportunity finally arrived.

Bristol Rovers' center-back made a fatal error with a pass in their own half.

The ball rolled directly to Jordan Henderson, who was actively pressing.

Hartlepool United instantly transitioned from a "receding tide" to a "rising tide"!

Henderson didn't hesitate; after winning the ball, he immediately sent a long pass to Vardy.

The ball described a beautiful arc, landing precisely in the space behind the opposing defender.

Vardy accelerated.

His speed was pushed to the extreme at that moment, instantly drawing the attention of two defenders.

But just when everyone thought he was going to score one-on-one, Vardy made a decision that astonished the entire stadium.

He cleverly laid the ball back to the onrushing Sigurðsson.

The "Ice Prince" Sigurðsson met the ball at the edge of the penalty area.

His right foot, like a precise surgical knife, struck the lower-middle part of the ball with force.

The ball instantly rose off the ground, tracing a perfect arc.

The goalkeeper desperately stretched out his hands, but the ball's trajectory was agonizingly tricky.

"Thud!"

The ball violently crashed into the top-left corner of the net.

Two-nil!

Memorial Stadium instantly fell silent.

This world-class goal completely shattered the last shred of hope in the home fans' hearts.

Sigurðsson turned and walked back to the halfway line expressionlessly, as if he had just completed an ordinary pass.

But the calmness and composure in his eyes made everyone feel what it meant to be a king.

Bristol Rovers' players were completely rattled.

Their revenge plan not only failed but also left them even more disheveled by their opponents.

But Rickie Lambert did not give up.

This experienced striker knew that now was when the team needed him most.

In the 75th minute, Lambert received a pass from a teammate in the penalty area.

Facing a double-team from two defenders, he displayed the cunning of a veteran.

A feint fooled the first defender, followed by a powerful turn to shake off the second.

In an extremely tight space, Lambert unleashed a stunning shot.

The ball hugged the turf and nestled into the bottom-right corner of the net.

Two-one!

Bristol Rovers pulled one back!

Memorial Stadium instantly erupted, the roar of the home fans deafening.

The flames of revenge were rekindled.

But Old John's reaction was extremely swift.

He immediately walked to the fourth official and raised the substitution board.

Liam Bridcutt replaced Mark Tinkler.

This was a clear defensive substitution.

Bridcutt, upon entering the field, was like a moving barrier, appearing in key midfield positions.

Every interception he made was clean and precise, every pass simple and effective.

Bristol Rovers' momentum to continue attacking was instantly stifled.

In the 86th minute, Hartlepool United earned a corner kick.

Sigurðsson walked towards the corner flag, his gaze sweeping over the situation in the penalty area.

Ryan Shawcross's tall figure appeared in the optimal position.

This new center-back's aerial dominance was about to be put on full display.

Sigurðsson's corner kick was high and spinning.

The ball, with strong rotation, flew into the penalty area, accurately finding Shawcross's head.

Shawcross, like an iron tower forged of steel, overpowered all opposing defenders.

His header was powerful and emphatic, sending the ball crashing towards the goal.

The goalkeeper's save attempt seemed so futile.

The ball found the back of the net!

Three-one!

This goal completely killed any suspense in the match.

Boos erupted from Memorial Stadium, and the home fans' dream of revenge was utterly shattered.

Shawcross pumped his fists and roared, releasing his excitement.

This was his first goal since joining Hartlepool United, a significant milestone.

The final few minutes of the match turned into garbage time.

Bristol Rovers' players had completely lost their fighting spirit.

Their revenge plan not only failed but also left them utterly humiliated by their opponents.

The moment the final whistle blew, the Hartlepool fans in the away stands erupted in a thunderous cheer.

Three-one!

Hartlepool United once again defeated Bristol Rovers away from home.

This was perfect revenge for the EFL Trophy final a few months prior.

The players embraced, celebrating this exhilarating victory.

Vardy, Sigurðsson, Shawcross—every one of them was a hero of this win.

At the post-match press conference, Bristol Rovers' head coach's face was ashen.

"We lost to a stronger team."

His voice was dry, every word seemingly squeezed from between his teeth.

"They are completely different from the team they were a few months ago."

On the other side, Old John appeared calm and collected.

"This was just an ordinary League match."

His words carried the nonchalance of a king.

"Our goal has never been revenge, but the championship."

The team bus slowly drove away from Memorial Stadium.

Outside the window, the Bristol night enveloped the lost city.

Inside the bus, the players were excitedly discussing the highlights of the match.

But Jamie Vardy sat quietly in the corner, polishing his boots.

His eyes were still sharp, as if he were contemplating something.

One victory was far from enough for him.

He wanted more, more goals, more victories.

In the front row of the bus, Old John was checking his phone.

An official email from The FA lay quietly in his inbox.

The subject read: Regarding your UEFA B License coaching course application.

Old John's brows furrowed slightly.

This email wasn't sent to him; it was sent to Lin Feng.

But why was it forwarded to him?

He quickly scanned the email content, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes.

The FA had not only approved Lin Feng's application but also granted him special permission to skip the A License and directly enroll in the B License course.

This was an extremely rare special treatment in English football.

Old John closed his phone and looked out at the rapidly receding scenery outside the bus window.

He grew increasingly curious about how many more secrets this mysterious Chinese boss had yet to reveal.

And at this very moment, in his office in Hartlepool.

Lin Feng stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the town in the night.

His phone screen displayed the results of the recently concluded match.

Hartlepool United 3-1 Bristol Rovers.

A perfect victory, perfect revenge.

But Lin Feng's expression remained as calm as still water.

In his plan, this was just a small milestone.

The real challenges still awaited them.