Chapter 11: Under the Spotlight
Sunday. The day of the FA Cup tie.
The early morning air felt crisp, sharp against the skin, and the sound of the rain was now a distant memory. The world outside felt different today. Niels could almost sense the tension hanging in the air. Crawley Town was about to face Oxford United, and this game was going to mean more than just a result. It was a test of everything they'd worked for.
The bus ride to Oxford was quiet, the usual chatter missing, replaced with focused silence. Luka sat by the window, his fingers tapping against the seat, while Dev kept his head down, his eyes flickering between the window and the floor. Simons and Jamal exchanged a few quiet words, but it was clear they all felt it. The weight of the occasion. They were ready to take on a League One team, a side with a bigger budget, more experience, and a lot more expectations. But what they had in their corner was something Oxford couldn't buy—belief, and a hunger to prove they belonged.
Niels watched them, all of them. This was no longer just about tactics, formations, or clever team talk. This was about their hearts, their belief in each other, and their willingness to fight for the badge.
The pitch at Oxford was bigger than they were used to. Niels could already hear the stadium buzzing, the distant hum of the crowd outside. He could feel the nerves in the players as they dressed in the changing room. He knew this moment wasn't just a game. It was the test that would define their season, and maybe even Niels himself.
The referee called for the teams to line up. Crawley in their away kit, Oxford in their home yellow. The contrast was sharp, yet fitting. Crawley, the underdog, ready to face the giants of League One.
Niels stood by the tunnel, watching the players make their way onto the pitch. The lights were bright, blinding almost. He had seen it all before—big games, high pressure, the feeling of being watched. But this was different. The stakes were higher. Crawley had no place in this moment… except the one they were going to take for themselves.
"Remember who you are," Niels whispered to himself as he took his place in the dugout. "Remember what we're here for."
The first half flew by in a blur. Oxford came out strong, their passing crisp, their press suffocating. But Crawley didn't buckle. They fought for every ball, tracked every runner, and stood firm. Luka had a few glimpses of brilliance, darting past defenders, but Oxford's defense was resolute, keeping him on edge. Dev, despite his nerves, was growing into the game. His runs were more purposeful, his crosses sharper. Simons, as usual, was tireless, chasing down every ball and never letting the Oxford defenders forget he was there.
But it was Jamal, the quiet leader, who was beginning to shine. He read the game like it was second nature, covering for his teammates, positioning himself in spaces that allowed the others to push forward. His leadership was infectious, a steady hand in the storm.
And then, just before the halftime whistle, it came. A quick transition from Crawley, a long ball over the top, and Simons—running onto it like a predator to its prey—pulled away from the defender and slotted it home. 1-0. Crawley were in the lead.
The bench erupted. Niels stood, his hands clenched into fists, his heart pounding in his chest. They'd done it. They were leading Oxford United at their own ground. But there was still half a game to go.
The players jogged off the pitch, some of them pumping their fists, others still in disbelief. Niels caught Luka's eye. For the first time today, there was something more than cockiness in his gaze. There was the realization that they weren't just underdogs anymore—they were contenders.
The second half began, and Oxford came at them like a tidal wave. They threw everything they had, but Crawley held firm. Niels could see the determination in his players. It wasn't just the defense, either. The midfielders worked tirelessly to break up Oxford's attacks, and up front, Simons, Luka, and Dev were stretching the play, creating space where there shouldn't have been any.
Oxford's pressure eventually paid off in the 75th minute, a scrappy goal from a corner. 1-1.
The stadium roared, but Niels didn't panic. He had faith in his team. He had faith in their ability to fight for this.
In the final 15 minutes, the game became a battle of wills. Oxford pushed forward, but Crawley dug in their heels, refusing to let go of the dream. Every challenge was met with defiance. Every ball contested like it was the last one.
Then, in the dying minutes, it happened.
A long throw from McCulloch. The ball bounced awkwardly in the box. Simons, always alert, found himself in the right place at the right time. With a quick glance, he struck it—powerful, precise. 2-1. Crawley Town had won it.
The stadium fell silent. A moment of disbelief. And then, the roar. Crawley had done it. They had beaten Oxford United in the FA Cup.
Niels stood on the touchline, hands raised in the air, a proud smile breaking across his face. His players were already celebrating, some of them on the floor, others hugging and shouting. But for Niels, it was more than just a win. It was a statement. A statement that Crawley Town wasn't just a team on the rise—they were a force to be reckoned with.
He turned to the bench, his eyes scanning the players. Luka was grinning from ear to ear, his cocky swagger fully back. Dev was beaming, his confidence having blossomed with the win. Simons, as always, was humble in his victory. Jamal was shaking his head, disbelieving, but proud. They had all earned it.
Niels stood there for a moment longer, taking it all in. It wasn't just about the win. It was about how far they'd come. How much they had grown together. And, for Niels, it was about knowing they weren't finished yet. This was just the beginning.