The Coaching System

The Walk to the Dressing Room

Inside the tunnel, the silence was deafening.

Ortega wiped sweat from his forehead, muttering something under his breath.

Silva kicked the wall as he walked past, frustration written all over his face.

Thompson barely looked up, his hands resting on his hips.

The players weren't just losing the game.

They were losing belief.

Jake took a slow breath, steadying himself.

He could already hear the murmurs from the press box.

"Maybe Bradford's miracle run ends here."

"Wilson's team looks overwhelmed."

"Notts County are showing why experience matters in big games."

Jake clenched his fists.

No.

This wasn't over.

inside the dressing room.

The door to the dressing room slammed shut.

Inside, the silence was suffocating.

Players collapsed onto benches, their heads bowed, jerseys drenched in sweat. Some leaned forward, elbows on knees, staring at the floor in disbelief. Others sat still, too drained to even react.

Silva kicked a water bottle across the room. Thompson buried his face in his hands. Ortega just sat motionless, his jaw clenched.

Bradford were forty-five minutes away from losing everything.

Jake entered last.

He didn't say anything at first. He just stared at them.

The room felt heavy, the weight of the moment pressing down on every single player.

For a few seconds, he let them sit with it. Let them feel it.

Then his voice cut through the air, sharp and cold.

"Is this how we go out?"

Nobody answered.

"Is this how you want to be remembered?"

Still, silence.

Jake took a step forward, his tone hardening.

"Because if you've already lost, don't bother walking back out there."

A few heads lifted. Min-jae blinked, breathing heavily. Collins sat up straighter.

"Look at me."

One by one, their eyes met his.

Jake's voice grew sharper, stronger.

"Notts County think this game is over. They think we're finished. They think they can sit back for forty-five minutes and cruise their way into League One."**

His eyes moved across the room, locking onto each player.

"Prove them wrong."

Jake stepped closer, pointing at the scoreboard.

"Two-nil. That's what it says. But that doesn't mean a damn thing. It doesn't say full-time. It doesn't say game over."**

His voice rose, filled with fire now.

"You have forty-five minutes to change history. Forty-five minutes to turn this stadium upside down. Forty-five minutes to remind every single person watching that we are Bradford City, and we don't fking quit."**

The energy in the room shifted.

Silva sat up straighter, his fists clenching. Ortega exhaled, his frustration turning into focus. Collins wiped the sweat off his forehead, nodding slowly.

Jake's voice grew even stronger.

"We get one goal, and everything changes. One goal, and Notts County panics. One goal, and this entire stadium turns against them."

He turned to Ortega, stepping right in front of him.

"Stop waiting for space. Make it."

Ortega nodded, jaw tightening.

Jake turned to Silva and Collins.

"You two—no hesitation. I want you driving at them every single time you get the ball. Make their full-backs suffer."

Silva smirked. Collins cracked his knuckles.

Then, Jake pointed at Thompson.

"They're marking you out of the game. Fine. Drag them out of position. Pull their center-backs away. Give us space to attack."

Thompson exhaled, his frustration melting into determination.

Jake looked around the room one last time.

"Forty-five minutes. One last chance to define your season."

He took a deep breath.

"If you want this, go take it."

He clapped his hands once.

"Let's go."

Second Half Kickoff

The moment Bradford stepped back onto the Wembley pitch, the energy was different.

The hesitation from the first half was gone.

The doubt? Erased.

Jake could see it in their body language. The way Ortega bounced on his toes, scanning every movement of the Notts County midfield. The way Silva cracked his neck, eyes locked on his full-back like a predator stalking its prey.

This wasn't the same Bradford that left the pitch forty-five minutes ago.

They were here to fight.

And Notts County were about to feel it.

The referee blew the whistle.

And Bradford exploded forward.

Ortega and Chapman demanded the ball immediately, orchestrating every move.

Silva and Collins pushed higher, stretching Notts County's defensive line.

Thompson pressed aggressively, forcing their center-backs into rushed clearances.

The pressing was relentless, suffocating.

Notts County weren't ready for this.

They had expected Bradford to come out stronger.

But this?

This was something else entirely.

Within minutes, Jake saw exactly what he wanted.

Silva, positioned wide on the left, received a sharp pass from Ortega.

Instead of taking a safe touch, he turned on the spot, flicking the ball past his full-back.

The defender lunged—too slow.

Silva was gone.

The Bradford fans rose to their feet as Silva sprinted into the open space.

Collins darted into the box, Thompson peeled off his marker—options everywhere.

Silva cut inside, skipping past a desperate slide tackle.

One touch. Two touches.

Then—he unleashed a curling shot toward the far post!

Jake held his breath.

The ball whipped through the air, heading for the bottom corner—

The keeper dove—fingertips to it!

Saved!

The rebound spilled dangerously in front of goal.

Thompson rushed onto it, swinging his boot—

Blocked on the line!

The Notts County center-back threw himself in the way, barely keeping the ball out.

So close.

Jake clenched his fists, his heart pounding.

The pressure was building.

And Notts County?

They were starting to crack.

60th Minute –

Bradford refused to slow down.

The relentless pressing, the aggressive forward runs, the complete shift in intensity—Notts County had no time to breathe.

Every time the opposition tried to clear their lines, the ball came straight back.

Ortega and Chapman controlled the midfield now, dictating the tempo, shifting the ball from side to side, looking for the perfect opening.

Jake stood on the touchline, arms crossed, eyes locked onto the field.

They needed a breakthrough.

And then—it happened.

Ortega received the ball near the halfway line, glancing up for options.

Notts County's midfielders were starting to tire—the pressing that suffocated Bradford in the first half was gone.

Now, there was space.

One touch. Two touches. Then, a perfect through ball—piercing the defensive line.

The pass cut through Notts County's defense like a knife.

Collins timed his run perfectly.

He burst forward, his defender trailing behind, reaching the edge of the box one-on-one with the keeper.

Wembley held its breath.

Collins didn't hesitate.

He kept his composure, adjusted his stride, and smashed the ball past the onrushing goalkeeper.

The net rippled.

GOAL! Bradford 1 – 2 Notts County!

The stadium exploded.

Bradford fans leapt out of their seats, scarves flying into the air.

The sound was deafening.

On the pitch, Collins sprinted toward the corner flag, punching the air, screaming in celebration.

His teammates rushed toward him, grabbing his shirt, shaking him, roaring with pure adrenaline.

On the touchline, Jake let out a roar of his own, fist pumping violently.

"Come on!"

This was it.

The comeback had started.

But before they could even settle—

Notts County were already preparing their response.

63rd Minute –

Disaster.

Bradford were still celebrating.

Collins had barely finished his goal celebration when Notts County placed the ball at the center circle, ready to restart.

Jake had seen it happen before—teams switching off after scoring, allowing the opponent to strike back immediately.

He shouted from the sideline, "Wake up! Stay alert!"

But his warning came too late.

The moment the game resumed, Notts County moved with purpose.

Their right-back received the ball deep in his own half and immediately launched it forward.

It wasn't a hopeful clearance—it was a perfectly measured pass, aimed directly at Bradford's high defensive line.

Min-jae and Barnes, who had stepped up too far, suddenly realized they were in trouble.

Reid, Notts County's most clinical finisher, had already started his run.

And he was fast.

Min-jae turned, but he was half a step behind.

Barnes tried to recover, but Reid was already gone.

One long touch forward.

The ball bounced perfectly into his path.

One glance up.

Then, a calm, curling shot toward the far post.

GOAL! Notts County 3 – 1 Bradford!

The ball nestled into the back of the net.

Wembley erupted.

Notts County fans exploded with celebration, the contrast between their joy and Bradford's stunned silence was brutal.

Bradford's players stood frozen.

The comeback they had fought so hard to start?

Erased.

Min-jae looked down, hands on his knees.

Barnes slapped the turf in frustration.

Okafor picked the ball out of his net and launched it up the field in anger.

Jake turned away, hands on his head.

Unbelievable.

They had just gotten back into the game.

But Notts County had punished them instantly.

Jake took a deep breath, then turned toward his bench.

He had no choice.

It was time to make changes.

Substitutions

Jake didn't hesitate.

No time to overthink. No time to dwell on mistakes.

He spun toward the bench, barking instructions. "Three changes. Now."

Bradford needed fresh legs.

They needed momentum.

They needed players who could turn the tide.

The Substitutions

Collins OFF – Alex Grant ON (More pace and pressing)

Grant, quicker and sharper in pressing, was brought on to inject urgency.

Jake needed someone to relentlessly harass Notts County's midfield and full-backs.

As Collins jogged off, Jake clapped his back. "You did well. We need more now."

Chapman OFF – Ryan Carter ON (Creativity in midfield)

Carter, Bradford's most creative passer, was exactly what the team needed.

Notts County were sitting deeper now, inviting pressure. Carter's ability to find pockets of space could unlock them.

As Chapman walked off, frustrated, Jake pulled Carter close. "Get on the ball. Control this game. We're not done yet."

Lowe OFF – Benson ON (Fresh energy to win back control)

Lowe had worked hard, but his legs were gone. Benson, fresh and aggressive, would provide energy and balance.

Jake pointed at him. "Win the midfield battle. Make it yours."

The fourth official raised the board, flashing the three substitutions.

As Carter jogged onto the pitch, his eyes were sharp, focused.

No nerves.

Just determination.

He gave Jake a small nod, rolling his shoulders.

Jake nodded back.

"Make them suffer."

Carter sprinted to his position.

The referee blew the whistle.

And Bradford's fightback truly began.