Touchline Rebirth: From Game To Glory-Chapter 117: Medicals and Decisions

Chapter 117: Medicals and Decisions

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

A cold breeze blew across Broadfield Stadium, while the muddy pitches caught the soft morning light breaking through the clouds over Crawley.

Niels arrived early, his boots scraping the gravel as the air smelled of wet grass and morning mist. A quiet energy buzzed inside him, the weight of the day’s tasks sharpening his focus.

Paul Pogba’s medical would take center stage that morning, while Luke Freeman’s loan deal hung in the balance, its outcome crucial. With the fixtures coming soon, these signings could define Crawley’s year.

Niels gripped his notebook, its pages filled with tactical sketches and notes on Pogba and Freeman, their names underlined in red ink potential cornerstones for a squad eager to prove itself.

The roar of the crowd echoed in his chest, even in the quiet moments. It wasn’t just the game; it was everything behind it the sweat, the struggle, the weight of a town that didn’t know how to give up.

Every player on the field wore that fire differently: Max’s relentless grind, Thiago’s flair, Dev’s sharp mind always calculating the next move.

He lingered at the stadium’s entrance, the faint echo of past cheers ringing in his ears. Today was about turning plans into reality, and Niels was ready to drive it forward with everything he had.

The medical bay was a cramped space below the main stand, filled with the hum of machines and the sterile scent of antiseptic.

Paul Pogba entered, his tall frame blocking the doorway, calm but with a quiet tension in his eyes, just a young talent fully aware of the moment’s weight.

Thomas, joined by a few doctors, took control of the room. His Dutch accent sliced through the air as he directed Pogba through a grueling sequence of tests treadmill sprints, flexibility checks, heart rate readings.

The doctors moved in sync, monitoring, adjusting, while Thomas kept his gaze fixed on every detail, clipboard in hand.

Niels stood by the door, arms crossed, eyes fixed on Pogba’s powerful strides. But even he could catch the small pause in his recovery runs.

The physio team hovered nearby, writing down observations with detached precision, their faces unreadable as they tracked every number, every shift in motion.

Across the stadium, Emma was holed up in her office, phone glued to her ear, battling through tense negotiations with Gillingham over Freeman’s loan.

They were demanding Crawley cover 70% of his wages, a tough pill to swallow for a club with little room to maneuver.

Niels slipped into her office during a brief lull, taking in the mess of papers, sticky notes, and a coffee mug growing cold on the desk.

"How’s Freeman’s deal looking?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe, his tone calm but with a hint of urgency.

Emma rubbed her temple, her voice tight with frustration. "Gillingham’s sticking to 70%, take it or leave it. I’m fighting for 55%, but they know how badly we need his creativity. It’s a chess match, and they’re playing hardball."

Niels nodded, his mind sharp. "Keep them talking. Freeman’s worth it for his vision and set-pieces, but we can’t let them drain us. Find a middle ground."

Emma gave a curt nod, already dialing again, her focus unrelenting.

Back in the medical bay, Thomas finished reviewing Pogba’s results, his face set in concentration. "He’s cleared," he said quietly to Niels, his voice low. "A few minor conditioning issues, his endurance could use some work, but nothing that’ll hold him back."

Niels let out a slow breath, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. Pogba’s strength and vision could anchor the midfield, but the conditioning issue meant a personalized plan was essential to keep him firing on all cylinders.

He pulled Thomas aside in the corridor, the buzz of the medical bay fading into the background. "How fast can you get Pogba match-ready?" Niels asked, his voice low but urgent. With less than a month before the season kicks off, every day counted.

Thomas glanced down at his clipboard, his tone steady. "We’ll ease him in, focus on low-impact strength, targeted sprints, and getting him into our high-press system. He’ll be match-fit by the season opener, no doubt."

Niels nodded, imagining Pogba dominating the midfield, his long passes carving through opposition lines to find Thiago and Dev.

The vision was there sharp and precise but the real work to make it happen was only just starting.

He spotted Pogba on the training ground, the sun climbing higher, stretching long shadows across the wet turf. The young midfielder stood tall, eyes focused, waiting for Niels to speak.

Niels met his gaze, his voice steady but with an edge. "You’re not in Manchester anymore. This is where you prove you still belong at the top. Crawley’s your stage now, but you’ve got to earn your place every single day."

Pogba nodded, a small smile flickering across his face, his voice calm yet hungry. "I’m here to make it happen, Coach. Give me the ball, and I’ll show you what I’ve got." His quiet confidence was the kind of fire Niels could build on.

The training ground buzzed with energy as the afternoon wore on, the squad grinding through drills under Thomas’s unblinking gaze.

Max Simons led a sharp passing sequence, every touch deliberate, while Kieron Marsh threw himself into tackles, his raw intensity lighting up the pitch.

Niels watched from the sidelines, envisioning Freeman’s left-footed passes threading through gaps, pairing with Pogba’s power and Max’s drive. The squad was starting to take shape, but the deals weren’t sealed.

He found Emma outside her office later, her face soft with cautious optimism. "Gillingham’s agreed to the loan-to-buy for Freeman, pending personal terms," she said, her voice calm but relieved. "We landed at 60% wages it’s tough, but we can work with it."

Niels exhaled, feeling the momentum shift. "Good work. Have Freeman’s agent in tomorrow to finalize terms. Pogba’s cleared, let’s push both deals through quickly."

Emma nodded without hesitation, her pen already moving across the page as her focus remained razor-sharp.

As the squad wrapped up training, Niels lingered on the pitch, the air heavy with the scent of rain-soaked earth. He pictured Pogba anchoring the midfield, Freeman weaving through gaps, Thiago and Dev sparking attacks down the flanks.

He walked to the training office, the stadium quiet and still, the pitch cast in shadows with only the floodlights offering a faint glow. On the desk, an old, cracked trophy sat, its surface scratched but still gleaming, a symbol of the club’s past triumphs and the pressure to deliver more.

Niels leaned back, the room dim except for the soft glow of his laptop. Instead of old footage, he scanned through upcoming fixtures and player profiles, searching for the pieces that could strengthen the squad.

The pressure was real Crawley needed fresh energy and a new direction, and Niels knew every decision now would shape the season ahead.

He leaned back, his mind racing with the next steps. Pogba’s medical was a green light, but his conditioning needed work. Freeman’s loan was close, but personal terms were still a hurdle to clear.

Niels pictured his team, but this time, there was no comfortable routine. He wasn’t thinking of positions or names, just of the hunger in their eyes, the drive to prove themselves.

Adam’s quiet confidence under pressure, Liam’s unshakable will, Reece’s explosive runs. He saw Thiago and Dev fighting for every inch of space, Nate unlocking angles no one else could see.

Kieron’s raw energy, Max’s deadly focus, and the new additions, Pogba and Freeman fitting in, pushing the boundaries of what this team could become.

It wasn’t about how they’d played before, but what they could build together now.

The offers for Pogba and Freeman were out, the medical cleared, but Freeman’s terms were still in play, the transfer window’s clock ticking louder each day.

Niels grabbed his notebook, scribbling in bold red ink: Pogba officially joined. Freeman. Finalize Lookman. Strengthen the midfield. Prepare for the season.

The list wasn’t just a plan, it was a blueprint for what was to come. His pen moved with certainty, even as the weight of every decision pressed on him.

The rain fell harder, a drumbeat against the window. Niels stood, pacing to the glass, his breath fogging as he stared at the pitch, its muddy patches gleaming under the floodlights.

He looked out across the pitch, the weight of the coming season settling in.

The board had given the green light, but it was the players, the staff, the town that would carry this team forward. There was no room for hesitation, only relentless effort.

Crawley’s story wasn’t one that relied on any single person. It wasn’t about just surviving League One; it was about building something that would live on long after he was gone.

A legacy carved in every tackle, every pass, and every roar from the fans. Even if he left, this team would continue its spirit, its hunger, its fight, all woven into the fabric of the club.