"Yeah, I'd rather watch Tony Twain and Jose Mourinho fight one-on-one on the sidelines." The commentator did not hide his disgust at the dull battle. "To be honest, I don't think Peter Crouch is a qualified center forward. His characteristics are strange. The Forest team is wasting their few opportunities to counterattack. Perhaps Manager Tony Twain thinks the 2.1-meter tall Peter Crouch can become an excellent center forward, but it's clearly not the time now."
Twain could see the problem the commentator was complaining about. Crouch was not the type of center forward who could rely on his own body to hold the ball, then control it under the opponent's fierce tackle, and wait for his teammates to come up and support. Crouch worked hard, but he appeared to be struggling under the defense of the two center backs, Terry and Carvalho. What he needed was a center forward with a strong body, excellent headers, and good ball control skills, not someone like Crouch, who was tall but preferred to use his feet.
If Crouch was not the best candidate to carry out this set of tactics, then who was?
He glanced sideways at the substitutes' bench and saw a young man. Since joining the Forest team, he had only appeared in a few warm-up matches. The Danish kid, who was last in the order of appearance among the four strikers.
Freddy Eastwood was a direct descendant that he had unearthed. He needed to focus on grooming, and his position as the main force was naturally stable. Mark Viduka had spent the club six million pounds. Not to mention his ability and reputation, how could they let him be a substitute after spending so much money on a striker? Peter Crouch's characteristics were outstanding. He was low-key in the team, so he had no complaints when Twain arranged for him to be the third striker. As for this young man … If he was not given a chance to play and prove himself, he reckoned that the reporters who stared at the Forest team's locker room all day long, wanting to dig up some explosive news, would have something to show?
"Get the Danish kid to warm up," Twain said to David Kerslake.
"Bendtner, five minutes to warm up." The assistant manager got up and leaned toward the substitutes' bench. He raised his right hand and spread his fingers as he spoke to Nicklas Bendtner, who was sitting there in a daze.
Bendtner turned his head to look at Kerslake. Then, his eyes went past the assistant manager to the manager, Tony Twain, who was next to him. He saw that the young manager was watching the game intently, so he stood up, put on a yellow vest, and trotted out.
※ ※ ※
Nottingham Forest and Chelsea were still entangled with each other, like two boxers hugging each other, unable to use their most powerful moves because they were all busy restraining their opponents' punches.
Mourinho did not want to see such a situation where both sides were restricting each other. If he was dragged into a quagmire by his opponent, he would be very unwilling. Why? Because he was helpless against such an opponent in an away game, it made him feel very angry.
To José Mourinho, Tony Twain was the same as any other unfamiliar English manager. He was a nobody. Who was his target? Alex Ferguson, Arsène Wenger. Who was Chelsea's opponent? Manchester United and Arsenal! He didn't even care about Liverpool. Mourinho had a smooth start to the league tournament. How could he have imagined that he would encounter such a tenacious resistance in a stadium that could hold 27,000 people?
What kind of team was Nottingham Forest? Two UEFA Champions League titles more than 20 years ago? It was just a flash in the pan …
I've seen a lot of teams like this. Do you want to hear the name? I can give you a bunch of names without hesitation until you get tired of it.
But I'm not here to tell you history now. I'm here to win … This damn Nottingham Forest!
Chelsea's attack was met with tenacious resistance from the Forest team. The Forest team's backfield was almost completely filled with people. In the drizzle, the turf was slippery and not suitable for the Chelsea players to play. Other than Joe Cole's shot that grazed the crossbar in the first half, there was nothing else that could appear in close-up on the television. Duff was even worse off. He was already having a hard time playing on the right flank, and now he was completely suppressed by the Frenchman, Ribery, who came out of nowhere.
Chelsea's flank was as good as paralyzed.
This would not do. He had to think of something …
※ ※ ※
Bendtner soon heard the assistant manager calling his name and waving to him, indicating for him to go back. So, he ran back and took off his vest.
Twain stood up from the manager's seat and took the tactical board from Kerslake's hands. Bendtner ran in front of him, panting slightly. It was obvious that he was looking forward to going on the field and was very confident.
Twain looked at the somewhat agitated young man and glanced at the tactical board in his hands. Then, he threw it on the seat and pulled Bendtner to face the field.
"Kid, what do you see?" Twain asked.
"Uh …" Bendtner froze for a moment. He thought Twain would directly tell him who to replace after going on the field, what the task was and what to do, and then pat him on the shoulder and push him to the side of the field. He did not expect the manager to ask him such a question.
"Ah … The situation isn't looking good …"
"Yes, even the Broken-Brain Star knows that the situation isn't looking good. Do you know the Broken-Brain Star? You don't? Well, forget it. I'll explain it to you later … What do you think we can do to change the current stalemate between the two sides? "
Bendtner finally confirmed that this was not a perfunctory situation. He thought that perhaps this was a chance for him to leave a good impression in the manager's mind.
"Well … I think, we need a center forward …"
"Of course. Otherwise, why would I let you warm up and call you here to talk for so long? If I let you go on, what do you think you should do? "
This time, Bendtner was not in a hurry to answer Twain's question. He stared at the field for a while before saying, "Head the ball and fight for the first landing point. If you can hold onto the ball, hold onto it. If you can't, pass it to your teammates. If there aren't any teammates around, then … just shoot!"
Twain patted Bendtner's shoulder hard. "Very good. We'll do as you say. Go on!"
William Gallas shoveled the ball from Ribéry's feet out of the sidelines. Forest Team obtained an out-of-bounds ball. The assistant referee raised the flag in his hands above his head with both hands. This meant that a substitution was needed. The referee blew his whistle to signal the sidelines to make a substitution and that the out-of-bounds ball should not be sent out in a hurry.
The fourth official checked Bendtner's studs and his leg guards before raising the substitution sign. "Number 21 up, number 9 down!"
Crouch raised his hand to applaud the fans in the stadium before running down. A young man with long blond hair shook his rain-soaked hair forcefully, exhaled, and ran onto the field.
This was his first official match representing Nottingham Forest Team. Although he was not in the starting lineup, he would prove himself and let the boss understand that using him as the fourth striker was a waste!
(To be continued. If you want to know what happens next, please log on to WWW. CMFU. com. More chapters. Support the author. Support original reading!)
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