The Coaching System-Chapter 203: EFL Cup Round 3 – vs Newcastle United Part 4

Second Half

The camera panned slowly across the pitch as the players re-emerged. Jake stood just outside the tunnel, hood down, speaking to no one.

Paul (quiet):

"You think they'll still press?"

Jake:

"They have to. That's where we find the space."

Then the whistle blew again.

48' Minute –

It started with a mistake.

Bradford had earned a corner—not from dominance, but from persistence. Roney and Vélez stood over it on the right. Four red shirts in the box. Kang creeping near post. Richter loitering at the edge. It looked rehearsed.

But the execution? Loose.

Roney tapped it short to Vélez—routine. Vélez shaped to whip it, but delayed by a step. That hesitation... cost them.

🔄 Harvey Barnes on ➝ Sven Botman

It wasn't a refresh. It was a declaration.

Wilson gave them teeth. Joelinton gave them chaos.

Trippier brought control. Barnes gave them unpredictability wide left.

Peter Drury (Sky Sports):

"And here come fresh legs for Newcastle—power, pace, and a bit of pedigree. Wilson prowls now. Trippier takes command. The plan shifts—but the threat stays sharp."

On the touchline, Jake didn't glance at the scoreboard. He wasn't counting goals.

He was counting shape.

Because that's where the match lived now—not in noise, but in geometry.

In what happened when the second ball dropped, and who wanted it more.

78' –

Newcastle had adapted instantly.

Trippier clipped it long from deep—first time, angled flat toward Wilson. He held it up against Fletcher, then rolled it into the pocket.

Bruno.

Two touches to kill the spin. Then the killer pass—angled, weightless.

Almirón caught it in stride.

Rojas turned late. Kang couldn't shift across in time.

The Paraguayan cut inside. One look. Then curl.

Top corner.

It looked perfect.

But Emeka flew.

Not flailed. Flew.

Full stretch. Left hand angled just so. Fingers arched.

And he caught it—not parried, not blocked—caught it mid-flight, arms snapping shut around the ball like a bear trap.

He landed hard, one boot dragging a trench in the grass—but the ball didn't move.

Peter Drury:

"Still he stands. Still he stretches. Emeka keeps Bradford breathing."

Roney ran over and clapped him on the back. Ibáñez turned toward the sideline, lifted a fist once.

And Jake?

Jake didn't blink.

He was already watching what Newcastle would do off the restart.

83' –

And then—it broke.

Bradford had pushed forward. Risked more. You could feel it in the spacing.

Rasmussen had drifted central again—trying to do too much.

He beat Joelinton once. Then tried again—and lost it.

Tonali didn't wait.

He didn't look for a pass. He already knew it.

One touch forward. Quick look.

Slid it fast between Kang and Rojas, and the channel split open.

Isak was gone.

He didn't need two touches—just one to angle, one to shoot.

Low. Precise. Corner.

Net.

Peter Drury:

"And with that, the door slams shut. Bradford were brave—but Newcastle brought teeth tonight."

The crowd erupted—not euphoric, but satisfied. Like something long owed had finally been settled.

Jake lowered his head.

Not in despair.

Just calculation.

He didn't turn to the bench. He didn't speak.

He was already rearranging the shape in his mind.

Because it wasn't over.

And he knew it.

89' Minute –

But the kids didn't quit.

Bradford earned a throw-in deep on the left after Roney forced a clearance from Trippier. The stadium was already dipping into its closing rhythm—fans on their feet, phones out, substitutions waiting.

But Ibáñez was moving.

No glance to the bench. No waiting.

He sprinted across the pitch, demanded the ball from Taylor, and dropped into the space between Kang and Fletcher. Newcastle backed off, thinking it was a reset.

It wasn't.

Ibáñez scanned once and then snapped it cross-field. Long, arcing switch—right to Taylor's boot near the opposite touchline.

Taylor didn't take a touch.

He let the ball bounce once. Then clipped it forward with the outside of his boot, curling it over Joelinton's shoulder toward the half-space.

Vélez tracked it all the way.

The ball dropped hard, but he absorbed it like it was made of air—killed it with one foot, spun off Longstaff, and threaded it first time to the edge of the box.

Richter peeled off his man.

Botman had paused, half a step too square. That was enough.

Richter didn't touch it twice.

One shift of the body. One swipe of the left foot.

Low. Inside post. Near side.

Goal.

Bradford City 3. Newcastle United 4.

Peter Drury (Sky Sports):

"The fight is real. Richter—off the shoulder, onto the score sheet—and Bradford, even now, are not letting go."

The away end erupted—not in joy, but in adrenaline.

Richter didn't celebrate.

He sprinted into the net, snatched the ball, and jogged back with his head down and his heart pounding.

Jake pointed once toward the opposition half.

Jake (flat):

"Press. Now."

No theatrics. No miracle calls.

Just the next command.

90+4' – Whistle

Bradford pressed to the edge of exhaustion.

One final ball came through midfield—Vélez toe-poked it to Roney, who flicked it wide for Rasmussen.

Rasmussen's cross deflected. Ibáñez tried to keep it alive, but Trippier muscled him off.

Newcastle cleared.

Joelinton brought it down, turned toward the sideline.

The referee raised his arm.

One long, low whistle.

Full-time.

Bradford 3.

Newcastle 4.

Jake didn't blink. fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm

He turned to Paul, nodded once, then walked toward the tunnel.

Behind him, players bent at the waist, hands on knees, chests heaving.

No one spoke.

But no one gave in.

Not tonight.