Chapter 21: No More Underdogs
Saturday, 6 December
Match 17: Crawley Town vs Morecambe
The morning of the match arrived gray and unforgiving.
The frost edged the windows, and every breath outside came out as fog. But Broadfield Stadium was awake early, the volunteers laying out kits, groundsmen tending to the turf like it was a sacred ritual, and the staff moving with quiet purpose.
This wasn't just another game.
Morecambe sat fourth in the table. They were organized and ruthless on the break and more efficient. They didn't need ten chances to score, just one was enough to score. But Crawley? Crawley had started to believe they could make theirs count too.
The players arrived one by one, jackets zipped up to their necks, headphones on, and focused. Reece gave a nod to the staff as he walked in. Nate fist-bumped Luka wordlessly. Max Simons, the oldest in the group by a margin strolled in last, slower, quiet, but eyes sharp. He wasn't starting today, but Niels had made it clear, stay ready.
In the dressing room, Niels spoke just once.
"Play with courage. Be the team no one wants to face. We didn't come here to defend, we came here to make a statement."
Kickoff –
Match began:
"And we're underway at Broadfield! Crawley Town hosting promotion-chasing team Morecambe in what's sure to be a physical and tactical test."
The first few minutes lived up to expectation. Morecambe came out sharp pressing high, snapping into challenges, looking to force Crawley into early mistakes. In the 4th minute, Reece was pressed deep and barely got a pass off to the left before two blue shirts swarmed.
But Crawley held their nerve.
They stayed compact, trusted the plan. Reece sat deep like an anchor, sweeping up and launching clean balls out wide. Dev and Luka rotated through the half-spaces, trying to stretch Morecambe's shape. And Nate, still buzzing from his Wrexham goal found joy on the right wing, dragging defenders with each run.
In the 13th minute, Crawley carved out their first clear chance.
Nate darted in behind and was picked out by Dev's looping pass. He brought it down with a silky first touch, cut inside, and fired low.
But it was saved.
The keeper got down fast.
"A big chance for Crawley, and it sends a clear message"
By the 25th minute, it was clear this wasn't going to be Morecambe's usual afternoon. Crawley were standing up to every press, matching them for energy, and growing into the game.
Still, Morecambe nearly struck just before the half-hour mark.
A floated cross from deep caught the back line flat. Their striker peeled off and shot it goalward—
It just hit the bar.
The rebound was scrambled away by Reece, cool as ever.
"Morecambe inches from the opener, but Crawley survived, and that's why Reece is so important."
Halftime: 0-0
In the changing room, there was no panic. Only the sound of breath, the sting of sweat-soaked shirts, and eyes locked in but focused, and not shaken.
Niels faced them, firm. "You've gained the control, now finish it. Every detail counts, one smart run, one perfect ball. That's the game."
Then he turned to Max.
"You'll get your moment."
The veteran nodded once, quiet and steady.
Second Half:
Morecambe came out aggressive. Their manager had clearly demanded more from them. For the next fifteen minutes, Crawley were forced deeper, defending their box in numbers. One shot was cleared off the line. Another was saved brilliantly by their keeper, tipping a low drive just wide.
But Crawley didn't crumble.
They just absorbed, and waited for the right moment.
And then in the 66th minute, they broke the pressure.
Dev turned sharply at halfway, burst forward, and fed Luka in the inside-left channel. Luka opened his body and curled a shot.
It was saved.
Again.
"They just can't find the finish, but Crawley aren't backing down."
Nate was fading by the 72nd minute. He'd taken hits, been doubled up on, chased every lost cause. When he gave the ball away twice in quick succession, Niels didn't hesitate and turned to the bench.
"Max," he called. "You're on. Go make it count."
The board went up. Nate jogged off to applause.
Max Simons stepped on, gloves on, jaw tight. This was his moment now.
Final Ten Minutes:
Morecambe were slowing down. Their earlier pressure had dulled. A couple of their midfielders looked heavy-legged now.
Crawley started probing again.
Dev still had stamina. He was ghosting past markers. Reece was playing like he had a map of every blade of grass. Luka found a second wind, twisting between the lines.
In the 84th minute, Crawley nearly won it.
Luka clipped a free kick into the box, Reece met it, towering header,
It was just wide.
"And again Crawley so close to breaking through!"
Niels stood in the technical area, hands on hips. His breath clouded the air in front of him.
He looked at the clock.
90min
The fourth official raised the board.
+4 minutes
The ball was with Crawley in midfield. Luka had dropped deeper. Morecambe were retreating now, just trying to hold on.
Dev took a touch and switched it wide to the right-back, who'd pushed high.
With one touch, He made a cross.
It wasn't perfect. A bit behind Max.
But Max adjusted himself.
He stepped back, let the ball bounce, and with one instinctive swing of his right boot,
Thud.
The strike was clean.
The ball tore through a crowd of legs, it was fast and unstoppable and slammed into the bottom-left corner.
GOAL.
93min.
"MAX SIMONS! Would you believe it?! The veteran off the bench with a last-minute winner! Crawley 1 - Morecambe 0!"
The stadium exploded with cheers, the fans were roaring...
Max didn't celebrate like a kid. He just turned around with arms stretched wide, face blank, letting it all hit him slowly.
Nate jumped off the bench. Luka was sprinting to hug him. Reece punched the air.
Niels didn't yell. He just smiled, he was proud and satisfied.
Because that was the moment.
The moment everything they'd been building toward paid off.
Full-Time – 1-0 Crawley
The whistle blew.
Morecambe slumped.
Crawley? Crawley roared.
Max walked off slowly, soaking it all in. Dev gave him a slap on the back.
"You just wrote a movie ending."
Max just laughed.
Inside the changing room, there was cheering, music, laughing. But above it all was trust and belief.
This wasn't a fluke.
This was real.
Later that Night
Niels walked home again, passing the same quiet cafés, the same blinking Christmas lights but something felt different.
He passed a kid wearing a Crawley scarf who'd clearly just come from the game.
The boy recognized him. He gave him a shy thumbs-up and ran away while looking at him.
Niels returned it with a faint smile.
Back at the flat, he opened the same file.
"What comes after survival?"
And beneath yesterday's line, he added:
"Three points earned through grit, belief. Sealed by Max bloody Simons"
The nights were colder now.
But Crawley were burning brighter with each win.
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