CHAPTER 141: BACK TO BROADFIELD

Chapter 141: Back to Broadfield

The flight back to England couldn’t have been more different from the tense, silent trip to Germany. That first journey had been heavy with nerves, each player quietly battling their own fears.

This time, though, the flight carried a quiet, triumphant energy. It wasn’t a loud celebration, but a calm, meaningful one more a shared recognition of what they’d achieved than a wild party.

The cabin felt lighter, filled with a deep sense of pride that went beyond just one result.

Players were spread out across the cabin, each caught in their own quiet moment.

Some were watching the stunning equaliser on repeat, footage filmed by a fan, showing the ball hitting the net and the BayArena erupting in noise.

Even through a screen, the moment felt surreal, almost like a dream they were still trying to believe.

Others simply stared out the window, soft smiles on their faces, replaying it in their minds. This wasn’t a wild celebration, it felt deeper, like a shared piece of history they all knew they’d never forget.

Paul Pogba and Dev Patel were in their own little world, heads close as they watched the equaliser for what must have been the tenth time.

"Look how he gets caught," Pogba said, pointing at the screen. "You were so quick."

Dev shook his head, still in disbelief. "I still can’t believe it went in. I just hit it and hoped."

Pogba gave him a firm clap on the shoulder, pride clear in his eyes. "The best goals are the ones you don’t overthink, my friend. That was pure instinct. You earned it."

Max Simons, the captain, moved through the cabin like a general checking in on his troops, offering a word of praise to each player.

He stopped by the defensive pair, Liam McCulloch and Harry Thompson, their faces lined with exhaustion evidence of the battle they’d just fought.

"You two were immense out there," Max said. "They threw everything at us, and you stood firm."

Liam, a small bandage above his eye from an aerial clash, nodded tiredly. "It wasn’t easy, mate. They’re a different class."

Max gave a grin. "So are we, lads. So are we."

He continued on to Korey Henry and Reece Darby, who were deep in conversation, reliving a last-ditch tackle.

"That tackle was unreal, Reece," Korey said. "You saved us."

Reece shrugged, a faint smile rising in his mouth. "It’s what you do."

Max smiled. "Exactly. It’s what we all do, every single one of you."

At the front of the plane, Niels sat alone, a lone cup of coffee in his hand. He hadn’t slept a wink.

His tired eyes stayed glued to his laptop, where a spreadsheet tracking player fitness and upcoming league opponents slowly took shape.

The draw was a thrilling, but he already felt the weight of what came next, the flood of media attention and another crucial League One match looming close.

The joy of the moment was fading fast, replaced by the cold, hard reality of the challenges ahead.

As the team bus pulled into the training ground parking lot, the players were greeted by an unexpected sight with a joyful, cheering crowd dressed in red and white.

The club’s small, modest car park had turned into a sea of fans. Many had been following the match on the radio or through a live stream and had rushed over to welcome their heroes.

They chanted the players’ names, waved scarves, and held up signs reading "We Belong Here!" and "Unbelievable Red Devils!" It wasn’t the kind of celebration you’d see after a trophy parade, but for Crawley Town, it felt just as meaningful.

As the players stepped off the bus into a sea of adoring faces, many were genuinely surprised.

Young reserve Tom Davis, just at the start of his career, looked overwhelmed and a little shy. He signed a boy’s jersey with a shaky hand, eyes wide with wonder.

The older players, like Adam Fletcher, seemed more at ease, sharing laughs with fans, one of whom had his face painted red and white.

The draw in Leverkusen hadn’t just earned them a point but it had sealed their place as local legends, the brave underdogs who had gone to Germany and come back with something to be proud of.

The celebration went on for an hour a spontaneous, heartfelt outpouring of pride and passion.

When the team finally made it inside, Niels gathered them in the dressing room. "Enjoy this," he said, his voice thick with pride. "Because you earned it. You made this club and this town proud. But tomorrow, we get back to work. The rest of the world might be talking about Europe, but we need to focus on what matters most: three points against Hartlepool United on Saturday."

For Dev Patel, the flight home wasn’t just about celebrating a goal, it was about the unbelievable reality of his life changing overnight.

His phone, silent throughout most of the Europa League build-up, now buzzed nonstop with notifications. Social media DMs from strangers, messages from old school friends, and news alerts flashing his face with the headline "Patel’s Wonder Strike."

The attention was thrilling but also overwhelming.

He tried to sleep that night, but couldn’t. The goal kept replaying in his mind, but now it felt different not just a lucky moment, but something huge.

He felt the pressure growing. Could he do it again? Could he handle all the attention? It wasn’t just about one game anymore, he had to prove he wasn’t a one-time wonder.

The next day’s training was a careful balancing act. The players were still buzzing from the emotional high, but their bodies were tired from the trip.

The tough game against Walsall, followed by the fast pace in Leverkusen, had taken its toll. Niels kept the session light and tactical, focusing on movement and positioning instead of intense drills.

He watched closely, trying to read not just their physical condition but their mental state. Were they still caught up in the excitement of Germany, or back in the tough reality of League One?

He noticed a few sloppy passes and some distant looks and knew he had to act quickly to get them focused again.

The media frenzy was impossible to ignore. Local papers and national outlets were full of stories about "Crawley’s European Fairytale."

The Guardian ran a headline: ’Crawley Town: The little club that could, proves itself on the European stage’.

Paul Pogba was praised for his "magical" assist, Dev Patel for his "wonder strike," and Niels for his tactical genius. T

he attention was a double-edged sword.

It brought fame, but also pressure they hadn’t faced before. They were no longer just a promoted team, they were a story the whole world was watching.

Overnight, Dev Patel’s social media followers had tripled.

On Friday, the day before the match, Niels gathered the squad for one last team talk. "Hartlepool won’t care about our draw in Germany," he said, his voice firm and commanding everyone’s attention.

"They’ll see tired legs and distracted minds. They’ll try to drag us into a fight, just like Walsall did. We have to be better than that. We need to use the confidence we earned in Europe to win our next battle at home." The players nodded, the weight of his words settling in.

Later that night, long after the players had gone home, Niels sat alone in his office.

He stared out the window at the quiet, empty pitch, the floodlights now dark.

The stadium was still, but the memories of the past few days echoed in his mind.

He wasn’t just a manager anymore he was a leader, guiding a small team through a vast, challenging sea.

He knew the hardest part wasn’t just winning, it was handling success.

The Europa League had been a dream, a spectacular moment they’d never forget. But now, it was time to face reality.

A cold Saturday in League One awaited, and they couldn’t afford to lose focus.

The European run was a long journey, but the day-to-day grind of the league was just as, if not more, important.

Their journey was far from over, and the biggest challenge had only just begun: proving that their best moments weren’t just flashes of brilliance, but the new standard they would fight to keep.