The Coaching System

Bradford's winning momentum was about to be tested in the worst way possible.

The upcoming match wasn't about tactics, skill, or beautiful football.

It was about survival.

The team they were facing—Gillingham FC—was notorious for their reckless, borderline dangerous playing style.

They didn't play to win. They played to disrupt, foul, and break their opponents' rhythm.

They had already accumulated the most yellow cards in League Two, and their aggressive style had injured multiple players this season.

Now, they had set their sights on Bradford City.

Jake knew what was coming.

So did the system.

System Prediction & Opponent Weakness

[Ding! Match Simulation Complete]

Win Probability: 55%

Draw Probability: 25%

Loss Probability: 20%

[Opponent Analysis – Gillingham FC]

🔹 Strength: High pressing, aerial dominance, and physicality.

🔹 Weakness: Lack of discipline, poor positioning after pressing, and overcommitting to tackles.

🔹 Exploitable Area: Right side—Gillingham's right-back often pushes too high and leaves gaps behind.

Jake smirked at the report. They're reckless. That's their downfall.

He already knew his plan—use their aggression against them.

He'd tell his wingers to draw fouls, bait their defenders into overcommitting, and punish them with fast counters.

But there was one problem.

His players would have to keep their emotions in check.

And that? That was the real challenge.

Starting XI (4-3-3 Formation – Physical Battle Mode)

Jake knew this game would be a fight, so he adjusted his lineup accordingly.

Goalkeeper:

🔹 Emeka Okafor

Defenders:

🔹 James Richards (RB)

🔹 Nathan Barnes (CB)

🔹 Noah Fletcher (CB)

🔹 Aiden Taylor (LB)

Midfielders:

🔹 Daniel Lowe (CDM) – Brought in for physicality

🔹 Alejandro Ortega (CM)

🔹 Ryan Carter (CM)

Forwards:

🔹 Diego Castellón (LW)

🔹 Lukas Novak (ST)

🔹 Renan Silva (RW)

Jake rotated Lowe into the squad to provide extra defensive steel in midfield.

He also kept Novak and Silva up front, knowing their pace could exploit Gillingham's defensive weaknesses.

As the team stepped onto the pitch, Jake took one last deep breath.

"Stay calm. Stay disciplined. And punish them where it hurts."

Kickoff (1') 

The moment the referee blew his whistle, Gillingham's intent was clear.

They didn't press to win the ball—they pressed to hit, shove, and disrupt.

Novak barely had time to take his first touch before a shoulder slammed into his ribs.

Ortega received a pass and was immediately dragged down from behind.

Lowe fought for a 50/50 ball and was met with a studs-up challenge that sent him tumbling to the ground.

No fouls. No warnings.

Just brutal, unchecked aggression.

Jake narrowed his eyes. This isn't football. This is a street fight.

He turned to Paul Roberts, his assistant.

"They're going to break someone's leg if this keeps up."

Paul nodded. "We need to stay calm, boss. That's what they want—to make us lose control."

Easier said than done.

Bradford had to play smart—but every minute that passed tested their patience.

10th Minute 

Bradford finally started settling into possession, passing the ball smoothly across the midfield.

Carter spotted Silva making a run and threaded a perfect through ball down the right flank.

Silva chested it down, flicked it forward, and Collins sprinted onto it.

His first touch was sharp, cutting inside his marker.

His second touch was deadly, pushing the ball past the last defender.

He was through on goal.

Then—

BANG!

A Gillingham defender lunged from behind, crashing into Collins' legs with a reckless challenge.

The winger tumbled violently onto the grass, rolling as he clutched his ankle.

Valley Parade erupted in fury.

Jake immediately jumped up from the dugout.

"That's a booking!" he shouted, storming toward the fourth official.

Collins was writhing in pain, pounding the ground. His teammates rushed over.

The referee?

Did nothing.

No whistle. No card. Play on.

Jake's expression darkened.

"So that's how this is going to be?"

The fourth official gestured for him to calm down, but Jake barely heard him.

Collins was still on the ground, groaning as the physios ran onto the pitch.

Jake turned toward the referee and clapped sarcastically.

"Brilliant officiating, ref! Love how you're letting them play rugby out here!"

The referee shot him a warning glance but still didn't book the Gillingham player.

Paul grabbed Jake's arm. "Boss, don't get sent off. We need you here."

Jake exhaled sharply, forcing himself to step back.

Collins was finally back on his feet, limping slightly but determined to continue.

Jake met his eyes and gave him a nod.

"Stay focused. Make them pay."

Collins nodded back, fire burning in his eyes.

15th Minute

Gillingham had one strategy: foul, waste time, and frustrate Bradford.

Every time Bradford tried to counterattack, a Gillingham player would commit a "tactical" foul to stop the move.

They would shove players off the ball, then act innocent.

They would hold onto the ball after fouls to slow the game down.

Whenever Bradford got close to the final third, a Gillingham defender would drop to the ground "injured", eating up minutes on the clock.

By the 15th minute, Jake had seen enough.

"They're playing like cowards," he muttered.

Paul folded his arms. "We just need to stay patient, boss. Their defense isn't great—if we move the ball quickly, we'll break them down."

Jake agreed, but he knew staying patient was easier said than done.

His players were starting to boil over.

And that was exactly what Gillingham wanted.

18th Minute 

Bradford continued to push forward, keeping possession well despite Gillingham's rough approach.

Carter shifted the ball wide to Ortega, who turned sharply to escape his marker.

Then—

CRACK!

A Gillingham midfielder barreled into Ortega's back, sending him flying.

He hit the ground hard, clutching his ribs.

Jake's anger exploded.

He stormed to the fourth official.

"Are we watching the same game?! That's a clear foul!"

The official shook his head. "Calm down, coach."

Calm down?

Calm down?!

His players were getting assaulted, and the ref was letting it happen.

Jake clenched his fists.

"This ref is a joke."

Ortega, gritting his teeth, pushed himself back up, shaking off the impact.

He wasn't asking for sympathy.

He was asking for revenge—on the scoreboard.

Jake caught his eye and gave him a look.

"Keep your head, Ortega. We'll make them pay."

Ortega nodded.

30th Minute – Carter Nearly Scores

The match had been ugly, physical, and frustrating, but Bradford was finally starting to impose themselves.

For the first time, they moved the ball quickly without getting hacked down.

Lowe, sitting deep in midfield, controlled possession and calmly assessed his options.

He spotted Ortega making a run and slid the ball toward him.

One touch. Ortega swiveled, sending his marker the wrong way.

Two touches. He scanned the pitch, saw Carter calling for it on the edge of the box.

Three touches. Ortega played a perfect pass, slicing through Gillingham's midfield.

Carter took one sharp touch to his left, dodging a sliding defender.

The goal opened up.

He fired a low shot toward the bottom corner—

BANG!

The Gillingham keeper dived at full stretch, just barely getting his fingertips on the ball to push it wide!

The crowd groaned in frustration.

Carter kicked the ground in anger, shaking his head.

Jake clapped his hands, stepping forward.

"Good! Keep going! The goal is coming!"

But deep down?

Jake knew they had to score soon.

Because if they didn't…

This game was only going to get nastier.

38th Minute – Gillingham Scores Off a Set-Piece

Then, the worst happened.

Gillingham had barely touched the ball in the final third, yet suddenly, they won a cheap free kick near the edge of the box.

The foul?

A soft call on Novak after he barely brushed against a Gillingham midfielder.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Jake yelled from the sidelines, throwing his arms up.

The Bradford players surrounded the referee, protesting.

Carter was fuming. "He dived! That's nothing!"

The referee ignored them, motioning for Gillingham to take the free kick.

Jake folded his arms, watching closely.

The delivery came whipped in with pace.

Nathan Barnes jumped for it—

But so did a towering Gillingham center-back.

Thud!

The header smashed into the net.

(0-1!)

The away fans erupted.

Gillingham's players celebrated like they had won the league, while Bradford's squad stood in disbelief.

Jake's jaw tightened.

His team had dominated play, yet they were behind because of one cheap set-piece.

Novak walked back to the halfway line, shaking his head in frustration.

Jake stepped forward.

"Stay calm," he called out. "We're still in this."

But he could already see it.

Gillingham wasn't just going to sit back—

They were going to make this game even dirtier.

And Bradford?

They were dangerously close to losing their composure.

45th Minute 

Bradford pressed forward, trying to force an equalizer before halftime.

The ball reached Carter's feet, and he immediately drove forward, weaving between two defenders.

Then—

BAM!

A late challenge from behind sent him crashing down hard.

His legs were taken out completely.

For a moment, Carter stayed on the ground, stunned.

Jake leaped from his seat.

"That's a damn foul! Book him!"

The Bradford players swarmed the referee, demanding action.

For the first time all match, the referee actually reacted.

A yellow card.

But Carter?

Carter snapped.

He sprung to his feet, shoving the Gillingham player who had fouled him.

The opponent shoved him back.

Chaos erupted.

Players rushed in, pushing, arguing, shouting.

The referee tried to step in, blowing his whistle frantically.

Jake sprinted to the touchline.

"CARTER! WALK AWAY!"

But Carter was too far gone.

His fists were clenched. His face was red with fury.

Jake shoved past Paul and the other staff, stepping onto the pitch himself.

"Get back!" he barked at his players.

The fourth official grabbed Jake's arm, warning him to stay off the field.

After a tense few moments, the situation finally settled down.

The referee then gave Carter a yellow card.

Then,

The referee blew for halftime, trying to defuse the situation.

Carter stormed off the pitch, still fuming.

Jake followed close behind.

He already knew what he had to do next.

This wasn't just a match anymore.

This was a war of mentality.

And at halftime?

Jake had to make sure his team was ready to fight.

Halftime 

Inside the dressing room, the tension was suffocating.

The only sounds were heavy breathing, boots scraping against the floor, and the distant cheers of the away fans outside.

Carter sat on the bench, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. His breathing was sharp, his face still flushed with anger.

Across from him, Ortega was rubbing his ribs, still feeling the impact from earlier. Collins sat beside him, shaking his head, while Novak stared at the floor, jaw clenched.

Every single Bradford player was boiling with frustration.

Jake strode into the center of the room, his footsteps snapping against the floor.

With one swift motion—

BANG!

He slammed the tactics board onto the table so hard that a few players flinched.

"ENOUGH!"

Silence.

Every head snapped up to look at him.

Jake's eyes burned with intensity, his expression set in stone.

"You're playing right into their hands," he said, his voice low and controlled.

"They don't care about football. They don't care about tactics. They don't care about scoring goals."

He gestured toward Carter, then to the entire squad.

"They want us rattled. They want us to lose control. And you're giving them exactly what they want!"

Carter's jaw tightened, but he didn't say a word.

Jake continued.

"We're better than them. We've dominated possession, movement, and playmaking—but what happened?"

He pointed at the scoreboard on the wall.

"One stupid free kick. One cheap goal. And now we're behind."

Silence.

The players looked at the floor, the anger slowly turning into focus.

Jake took a step forward, lowering his voice.

"Forget the referee. Forget the cheap fouls. Forget them."

He looked every single player in the eye, his voice calm but firm.

"We win this match our way."

No one spoke.

Then Novak nodded firmly.

"Let's go finish this."

A few others nodded as well.

Collins cracked his knuckles. Ortega rolled his shoulders. Silva exhaled deeply, wiping sweat off his forehead.

The fire was still there—but now?

Now it was under control.

Jake took a deep breath, standing back.

The second half was going to be a war.

And Bradford?

They were going to fight back the right way.