The Coaching System-Chapter 160: The System’s Prediction & Tactical Preparation

System Prediction – The Odds Are Close

Jake leaned back in his chair, exhaling as the system loaded. A soft hum filled the quiet room, the glow from his laptop screen illuminating his face. Numbers flashed on the screen. The verdict appeared.

Win Probability:

Bradford: 55%

Norwich: 30%

Draw: 15%

Jake narrowed his eyes. Fifty-five percent. Slight advantage. A coin flip on some days.

Not exactly a free pass, but not a death sentence either.

He ran a hand through his hair. Norwich weren't pushovers. They had Premier League experience, players who knew how to grind out results. But Bradford had something too—momentum. The hunger of a team desperate to prove itself.

Still, numbers didn't win football matches. Performances did.

The system's next line caught his attention.

"Tactical Breakdown Available."

Jake clicked. A deeper analysis unfolded before him—the part that actually mattered.

Norwich's Strengths –

Defensive Organization – Norwich didn't leak goals. They sat deep, stayed compact, and rarely got caught out of shape. Teams struggled to break them down in open play. It wasn't flashy, but it was effective.

Aerial Dominance – Hanley and Gibson were warriors in the air. Set-pieces, long balls, crosses—they'd win most of those battles. If Bradford resorted to lumping it forward, they'd lose.

Experience Under Pressure – This wasn't a team that panicked. They could absorb attacks, take the sting out of games, slow the tempo when needed. If Bradford got frustrated, started rushing, Norwich would pounce.

Jake exhaled. Breaking them down wouldn't be easy. They wouldn't crumble under pressure—they'd soak it up, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Norwich's Weaknesses –

Lack of Creativity in Midfield – That was the key. Norwich didn't have a playmaker who could unlock defenses. Their midfielders were steady, disciplined—but not game-changers. If Bradford pressed high and forced mistakes, Norwich would struggle to progress the ball.

Slow Defensive Line – Hanley and Gibson were strong, but they weren't quick. If Bradford could isolate them, stretch the field, and play through balls in behind, Norwich would be vulnerable.

Struggles Against High Tempo – They wanted control, a structured game. But if the match turned frantic—quick passing, relentless pressing—they could be forced into errors.

Jake's fingers drummed against the desk. He could see the plan forming already.

Jake's Take –

Press them. Overwhelm their midfield. Win the ball back high and strike before they recover.

Stretch their defense. Make them uncomfortable. Force their center-backs into one-on-one situations instead of letting them sit in a deep block.

Control the chaos. Norwich wanted order. Bradford had to give them the opposite.

Jake leaned back, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

He knew exactly how they were going to win this.

Friday, August 1 –

Jake stepped onto the pitch just as the sprinklers shut off, the scent of fresh-cut grass mixing with the cool morning air. The sun hadn't fully risen yet, but that was how he liked it—quiet, focused, the calm before the storm.

He took a slow breath, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the empty field. In less than an hour, it would be buzzing with voices, the thud of passes, the sharp whistles of drills. But right now, it was his. His space to think, to plan, to visualize the match before a single ball was kicked.

A door swung open behind him. Paul Roberts strolled in, coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, already skimming through match reports.

"Morning," Paul muttered, barely looking up as he took a sip.

Jake didn't bother with small talk.

"Norwich's midfield is weak," he said, motioning toward the tactics room. "We press them high, force mistakes. If we win the ball in their half, we hit fast."

Paul nodded, following him inside. "And their defense?"

Jake grabbed a marker, uncapped it with his teeth, and started drawing on the tactics board. "Solid. Too good to break down with slow build-up play. We stretch them wide, force them to react. Make them uncomfortable."

Paul leaned against the table, arms crossed, watching as Jake sketched out the plan.

"Explain."

Jake tapped the board, circling Norwich's central midfield.

"They don't have a deep-lying playmaker. Their midfield is workmanlike—hard runners, strong in tackles, but not creative. They don't like being harassed. If we press them early, they'll struggle to link up with their forwards."

Paul rubbed his chin. "So, high press?"

"Relentless," Jake confirmed. "But smart. We don't just run at them. We set traps. Force them into mistakes, then break fast."

He moved the marker, drawing arrows along the flanks.

"Now, their defense—Hanley and Gibson. Strong in the air, good positioning. But slow. If we let them sit deep, we're finished. They'll absorb everything. But if we stretch the play, pull them into wider areas, they'll struggle. We use our wingers to create one-on-ones."

Paul nodded, following the logic. "You're thinking Mensah?"

Jake smirked. "Yeah. Mensah's speed against Hanley is a mismatch. We overload their midfield, win the ball high, and immediately get it to the wings. Norwich will be forced to shift, and that's where gaps will open."

Paul exhaled, glancing at the notes on his tablet. "It's risky. If they play through the press, we'll be exposed."

Jake grinned. "That's football."

A moment of silence. Then Paul chuckled, shaking his head.

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"Alright. Let's run it in training."

Jake nodded, flipping the board around. Time to drill it into the players.

Setting the Tone

Jake took a step back from the tactics board, studying the plan one last time. The blueprint was there—simple but effective.

Overload the midfield – Norwich didn't like being pressed. That was their weak link. Bradford had to be relentless, hounding them, forcing rushed passes, capitalizing on every mistake. They couldn't afford to give their opponents time to think.

Stretch their defensive line – Norwich's center-backs were strong, disciplined, but they were at their best when they sat deep, when they could control the space in front of them. Bradford had to disrupt that, pull them wide, force them into uncomfortable one-on-ones. Mensah's speed, Costa's movement—those were weapons, and they had to use them.

Quick transitions – No second-guessing, no hesitation. The moment Bradford won the ball, they had to go. Fast. Direct. Before Norwich could regroup. This wasn't a game to play safe—it was a game to hit hard and early.

Paul grinned, arms folded across his chest. "I like it. What's the training focus?"

Jake flipped to the session plan, the structure of the day's work mapped out in his head.

Midfield Pressing Drills – Create chaos. Train the players to close space fast, work in unison, suffocate Norwich's midfield before they could build any rhythm.

Fast-Paced Counterattack Drills – Win the ball, attack immediately. No sideways passes, no hesitation. Quick decisions, aggressive runs, direct play.

Crossing & Finishing – If Norwich were going to sit deep and defend, Bradford had to break them down with quick deliveries into the box. The wingers and full-backs would drill their movement, their precision. Strikers had to be ruthless.

The plan was in place. Now, it was time to put it into action.

Training Ground, Friday, August 1

Jake paced along the sideline, the early morning chill still lingering in the air. The sun was climbing now, casting long shadows across the training pitch. His players were already in the thick of it, their shouts echoing through the air, boots thudding against the turf.

"Good! Press! Press!" Jake barked as Vélez and Ibáñez swarmed Chapman, forcing him into a rushed pass that skidded out of bounds. The midfield overload was working.

Paul Roberts stood nearby, arms folded, eyes scanning the drill. "They're getting it," he said.

Jake nodded. "We press like that against Norwich, we force mistakes. Win the ball high, break quick. No hesitation."

The next phase of training kicked in. Fast-Paced Counterattack Drills.

Cox fired a long throw out to Mensah on the right wing. One touch, then a burst of pace. He darted inside, slipping a pass to Costa, who immediately laid it off for Bardghji. Two passes, and they were through. The finish was instinctive—low and hard into the bottom corner.

"That's what I want!" Jake shouted. "No second thoughts! Turn defense into attack in two, three touches!"

Paul grinned. "They're sharp today."

The drills intensified. Crossing and Finishing. Full-backs bombed forward, whipping in deliveries at match speed. Silva was relentless, whipping one ball after another into the six-yard box. Costa and Obi battled for every inch of space, attacking each cross like their lives depended on it.

One ball came in too high. Obi adjusted, hanging in the air longer than seemed possible, before thundering a header past Okafor. A few claps echoed from the sideline.

Jake turned to Paul. "That's how we break Norwich's defensive line. Stretch them, force them to react. If they collapse centrally, we kill them from wide."

The session wrapped up, players breathing heavily, sweat dripping, but energy still high.

Jake took one last look at his squad. The execution was crisp. The intensity was there.

This wasn't just the first game of the season. This was a statement.

Bradford weren't here to participate.

They were here to take over.