The Coaching System-Chapter 138: The Final Match of the Season

(May 3rd, 2025)

The rain came down in a steady drizzle over Valley Parade. Cold, persistent, and soaking into the already-worn grass. The floodlights reflected off the slick surface, casting long shadows across the pitch. The stands were nearly full despite the miserable weather—Bradford fans had suffered all season, but they weren’t about to miss this.

This was the final game.

A season of battles, struggles, and narrow victories had led to this moment. The squad had changed. The tactics had evolved. And now, the club had one last ninety minutes to close the chapter on League One.

Jake Wilson stood on the touchline, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, watching as his players took their positions. He had rotated the squad heavily—several first-team regulars were on the bench.

Burton Albion had nothing to play for. Mid-table. Safe. No pressure.

Bradford? They had already secured promotion, but Jake didn’t want complacency. He wanted a strong finish. A message to the rest of the league.

The whistle blew.

First Half – A Shaky Start

Burton came out with more energy than expected. No urgency, no stress, but still playing sharp, controlled football. Bradford, on the other hand, looked a little off the pace. Passes were a second too late. Defensive shape wasn’t tight enough.

In the 14th minute, a simple through-ball caught Marco Bianchi out of position. Burton’s striker took a touch, set himself, and buried the shot low past Emeka Okafor.

0-1.

Jake exhaled slowly, shaking his head. He knew this would happen. Rotation was necessary, but it came with risks. Players like Bianchi and Lewis Hart were still adjusting to the system.

He glanced at the bench. His starters sat there, unreadable expressions.

Let’s see if the backups could fight back.

Bradford responded with more control in possession, passing the ball around, probing for weaknesses. Santiago Vélez and Andrés Ibáñez were the only ones showing any real urgency in midfield. Vélez, in particular, was everywhere—pressing high, winning second balls, driving forward.

In the 32nd minute, he played a quick one-two with Leo Rasmussen on the edge of the box, breaking through Burton’s backline. He feinted past a defender, shifted onto his right foot, and curled a shot into the top corner.

1-1.

Jake barely reacted, just a small nod. Good finish.

Burton weren’t rattled, though. They continued to pass calmly, waiting for gaps.

And in the 44th minute, they found one.

A switch of play caught James Richards too high up the pitch. Burton’s winger burst past him, whipped in a dangerous cross, and Bradford’s defense was caught ball-watching.

A simple tap-in at the back post.

1-2.

Halftime.

Halftime – No Fireworks, Just Instructions

The dressing room was quiet. No shouting, no anger. Jake didn’t do emotional halftime speeches.

He stood near the tactics board, scanning their faces. Some looked frustrated. Others just tired.

"You all know why we’re losing," Jake said, voice calm. "So fix it."

A few glances exchanged. No excuses, no complaints.

"Stop hesitating in the press," he continued. "They’re passing through us because you’re reacting instead of anticipating. Stay compact, keep your spacing right."

He turned to Rasmussen and Mensah.

"When we win the ball, don’t slow it down. Burton don’t care about this game. They’ll lose focus. Exploit that."

A pause. Then, he turned to the bench.

"Novak, Barnes, Silva. Get ready. You’re coming on."

If the backups couldn’t take control, the starters would.

Second Half – Control and Ruthlessness

From the first whistle, Bradford played like a different team.

The press was sharper. The transitions were faster. Burton, who had enjoyed a comfortable first half, suddenly found themselves under siege.

In the 58th minute, Renan Silva twisted past his marker on the right flank, drove into the box, and squared it to Tobias Richter. One touch. Shot. Goal.

2-2.

Momentum shifted entirely. Burton started making mistakes—loose passes, late tackles, poor clearances. Bradford smelled blood.

Jake didn’t need to say anything from the touchline. His players could feel it.

In the 74th minute, Lukas Novak received the ball at the edge of the box. Two defenders on him. He took one touch, spun, and fired a rocket into the bottom corner.

3-2.

Valley Parade erupted.

Jake just exhaled.

The final fifteen minutes were controlled. No unnecessary risks, no last-minute drama. Bradford managed the game like a team that belonged at the top of the table.

Final whistle.

Post-Match – A Quiet Finish

The players celebrated, but not wildly. This wasn’t a last-gasp survival win. It was just another step forward.

Jake shook hands with the Burton manager, exchanged a few words, then turned to his staff.

"Send the squad recovery schedule tonight. I want everyone in for review meetings this week."

Paul Roberts grinned. "No celebrations?"

Jake smirked slightly. "We’ll celebrate when we lift the League One trophy."

As the players walked off the pitch, Jake lingered a moment, watching the fans.

They had gone through hell this season. Now, they were watching a team that looked ready for the next level.

He adjusted his coat and walked toward the tunnel.

There was still work to do.

Post-Match Press Conference

The media room was packed. Reporters from local and national outlets filled the seats, cameras set up, microphones waiting. The energy was different today—not the usual tension or skepticism, but curiosity.

Bradford City had just finished their season as champions. The club was heading to the Championship, and Jake Wilson—once an unknown manager—had become the architect of their rise.

Jake walked in, expression unreadable as always, and took his seat at the podium. Paul Roberts stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching. The club’s media officer gave him a nod.

"Alright, first question."

A journalist from Football Weekly leaned forward. "Jake, a 3-2 win to close out the season. How do you reflect on the performance?"

Jake adjusted the microphone. "It was a good way to end the season. We rotated the squad, gave opportunities, and even though it wasn’t perfect, the players showed character to come back and win."

Another reporter raised their hand. "Did you expect Wigan to push you that hard?"

Jake’s lips twitched slightly. "I expect every team to push us hard. That’s football. No one gives you anything for free."

A chuckle from the room. The next question came quickly.

"You’ve taken Bradford from League One to the Championship in a short period. What does this promotion mean for the club?"

Jake leaned forward slightly. "It means the hard work starts now. The Championship is a different level. If we don’t improve, we’ll struggle. This squad has done something special, but we’re not satisfied."

The room buzzed at that. He wasn’t celebrating—he was already looking ahead.

A journalist from Sky Sports spoke up. "You say improvement is needed. Does that mean big changes in the squad?"

Jake didn’t hesitate. "Yes."

Silence for a second. Then, a follow-up. "Can you elaborate?"

Jake exhaled. "Some players won’t be part of the squad next season. That’s just reality. If we want to compete in the Championship, we have to evolve. Sentimentality won’t keep us up."

The directness made the room shift slightly. They weren’t used to managers speaking like this.

A local journalist from The Bradford Gazette raised his hand. "The fans love this squad. Some players are club legends. Are you worried about backlash if you let key players go?"

Jake’s expression remained unreadable. "Fans want to win. That’s what I’m focused on."

No hesitation. No apologies.

Another reporter jumped in. "Speaking of changes, there are rumors of interest from other clubs in players like Lukas Novak and Renan Silva. Can you confirm if offers are on the table?"

Jake’s fingers tapped the table once before he spoke. "When you have good players, clubs will always be interested. But we’ll decide what’s best for the team."

No confirmation. No denial. Just control.

The press officer glanced at her watch. "Two more questions."

A reporter from BBC Sport spoke. "Jake, this season, you’ve gone from an unknown manager to someone being talked about nationally. Does it feel like a personal victory?"

Jake’s jaw tensed slightly. He thought for a moment before answering.

"This isn’t about me. It’s about the club. About the players who fought for every point. I just did my job."

A careful answer. But anyone watching closely could see it—the way his eyes flickered, the way his fingers curled slightly. This wasn’t just a job to him.

The final question came from a journalist in the back. "Next season, new league, bigger challenges. What’s the goal?"

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Jake leaned into the microphone.

"To win."

Simple. Direct. No room for doubt.

The press officer nodded. "That’s all for today."

Jake stood, gave a small nod to the room, and walked out.

Behind him, the reporters were already typing.

Because whether they loved him or hated him—

Jake Wilson had just made it clear.

Bradford City weren’t just here to survive.

They were coming to win.