Football Dynasty
Chapter 315: Substituting the Center-Back

Chapter 315: Substituting the Center-Back

After Nélson’s goal, the live broadcast quickly shifted its focus. While Nélson was buried beneath a pile of jubilant teammates in front of Manchester City’s goal, the cameras panned to capture the stunned expressions of every City player—each one a picture of disbelief.

Then, a group of people surged from the Aston Villa bench, with Brian Litte taking center stage. His fists were raised as he let out a triumphant roar, clearly exhilarated by the effectiveness of his tactics.

Finally, the camera found O’Neill—and even Richard—both of whose demeanors starkly contrasted with the electric atmosphere on the field.

O’Neill stood calmly on the sidelines, radiating a sense of tranquility. Earlier, he had shown signs of impatience while directing the team, but now he seemed almost detached, as if the situation no longer concerned him.

Zanetti glanced toward the sidelines and, upon seeing O’Neill’s composed gestures, he rallied his teammates to spring back into action for the restart. Each player quickly regained their fighting spirit after the setback of conceding a goal, recalling the words O’Neill had spoken in the locker room before the match.

Losing emotional control on the touchline can make a coach appear weak or unprofessional. That’s why top managers—like Sir Alex Ferguson, José Mourinho, or even Pep Guardiola—often remain composed even when their teams fall behind. They trust their players to respond on the pitch. And when a message truly needs to be delivered, they prefer to do it behind closed doors, away from the cameras, where it carries more weight.

Being behind was the worst-case scenario—but they had prepared for it.

On the surface, O’Neill appeared calm, but inside, a storm raged. He silently cursed the cruel hand of fate.

Football always had its share of luck—if Milošević’s long-range effort had curled just a few inches wide, that corner wouldn’t have happened, and they wouldn’t be trailing now. But he knew those thoughts were pointless—just the quiet frustrations of a man who cared too much. He took a breath, gathered himself. There was no time to dwell.

He couldn’t afford to panic. If he did, he’d be no help to his players. Worse, he might spread fear instead of focus. The goal had been preventable, yes—but it was also a reminder: this team was still young, and some of their defensive patterns weren’t quite mature. Not yet.

In the stands, Aston Villa fans erupted into song—louder, prouder with every passing second. On the other side, Manchester City’s end had fallen into an uneasy silence, their hope flickering.

Was this it? Was the dream slipping away—again, after twenty long years?

The chants had started to fade, the energy slipping away as the first half neared its end. Manchester City fans were on the brink of despair.

But just before the gloom could take hold, the unmistakable roar of the Blazing Squad thundered through Wembley.

"CITY! CITY! CITY!"

BOOM.

A roar erupted.

Thousands of Blazing Squad burst into life, their thunderous chants reigniting the atmosphere inside the stadium. Their voices rang out across Wembley, defiant and unyielding.

In the VIP box, Richard—nervous just moments ago—immediately steadied himself. As he heard the chants and saw the group he had personally backed, he felt a wave of pride and relief.

It was all worth it.

PHWEEEEE!

Halftime.

Aston Villa had the lead. Their tactical discipline was paying off. And from how they’d played so far, it was clear they wouldn’t be eager to attack again—they would defend that lead with everything they had.

On the sidelines, O’Neill was already calculating. Breaking down a low block came down to three things: sharp penetration, long-range shots, or set pieces.

His thoughts drifted—briefly—to the legendary Barcelona side of 2009. The team that dismantled deep defenses better than anyone.

But he shook his head, rejecting the idea.

Barcelona’s system revolved around ball control. Guardiola’s obsession with possession stemmed from Johan Cruyff’s footballing philosophy:

"There’s only one ball on the pitch. If we have it, they can’t score."

Elegant. Philosophical. Beautiful.

City, too, employed short passes, overlaps, and positional interchanges. But their core philosophy was different.

O’Neill didn’t worship possession. He chased goals.

If his players found an opening outside the box, they didn’t need to second-guess it. Shoot. Don’t hesitate.

He had no issue with possession football. In fact, he admired the artistry—twenty or thirty passes carving open defenses. It was ballet on grass.

But this was England.

Fans didn’t come for intricate buildup and 70-pass sequences. They came for action: rocket shots, booming crosses, silky dribbles, fingertip saves. NovelFire

Endless short passes might impress the purists, but they could exhaust the crowd and drain energy. What he wanted was efficient, vertical, counter-attacking football—score with one kick instead of three. That meant less control, more risk. But risk and reward went hand in hand.

What he feared most was this—Villa ahead, content to park the bus.

He glanced down the bench. His eyes settled on Henry—the quick, versatile striker meant to spearhead counters.

But he shook his head.

Instead, his gaze shifted to the center-back—Materazzi.

O’Neill and Robertson exchanged a few words before checking the time. A minute had already passed in stoppage time of the first half, and the referee would soon signal the end of it.

Robertson nodded, then walked over to the bench and calmly told Materazzi, "Marco, warm up at halftime."

Everyone on the bench froze, staring at him in disbelief.

The team was trailing, and he wanted a center-back to warm up?

Ferdinand and Gallas weren’t injured, nor did they have yellow cards. Why would he swap a center-back now?

It was hard to lay the blame for the goal on the two defenders.

What was he thinking?

But without hesitation, Materazzi donned his training top and dashed out, immediately starting his warm-up.

As the first half came to a close, O’Neill watched the players file into the tunnel one by one. He called Capdevila over, holding him back to walk into the locker room last.

The Spanish left-back was drenched in sweat, but O’Neill didn’t mind. He put an arm around his shoulder and said earnestly,

"Joan, you played very well in the first half. But in the second half, I can only give you five minutes."

Capdevila turned to him and asked, "Boss, is there something about my performance that doesn’t satisfy you?"

"No, I meant it—you played great. Substituting you was my tactical mistake before the match. If we could rewind the clock, you’d still start and play the full match. However, for the good of the team, I have to make this change. It’s a tactical decision, not a reflection of your performance. I hope you understand and can make this sacrifice for the team."

Capdevila paused for a moment, then nodded, "Alright. Five minutes. And I’ll still give it my all."

"Joan, thank you."

O’Neill gave only a brief explanation—there was no time to console or counsel. He needed to speak plainly, and fortunately, Joan accepted the decision. He was a mature player, and O’neill appreciated his professionalism.

He wasn’t the kind of coach who would make such a move without saying anything. If he had substituted him in the 50th minute without a word, it could have had a significant psychological impact. In extreme cases, it could even damage the coach-player relationship.

So he explained himself—so Capdevila could accept the decision calmly.

Inside the locker room, O’Neill outlined the tactics for the second half. He didn’t focus on boosting morale during halftime. Instead, he wanted the players to calm down. They couldn’t just charge in blindly.

A clear mind, a steady heart, and an unrelenting fighting spirit—these were essential for a comeback in adversity.

PHWEEEEEEE~

After the halftime break, the Aston Villa players returned to the pitch with confidence. They were 45 minutes away from lifting the championship trophy, and every second counted.

City’s players followed, determined and focused, ready to kick off the second half.

O’Neill called over the freshly warmed-up Materazzi.

"Boss, what do you want me to do?" Materazzi stood tall, voice loud and steady—like a soldier awaiting orders.

O’Neill’s tone was softer, almost casual. "Did you notice how they set up their defensive formation in the first half? And do you remember how you played against Wimbledon last season?"

Materazzi blinked, puzzled for a moment—then it clicked. "You want me up front? Like that match?"

Exactly.

O’Neill’s usual 4-4-2 system relied on four defenders, four midfielders, and two forwards. One of the midfielders usually played deeper, helping cover the defense. It was a solid, balanced shape.

But evaluating a team’s defensive quality wasn’t just about numbers or individual aggression. What mattered more were layers—the positioning, timing, and communication between players.

It’s not always magic when a dribbler slices through a defense or a playmaker delivers a killer pass. Often, it’s simply that the opposing team lacks defensive coordination. When every defender rushes toward one threat, they leave space elsewhere—that’s not bravery; it’s panic.

Today, however, Aston Villa were anything but panicked. Their defensive structure was tight, calm, and intelligent—exactly what you’d expect in a final. They didn’t press frantically. They slowed City’s rhythm, compressed the space, and cut off passing lanes.

When they pressed, it was calculated. One defender would step up, forcing City’s players into difficult decisions—pass or dribble—while teammates lurked nearby, waiting to intercept. It was a textbook execution of a low block.

Manchester City kept attacking with a mix of wing play and central thrusts. But again and again, promising passes into the box were read and cleared—usually by Southgate, who was rock solid.

For the first five or six minutes of the second half, O’Neill stood close to Materazzi, breaking down Villa’s defensive patterns in detail.

Materazzi listened carefully, nodding often.

Then O’Neill placed a firm hand on his shoulder."Marco, here’s your role. Defensively, press their midfielders and wingers—disrupt their flow. If you can’t stop them, don’t fall back. Stay high. During attacks, push forward and mark up with Simek. If he’s not tracking you, great—take shots when you have the chance. If he is, drag him out and create space for Henrik and Ronaldo. Got it?"

Materazzi gave a single, deliberate nod. He understood completely.

Back in that wild match against Wimbledon, O’Neill had fielded three strikers, with Materazzi as the target man. This time, the role was slightly different—but just as daring. He wasn’t being sent in as a makeshift striker for general play—this was about set pieces.

Tall, strong, and fearless in the air, Materazzi was a nightmare to mark. He struck the ball cleanly and could take penalties like a seasoned forward. In moments like those, he didn’t look like a center-back at all.

O’Neill gave him a pat on the back. "Go on."

Moments later, the fourth official raised the board for a substitution.

Capdevila out. Materazzi in.

With that adjustment, Zambrotta would drop deeper to cover the left flank, and for the first time in the match, O’Neill would mirror Aston Villa’s 5-3-2 formation.