The Coaching System-Chapter 200: EFL Cup Round 3 – vs Newcastle United

Jake's Office, Monday Afternoon

The System's Prediction & Tactical Preparation

The office lights were dimmed, not out. Jake preferred it that way. Easier to see the screen. Easier to think.

He sat forward, hands steepled under his chin, eyes sharp but unmoving as the system booted. The interface lit up with the match file already queued. A deep hum from the server rack behind him vibrated faintly under the desk.

Jake (low, firm):

"System—give me the prediction for Newcastle. And their shape."

A pause. Then the numbers appeared, clean and cold in the top-right quadrant:

Newcastle Win: 60%

Draw: 20%

Bradford Win: 20%

Jake didn't flinch. He read it twice. Once with his eyes. Again with his instincts.

Jake (under his breath):

"No margin. No illusion."

He clicked to load the last five Newcastle matches.

Clips played in silence. No commentary. Just action. Just evidence.

High line. Press-heavy front five. Ball-carrying centre-backs stepping past the first block. Bruno playing deeper now—Tonali pushed higher. And width? It came from both fullbacks storming on simultaneously.

Jake leaned closer as one clip played again.

A loose ball from Burn. Intercepted. Spurs hit them with a vertical switch and nearly scored.

Jake (quietly):

"They've waited for this."

He paused the video. The freeze-frame caught a tactical imbalance: back line too wide, fullback too high, midfield stranded. That was the crack.

He scrawled a note on his tablet:

Strengths:

Relentless press

Central overloads

Fast recovery when shape isn't broken

Emotional edge

Weaknesses:

Fullbacks caught high

Poor recovery on quick diagonals

Rely on second balls, not clean transitions

Can be baited out of structure with patience

Jake rewound one clip three times—Tonali chasing into a press he didn't need to join. That was the moment that would matter.

He clicked the screen off.

Time to go to work.

Training Ground, Tuesday

Closed Session: The Newcastle Drill

Rain tapped on the rooftop as the squad filtered out onto the training pitch. No cameras today. No YouTube mic-ups. This was sharp. Closed. Specific.

The first wave of the eleven was already known—Costa. Roney. Silva. Lowe. Barnes. Kang Min-Jae. Richards. Rojas.

They started with tight space drills under pressure. No smiles. The ball zipped, popped, bounced. No one was coasting.

Paul Roberts walked beside Jake as they watched the shape reset.

Paul (grim):

"They're sending a full squad. No kids. No mercy."

Jake (without looking away):

"Good. Neither are we."

He raised his voice, just once, to the players:

Jake:

"They remember what we did last year. Good. Let them. That's not a threat—that's proof."

Roney glanced across to Silva. No words—just a nod.

Costa asked to run wide drills twice instead of once. Jake said yes.

Lowe shadowed every run like he was already playing Tonali. Kang and Barnes clashed heads during a duel and kept going.

Jake (quiet, as they reset to water):

"This isn't about defending last year's memory."

He looked out over the session. The shape tightening. The lines shrinking. The runs sharpening.

Jake:

"This is about proving we can beat them again."

St James' Park, Pre-Match Build-Up

Peter Drury (Sky Sports):

"They met in the semi-finals last year—now, the sequel. Same venue. Different tone. Newcastle remember. So do Bradford. This one hums with unfinished business."

The sound inside St James' Park was already teeth-baring.

The kind of roar that didn't lift players—it hunted them. Flags rippled. Voices layered. Newcastle's fans weren't just hoping—they were expecting vengeance. You could feel it under your ribs.

The camera cut from the crowd to the tunnel.

There stood Jake Wilson—just behind the white-painted arch of concrete, arms folded, coat zipped. His face unreadable. Not calm, not nervous. Just still.

He didn't look out at the crowd. He watched his players.

They were warming up now. Silent exchanges. No jokes. No bounce.

Costa did his sprints in straight lines—shoulders tight, eyes ahead. Silva adjusted the tape on his wrists without a word. Vélez stood with his hands on his hips, scanning Newcastle's press patterns as they ran shape drills on the opposite half.

Mensah was bouncing on the balls of his feet, shadowing midfield rotations with sharp, reactive bursts.

There were nods. Quiet knuckle taps. No shouting. No pretense.

This was a squad that knew where they were.

And why.

Jake stepped out from the tunnel slowly. Aiden Taylor passed him and offered a quiet:

"Let's go write another chapter."

Jake didn't reply.

He just followed them into the light.

Scene 2 – Starting XI

The lineup hit social media and the broadcast scroll bar at the same time.

No rotation. No experimental shape. Jake wasn't hiding from the fight.

He was bringing it to their doorstep.

Starting XI – Bradford City

GK: Emeka

DEF: Rojas (RB), Kang Min-jae (RCB), Nathan Barnes (LCB), Aiden Taylor (LB)

MIDFIELD TRIO:

DM: Daniel Lowe

CM: Santiago Vélez

AM: Raphael Mensah

WINGS: fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com

RW: Roney Bardghji

LW: Renan Silva

ST: Guilherme Costa

BENCH: Cox, Bianchi, Fletcher, Ibáñez, Walsh, Obi, Chapman, Richter, Rasmussen

FORMATION: 4–3–3

Commentator (Drury):

"No holding back from Jake Wilson tonight—he fields strength, not caution. Vélez and Lowe in midfield? That's steel and rhythm. Silva, Roney, Costa—well... they know how to make pain look beautiful."

Costa crouched in the center circle after warm-ups, head bowed, whispering something under his breath. Roney slapped the back of his neck as he passed.

Emeka stood with both gloves pressed together at his mouth, eyes closed.

Jake walked down the touchline alone, passed the technical area, and nodded once toward the travelling fans—tucked high in the corner, claret and amber pulsing in a pocket of fury.

He turned, stepped into his box, and didn't move again.

The whistle was coming.

So was the storm.

Newcastle United Starting XI

Newcastle United – Starting XI

GK: Nick Pope

DEF: Tino Livramento (RB), Fabian Schär (RCB), Sven Botman (LCB), Lewis Hall (LB)

MIDFIELD:

DM: Bruno Guimarães

CMs: Sandro Tonali, Joe Willock

FORWARDS:

RW: Miguel Almirón

LW: Anthony Gordon

ST: Alexander Isak

BENCH: Dubravka, Krafth, Burn, Joelinton, Longstaff, Harvey Barnes, Callum Wilson, Trippier, Miley

FORMATION: 4–3–3

Peter Drury (Sky Sports):

"It's not just strong—it's symbolic. Eddie Howe sends a message tonight. Not one eye on the weekend. This is about memory, pride, and payback."

The moment the lineups were posted, you could feel the air tighten.

Tonali in midfield, Guimarães deeper—no luxury, all industry. Willock brought legs. Gordon and Almirón on the flanks brought venom. And Isak? Well... he was always the ghost in Bradford's rearview mirror.

Drury continued:

"Isak leads the line, just as he did in that bitter semifinal loss last season—where Bradford stunned them with pace, precision, and maybe just a bit of disbelief. But tonight? There's no surprise in this stadium. Only fire."

On the far side, Eddie Howe stood in black, arms behind his back, nodding through his warmup drills.

Jake glanced at him once across the touchline.

No handshake yet. Not now.

Roney stood shoulder to shoulder with Silva near halfway, watching Gordon stretch out wide.

Roney (quietly):

"He's quick."

Silva (not looking away):

"Not quick enough."