Chapter 20: I Come on Boos
It was not yet four o'clock in the afternoon, but Kenilworth Road was already packed.
Blue-and-orange scarves filled the stands.
The old stadium, squeezed tightly between rows of residential houses, buzzed with noise long before kickoff. Fans leaned over railings, children waved miniature flags, and the smell of fried onions and cheap beer drifted through the summer air.
This—
Was the opening day of the season.
No matter how hopeless outsiders believed things were, supporters still came.
Because football supporters always came.
Especially in difficult times.
Luton Town had begun the season with a thirty-point deduction due to the club's financial collapse under previous ownership. In reality, survival alone looked almost impossible.
Most media outlets had already predicted relegation before a ball had even been kicked.
But today—
More than ten thousand supporters still filled Kenilworth Road.
Because this was their club.
Joshua Smith stood quietly inside the small executive box high above the stands.
From here, he could see everything.
The worn grass.
The tightly packed terraces.
The players are warming up below.
Beside him stood club owner David Morton.
Unlike Joshua's calm expression, David looked restless.
He checked his watch repeatedly, then paced across the room before finally stopping beside the window again.
"Are we really ready for this?" David asked.
Joshua did not even turn around immediately.
His eyes remained fixed on the pitch.
John Aston was supervising the warm-up below while Vardy and Charlie Austin practiced finishing drills near the penalty area.
Only then did Joshua answer calmly.
"Relax, David."
He adjusted the cuffs of his black suit.
"You watched the preseason matches."
"We're stronger than people think."
Then Joshua finally turned his head slightly, a faint smile appearing on his face.
"No team in League Two will enjoy playing against us."
David exhaled slowly.
This was not only Joshua's first official match as a head coach.
It was also David Morton's first official match as a football club owner.
Both men were stepping into unfamiliar territory.
Joshua checked the clock.
The warm-up was nearly over.
"I'm heading down," he said.
Then, just before leaving the box, he paused at the doorway.
"Oh, and David?"
"Yes?"
Joshua smiled.
"You should start thinking about how to celebrate the win."
Then he walked out.
In the press section, Roy Saul sat with crossed legs and a notebook balanced neatly on her lap.
Today, she wore another fitted black business suit, her blonde hair tied back tightly into a professional ponytail.
She looked sharp.
Cold.
Focused.
But beneath that calm appearance—
She was irritated.
Very irritated.
Her eyes swept across the Luton players warming up below.
Kevin Keane looked dependable.
George Parker looked solid enough.
But the others?
Roy frowned instinctively.
N'Golo Kanté looked too small.
Too skinny.
Jamie Vardy looked aggressive, but football was not boxing.
Drinkwater still carried the face of a teenager.
Charlie Austin looked powerful enough physically, but hardly like someone who could carry a professional club.
These were Joshua Smith's signings?
These were the players meant to rescue Luton Town?
Roy shook her head.
"This is madness," she muttered quietly.
Meanwhile—
Inside the away dressing room—
Sam Parker was speaking loudly.
"The only player worth worrying about is Kevin Keane," he declared confidently.
"The rest are nothing special."
Especially those amateurs Joshua brought in.
Parker sneered openly.
"They won't survive in professional football."
The Port Vale players nodded repeatedly.
After all, Parker had played for Luton last season.
Who would know the club better than him?
Port Vale's manager looked increasingly satisfied as Parker continued analyzing his former teammates.
To them—
Luton looked weak.
Chaotic.
Broken.
Perfect opening-day opponents.
Joshua, naturally, knew none of this.
And even if he had—
He would not have cared.
Inside the home dressing room, the atmosphere felt tense.
Nervous.
Heavy.
Joshua stood in front of the tactical board holding a stack of newspapers in his hand.
Without warning—
He threw them onto the floor.
"Look at this garbage."
The room fell silent immediately.
Joshua's voice was calm at first.
Too calm.
"These people think we're already dead."
"They think we'll be relegated."
"They think this club is finished."
His tone gradually rose.
"They think thirty points means surrender."
Joshua turned suddenly and wrote a massive number on the board.
-30
Every player stared at it silently.
That ugly number had haunted the club all summer.
Joshua pointed directly at it.
"This," he said coldly, "is where they believe we belong."
Then beneath it—
He wrote another number.
-27
Joshua turned back toward the squad.
"After today," he said firmly, "this is where we'll be."
The players' eyes sharpened.
"Ten wins."
Joshua raised both hands.
"Ten wins and the deduction disappears."
"Ten wins and people stop laughing."
"Ten wins and the entire league starts fearing us."
He slammed his fist against the tactical board.
"This match…"
"It is the beginning."
Jamie Vardy stood up first.
His expression was fierce.
Almost wild.
"Victory!"
He raised his fist high.
Immediately—
The entire dressing room exploded.
"VICTORY!!"
The roar shook the walls.
Soon afterward, both teams lined up in the tunnel.
Outside, the stadium announcer began introducing the Luton players one by one.
"Your captain…"
"KEVIN KEEEEEANE!"
The crowd erupted loudly.
Keane received enormous applause.
George Parker received strong support, too.
Several academy players were welcomed warmly.
Then came the newcomers.
"Jamie… VARDDDDY!"
The applause weakened noticeably.
Some supporters clapped politely.
Others remained silent.
A few skeptical murmurs drifted through the stands.
The same happened for Kanté.
For Charlie Austin.
For Drinkwater.
The fans clearly did not yet trust these unknown signings.
In the media section, Roy folded her arms.
See?
Even the supporters don't believe in your team.
Then—
The announcer's voice changed again.
"And your head coach…"
"JOSHUAAAAA SMITH!"
The stadium suddenly became strange.
Quiet.
Awkward.
Then—
Boos emerged.
Scattered at first.
But growing quickly.
Joshua stepped from the tunnel wearing his black suit and club tie.
His face remained expressionless.
Cold.
Steady.
The boos intensified.
Some supporters watched silently.
Others shook their heads openly.
Because to many of them—
A young Jamaican manager with almost no professional coaching reputation represented uncertainty.
Risk.
Desperation.
Joshua heard every sound clearly.
Every boo.
Every doubt.
Every insult.
But his expression never changed.
He walked calmly toward the technical area while the noise crashed around him like waves.
John Aston looked worried.
But Joshua simply adjusted his suit jacket and sat down slowly on the bench.
His face was calm as stone.
Because he had expected this from the beginning.
He came here carrying doubt.
He came here carrying ridicule.
He came here carrying thirty negative points.
And today—
He had arrived to answer all of it.
With football.
(End of Chapter 20)
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