The air at Craven Cottage had a bite to it as Huddersfield Town's team bus arrived at the stadium. It was game day, and Fulham's clash with Huddersfield felt more like a battle of survival than a typical Premier League match.
Both teams were fighting for their place in the league, with Huddersfield rooted at the bottom and Fulham two places above them. The stakes were high—three points today could be the difference between staying in the Premier League or falling into the dreaded relegation zone.
Inside the Fulham locker room, the tension was palpable. Marcus sat quietly on the bench, lacing up his boots. He could hear the faint rumble of the crowd gathering outside, the murmur of anticipation in the air. Every player knew what was at stake. Coach Anderson had made it clear throughout the week: three points were non-negotiable.
Marcus' mind was focused, replaying the advice Anderson had drilled into him during training. Huddersfield would know he was the pivot. They would mark him tightly, try to crowd him out, and make sure he didn't have time on the ball. But this time, he was ready. He had worked hard on his movement, his quick passes, and his ability to manipulate space.
"Alright, everyone, listen up!" Coach Anderson's voice cut through the silence of the locker room, snapping the players to attention.
He stood at the front, his eyes sweeping across the room. "We've been building up to this. Today's not just another match. We're fighting for our place, and we're doing it on our terms, here at Craven Cottage.
Huddersfield is going to come at us like their lives depend on it, because it does. They've got nothing to lose. But neither do we. We win today, and we get out of that relegation zone. We keep ourselves alive. Stay sharp, trust each other, and play like we've been training all week."
The players nodded, some of them bouncing lightly on their feet, getting their energy up for the match.
"Marcus," Anderson said, locking eyes with him. "They're going to double up on you again. Maybe even triple mark you. I need you to stay composed and use that to our advantage. Move, create space for the others, and if you can't find a way through, trust Harvey and Fabio to be the outlets. Don't force it. Got it?"
"Got it, Coach," Marcus replied, his voice calm but determined.
Anderson continued, "The rest of you, back Marcus up. We're playing with intensity, but we're playing smart. Huddersfield's backline is slow—exploit that. Use the width, use the pace."
As the team finished their final preparations, Marcus stood up, grabbed his number 22 shirt, and slipped it over his head. He glanced over at Harvey and Fabio, both of them already hyped up and ready to go.
"Let's do this," Marcus muttered to himself, standing tall as the team lined up to head out onto the pitch.
When they emerged from the tunnel, the noise from the Fulham faithful hit them like a wave. The crowd was electric, cheering loudly, waving scarves, and chanting in unison. They knew what this match meant, too. Huddersfield's players were already warming up on the other side of the pitch, and the tension between the two teams was palpable.
Marcus took a deep breath as he jogged out to his position in the midfield. The grass beneath his boots felt firm, and the cold air sharpened his focus. He glanced around the stadium, taking it all in. This was his home turf. No way was he letting Huddersfield walk out of here with a win.
The referee blew his whistle, and the game kicked off.