"Well, I'd rather watch Tony Twain and José Mourinho one-on-one on the sidelines." The commentator did not conceal his dislike for such a boring competition. "Honestly, I don't think Peter Crouch is qualified to be a center forward, and he has such strange traits… The Forest team is wasting their few opportunities for counterattacks. Maybe Tony Twain thinks that Peter Crouch can become a good center forward, but evidently he isn't now."

Tang En could understand the complaint that the commentator was making. Crouch was not the type of center forward who could use his own body to retain control of the ball, control it under fierce pressure from his opponents, and wait for his teammates' support. Crouch was a hard-working player, but he was struggling under the defensive pressure from the two center backs, John Terry and Ricardo Carvalho. What Tang En needed was a center forward with a strong body, an outstanding header, and good ball control footwork, rather than the exceptionally tall Crouch, who preferred just to use his feet.

If Crouch was not the best person to carry out the tactic, then who would be?

He glanced sideways at the substitutes' bench and saw a young man. Since joining the Forest team, he had only appeared in a few warm-up games, and out of the four strikers, the Danish kid was placed last for the lineup.

Freddy Eastwood was a protégé that Tang En had directly unearthed, who needed to be specially cultivated. His position of being the main force was naturally stable. Even considering his great ability and reputation, Mark Viduka had still cost the club six million pounds. When the club had spent so much money for a striker, how could he be just a substitute? And Peter Crouch had such a prominent trait, but was still quite low-key in the team. When Twain had arranged for him to be the third striker, he had not complained. And what about this other young man? If he did not give him a chance to prove himself, he guessed that the reporters, who stared at the Forest locker room all the time trying to dig up some explosive news, would have something to exploit.

"Ask the Danish kid to warm up." Twain said to David Kerslake.

"Bendtner, you have five minutes to warm up." The assistant manager stood up and faced the bench. He raised his right palm and spoke to Bendtner, who sitting on the bench.

Bendtner turned to look at Kerslake. Then he gazed past the assistant manager and looked at Twain next to him. He saw the young manager concentrating on the game, so he stood up, put on a yellow vest and jogged out.

※※※

Nottingham Forest and Chelsea were still entangled with each other; they were like two boxers in a tight embrace who had no way to carry out their most powerful moves because they were too busy keeping a tight rein on their opponents.

This scenario of mutual restraint was not what Mourinho wanted to see. He loathed to being dragged into this quagmire. Why? He was furious that he had been forced to be so impotent in an away match.

To José Mourinho, Tony Twain was a nobody, just like any other unfamiliar English manager. His real targets were Alex Ferguson and Arsène Wenger. Chelsea's opponents were Manchester United and Arsenal! He did not even take Liverpool into consideration. Since his team had performed smoothly from the start of the tournament, Mourinho had never thought that he would grapple with such a tenacious obstacle in a stadium that only held twenty-seven thousand spectators.

What kind of team was Nottingham Forest? A team that won two UEFA Champions League titles more than twenty years ago? That was just a flash in the pan.

I've seen many such teams. You want names? I could state names non-stop until you're tired of hearing them.

But I'm not here to talk about history, I'm here to beat this damned Nottingham Forest!

Chelsea's offense was met with the Forest team's stubborn resistance. The Forest team's backfield was almost entirely filled with players. In the drizzle, the turf was slippery and not suitable for Chelsea players to play on. Other than his shot that had brushed past the goal crossbar and flown out in the first half, Joe Cole had no other performances that could appear on the television close-up. Not to mention that Duff, who was already having a hard time on the right flank, was now completely suppressed by the Frenchman, Ribéry, who had come out of nowhere.

Chelsea's flanks were paralyzed.

This would not do. He had to find a way out.

※※※

Bendtner soon heard the assistant manager call his name and beckon him over. So he took off his vest as he ran back.

Twain stood up from his seat in the technical area and took the tactical board from Kerslake. Bendtner ran towards him a little breathlessly. Tang En could see that he was looking forward to playing and was confident.

Twain looked at the excited young man and glanced at the tactical board in his hands. Then he threw it onto his seat, pulled Bendtner aside, and made him face the field.

"What do you see, lad?" Twain asked.

"Um..." Bendtner froze for a moment, thinking that Twain would tell him directly who he would be replacing, what his task was, and how to do it, then pat him on the shoulder and push him to the sideline. He did not expect this manager to ask him a question like that.

"Well… Things aren't looking too good..."

"Yes, even a bonehead can tell that things aren't looking good. Do you know what a bonehead is? No? Well, forget it, I'll explain it later. What do you think we can do to end this stalemate?"

Bendtner knew that this was not a situation that could be hastily resolved, and he thought this might be a chance to make a good impression on the manager.

"Well… I think we need a center forward."

"Of course, why else would I make you go warm up and summon you here? What do you think should be done if I bring you on?"

This time Bendtner did not rush to answer Twain's question. He stared at the field for a moment, and then said, "I need to do a header and fight for the first drop point. If I can take possession of the ball, I'll do that. If I can't, I'll pass it to one of my teammates. If there are no teammates around, I'll just shoot towards the goal myself."

Twain patted Bendtner's shoulder hard. "Very good, just do what you said. Go up and play!"

William Gallas slide-tackled the ball at Ribéry's foot of out of the sideline. The Forest team received a throw-in. The assistant referee raised the flag up in his hands over his head, which meant that there was a substitution. The referee whistled to indicate the same thing. The throw-in needed to be delayed a little.

The fourth official examined the cleats on Bendtner's shoes, checked his shin guards, and then raised the substitution board: "Number 21 to come off, and Number 9 is being brought on!"

Crouch raised his hands to the applause of the fans and ran off the field. A young man with long blond hair tossed his rain-soaked hair, exhaled, and ran onto the field.

This was the first official game he was playing on behalf of Nottingham Forest. Although he was not in the starting lineup, he would still prove himself, and show the boss that it was a waste to use him as the fourth striker!