The mont Nielsen scored, every player and coach on the Swansea bench rushed to the touchline.
By this point, the Welsh derby had turned into a warzone. Every spark of passion had been lit, and everyone's blood was boiling.
Lynn spread his arms toward the pitch and roared across Ninian Park with no regard for anyone else.
"This is Swansea! This is the Swansea you can't break, the Swansea you'll never beat! My Swansea! My Swans!"
Alan Cork had gone into the second half with towering ambition, but Cardiff's attacks had been shapeless throughout. They had failed to produce the effect he wanted, only for Swansea to strike again on the counter.
The anger he had been suppressing since before kick-off finally erupted.
When Lynn's roar reached his ears, he spun around and shouted furiously at him.
"Control yourself, you bastard! This is Cardiff! This is Cardiff City's ho ground! Do you not even understand basic respect?"
Hearing Cork's outburst, Lynn turned to face him, then suddenly burst into wild, arrogant laughter.
"I told you two hours ago that you were going to lose! You didn't believe then, did you? What about now? What about now? What's wrong? Now you want to talk about respect? Sorry, but I'm not interested in being reasonable right now. I want to celebrate winning!
"Go on, then. Have Cardiff equalize if you can! Beat my team out there if you can! But you can't. Cardiff can't.
"From this mont on, recognize reality. There is only one top club in Wales, and it is absolutely not Cardiff City. You're the ones who need to learn respect. Stand humbly in front of your new superior, and don't get too arrogant!"
As soon as Lynn finished, the Swansea players and coaches standing around him burst into laughter with him.
Alan Cork finally lost control.
He charged toward Lynn, roaring, "You shaless, ill-mannered bastard! I'll kill you!"
He had only made it halfway before the fourth official stopped him. Even Cardiff's own coaches rushed over and grabbed Cork by the arms from both sides. Even while being dragged back, Cork kept trying to kick forward, the veins on his face standing out. Lynn's deliberate humiliation and contempt throughout the match had clearly pushed him past his limit.
Lynn tilted his head slightly and sneered.
"Look at that. Now who's the one with no manners?"
The referee ran over and sent Alan Cork off.
Cork shook off the people restraining him, then stood there panting heavily. He gave Lynn one last cold look before appearing to calm himself and walking toward the tunnel.
Lynn did not bother looking at him again.
When the referee ca over and warned Lynn not to provoke the ho side any further, Lynn rely nodded faintly, his expression calm and relaxed.
Cromwell could not continue. The cramp in his right leg ant that after recovering slightly, he could only limp off the pitch.
Lynn used his final substitution. Poulsen ca on to replace Cromwell.
When Cromwell reached the touchline, Lynn stepped forward and embraced his captain. He whispered in Cromwell's ear, "Oliver, you didn't let down. You were excellent today."
Cromwell turned his head and looked worriedly toward the pitch.
"Boss, the match isn't over yet."
Lynn said, "No, it's over. We've won. Trust . Don't forget what the dia call us."
Cromwell rembered the nickna the dia had given Swansea and could not help laughing.
Closing-phase monsters!
Throughout the first half of the season, Swansea's tactical focus had been the final stretch of matches. The players had already ford the habit now. The closer the match got to the end, the more seriously they treated it. They would not switch off.
Cardiff had already lost their composure. They had attacked for so long without success, only to concede again, and now their manager had been sent off. Their structure and ntality collapsed at once.
Swansea, having played the entire second half with one man fewer, were also running out of energy. It was difficult to create any real threat with only one or two players pushing forward, especially with no true midfield organizer left on the pitch. So Lynn ordered the team to focus on defending.
The final minutes of the match almost turned into a fight.
Gareth Whalley picked up a second yellow card and was sent off. When Jason Bowen fouled Tobias Rau, Friedrich rushed over to confront him, only for Bowen to shove him to the ground. The referee showed Bowen a red card, then gave Friedrich his second yellow as well. Friedrich was also sent off.
Lynn protested to the fourth official on the touchline, insisting Friedrich's second yellow was completely unfair.
But by this point, the refereeing team only wanted this unexpectedly explosive match to end as quickly as possible.
When the full-ti whistle finally sounded, Ninian Park erupted in deafening boos.
The ho supporters could not accept Cardiff losing 3–1 to Swansea at ho.
It hurt them deeply. Not only had Cardiff fallen eight points behind in the table, Swansea had also secured the half-season title. More importantly, on the pitch itself, Cardiff had been second best in every way.
Lynn smiled, embraced Hughes, then turned and walked into the tunnel.
Inside the box where they had watched the entire match, Christa White and Paul Harrison exchanged a glance.
White smiled and said, "He makes an excellent invader. There's sothing powerful about him that makes people admire him."
Harrison pondered for a mont before replying, "But he has to restrain himself. Otherwise, people will see a mad dog instead of a commanding conqueror."
White nodded.
"I believe he knows where the line is. He shouldn't bully the weak. That would be too embarrassing."
"I hope so."
Just as Lynn entered the tunnel, he suddenly heard an angry shout.
"You bastard! I'll teach you what respect ans!"
Alan Cork suddenly ca charging from the other end of the tunnel, storming toward Lynn with murder in his eyes.
Lynn's pupils narrowed, then a wild gleam appeared in his eyes. He swiftly took off his expensive fitted coat and gave Cork a feral grin.
"You think I'm scared of you? I've been waiting for this. How considerate of you to co straight to !"
Lynn took two steps forward to et him.
Alan Cork had just raised his fist when Lynn, still two ters away, spread his coat out and threw it at him. Cork's head was instantly covered, his vision going black. The next second, he felt a kick slam into his stomach, sending him staggering backward before he rolled onto the floor.
Lynn rushed up and stopped speaking English entirely. He switched to Mandarin, cursing as he punched and kicked Alan Cork.
"Damn it, I've been sick of you for ages! Saying I don't understand football is one thing, but saying I'm wasting my parents' money, saying you're going to teach how to behave? I'll teach you how to behave right now! You think being loud makes you impressive?"
Lynn was still hitting him when another conflict suddenly broke out outside the tunnel.
Friedrich and Gareth Whalley, both sent off near the end of the match, had not entered the tunnel at all. They ran into each other just outside and imdiately started fighting, tumbling straight into the tunnel.
Seeing the older Whalley gain a slight advantage, Lynn instantly abandoned Alan Cork, who was still rolling around on the floor. He roared, "Damn it! Co at if you want! Don't touch my player!"
Then he charged over and, finding the right mont, kicked Gareth Whalley to the ground.
The scale of the conflict grew hotter and larger. Cardiff and Swansea players, coaches, even team doctors and travelling staff kept joining the lee. The narrow tunnel descended into complete chaos.
Even Zlatan, who had been in the dressing room, rushed out to show off his karate black-belt skills.
More than fifty people were drawn into the brawl.
But Swansea were the away side, and they were outnumbered. Before long, they began to fall behind.
The referees could only watch from the side, shouting for everyone to calm down.
It had no effect at all.
While Lynn was pumlling Jason Bowen, the traitor in the eyes of Swansea fans, he suddenly saw a fairly large box flying through the air. It was heading straight for Villa, who was grappling with Robert Earnshaw. In that instant, Lynn sprinted across without hesitation to shield Villa with his body.
The box struck Lynn on the head.
He collapsed at Villa's feet.
Villa looked down and froze, his eyes widening in shock as Lynn lay there in front of him. The box hit the ground and burst open, scattering dicine bottles, sprays, gauze, and other tools across the floor.
It was clearly a dical kit.
Lynn had fallen unconscious, and blood was spreading across the floor.
Earnshaw punched Villa in the face at that mont, but when Villa raised his head, he did not retaliate. Instead, he followed the path the box had flown from and spotted Rhys Weston hiding in the corner, his nose wrapped in gauze.
This was the sa defender whose nose Zlatan had broken with an elbow. He had not dared to get close to the center of the brawl, afraid his nose might suffer again, so he had resorted to throwing things from a distance, just like the sly harassnt he had used against Zlatan on the pitch.
Originally, he had wanted revenge on Zlatan, but Zlatan was too far away, busy beating Scott Young until the man was nearly crying.
So Weston chose the closest target instead. He saw Villa, picked up the dical kit, and threw it at him.
By now, the Swansea players around Lynn had all followed the path of the flying box and identified the culprit.
Rhys Weston!
Villa swore, sothing rare for him.
"You son of a bitch!"
Danny Gabbidon shouted, "I'll kill you!"
Just as the furious Swansea players were about to go after Weston, soone suddenly roared.
"Everyone stop! Get the Boss to the hospital!"
Emlyn Hughes was shielding Lynn and trying to lift him despite the blood running from his head. After his roar, everyone finally stopped.
Both sides had been fighting with red eyes, but once they saw Lynn unconscious and blood on the floor, they finally began to regain so sense.
Glendower and coach Eric Morecambe stepped forward to help lift Lynn. The Swansea players and coaches ford a tight circle around him, protecting him in the middle as they quickly escorted him away.
The fierce brawl finally ca to an end after Lynn was injured.
Once Lynn was placed into a car and rushed to hospital, the news spread imdiately.
Reporters sward over. Many Swansea fans did not leave Cardiff right away either, instead going to the hospital where Lynn had been taken to check on him.
Lynn had suffered a mild concussion. There was also a small cut on his head, but the injury was not serious.
The refereeing team included the post-match conflict in their report. Once the dia exposed the fight between the two teams after the match, the FA was furious. They announced that after investigating the incident, they would punish the football violence severely.
Lynn woke up that night.
When he opened his eyes, he found himself lying in a comfortable hospital room. Hughes was sitting alone beside the bed.
The mont Hughes saw his eyes open, he stood up and asked anxiously, "Boss, how do you feel? Do you need anything? I'll call the doctor!"
Lynn grabbed his hand and said, "It's nothing. My head just hurts a bit. How long was I asleep?"
Hughes did not know whether to laugh or cry.
"You weren't asleep. You were unconscious. Not too long, roughly four hours. I should still call the doctor to check on you."
"No need. I feel fine. Much clearer now. Where is everyone else?"
Lynn slowly sat up. He did not feel particularly weak. After years of consistent training, his body was strong.
Hughes could only support him as he got out of bed.
"They're all outside."
Lynn was a little surprised. Looking out the window, he saw it was already night.
He opened the hospital room door and stepped outside.
The sight that greeted him was the players, coaches, and travelling staff, either sitting or standing in the corridor, waiting for him.
The mont they saw Lynn appear, they all stood up and called out at once.
"Boss."
"Boss!"
"Boss…"
With his head wrapped in gauze, Lynn saw that they had not even changed out of their kits. They had only put warm coats over them. Many players still had bare legs. So had bruised faces. Others had socks torn into strips.
He chuckled.
"Oh, damn. Looks like we went a little too far today."
Hearing that he was still in the mood to joke, everyone felt strange for a mont, but at the sa ti, they relaxed.
"But we had a hell of a ti!"
"Those Cardiff cowards lost the match, couldn't take it, and started swinging. Then they couldn't even win the fight. Pathetic!"
"Exactly. Next ti they co to our ground, we'll make sure they rember it!"
Once the pressure lifted, everyone began speaking freely.
Lynn raised his hand and pressed it down, signaling for silence. Once everyone quieted, he said, "Yes, we had a brawl today. And no, we didn't lose. But that isn't sothing to be proud of.
"Sotis football is like this. It is not a gentleman's ga. It can make your blood boil. It can make people lose control. But we have to rember that we are not stadium thugs.
"When we are forced to et the opponent's fists, we will not back down. But I don't want us to take pride in knocking people down with our fists.
"What we should be proud of is this: today, we beat Cardiff City 3–1!
"They lost to us on the pitch.
"That is the achievent we should be proud of."
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