Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King
Chapter 148: Down At Halftime

Chapter 148: Down At Halftime

Altidore’s towering frame rose above everyone else, his head meeting the ball with brutal force.

The sound of the connection echoed through the stadium, and for a split second, it seemed like time froze.

[It’s a bullet header from Altidore!] Mike roared, his excitement electrifying. [This could be the moment—]

The ball streaked toward the top corner, but Waterman reacted like lightning, leaping across his goal with an outstretched hand.

His fingertips grazed the ball, diverting it just enough to send it crashing against the crossbar before it ricocheted back into play.

[Waterman saves again!] the co-commentator exclaimed, his voice full of disbelief. [How is he doing this?]

Chaos erupted in the 18 yard box as the rebound fell to Martens, who swung his leg in a desperate attempt to smash the ball into the net.

But Bouma threw his body in the way, the ball ricocheting off his chest and spinning out toward the edge of the area.

[What a block from Bouma!] Mike shouted. [PSV are hanging on by a thread here!]

Before AZ Alkmaar could capitalize on the loose ball, Willems swooped in and hoofed it clear, sending it soaring toward the halfway line.

The PSV fans erupted into cheers, their team surviving yet another heart-stopping moment.

[What an incredible sequence,] the co-commentator said, still catching his breath. [AZ Alkmaar are throwing everything at PSV, but they just can’t find the back of the net]

[You have to give credit to Waterman,] Mike added. [That save was absolutely top-class. He’s keeping PSV in this game single-handedly]

The camera panned to Altidore, who crouched near the penalty spot with his hands on his knees, disbelief written all over his face. Henriksen jogged over, clapping his hands and shouting words of encouragement.

[You can see the frustration setting in for AZ Alkmaar,] Mike observed. [They’ve done everything right, but the ball just won’t cross the line]

Meanwhile, PSV looked to capitalize on their reprieve.

Dries Mertens and Jeremain Lens combined quickly, their one-touch passes slicing through the midfield as they launched a counterattack.

[And here come PSV,] the co-commentator said, his tone shifting. [This game is swinging back and forth like a pendulum]

Lens sprinted down the left flank, his speed too much for Gorter, who struggled to keep up. With a clever flick, Lens played the ball inside to Matavž, who was lurking near the edge of the 18 yard box.

[PSV on the break now, and Matavž is in space!] Mike shouted. [Can AZ Alkmaar’s defense hold firm?]

Matavž took a touch to steady himself before unleashing a powerful shot toward the bottom corner.

Alvarado dived low, his fingertips brushing the ball just enough to push it wide of the post.

[Saved by Alvarado!] the co-commentator yelled. [This is goalkeeping at its finest on both ends of the pitch!]

The PSV fans groaned in unison, while the AZ Alkmaar supporters applauded their keeper’s heroics.

The intensity of the game was reaching its peak, with both teams refusing to back down.

[This is unbelievable football,] Mike said, shaking his head. [We’re witnessing something special here. It’s only 45 minutes, but it feels like we’ve seen an entire match’s worth of action already]

As the first-half clock ticked to 45 minutes, the fourth official held up his board, signaling one minute of added time.

The announcement was met with cheers from the home crowd, eager for one final push from their team.

Down near the corner flag, Dries Mertens stood with the ball in hand, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the electric atmosphere around him. He placed the ball calmly, taking a step back to assess the crowded penalty area.

[Well, this is it, Mike,] the co-commentator said, his voice tense. [One last chance before halftime. PSV have everyone up for this]

[They know the importance of a goal here,] Mike replied. [A chance to go into the break with the lead—it doesn’t get much bigger than this]

Mertens raised his arm, signaling to his teammates before delivering a wicked, curling corner. The ball soared toward the far post, spinning dangerously in the air.

[It’s a beautiful delivery!] Mike exclaimed, leaning forward. [Can anyone get on the end of it?]

Bouma and his marker wrestled for position in the melee, bodies clashing as players from both sides jostled for space.

The ball hung in the air for what felt like an eternity before Strootman rose above the crowd, his timing impeccable.

[Strootman’s up! This looks promising—]

With a powerful header, Strootman directed the ball toward the bottom corner. The trajectory was perfect, the power unstoppable.

[Strootman heads it down—!] Mike’s voice climbed, full of anticipation.

Alvarado reacted instantly, diving low to his left, his gloves stretching for the ball. But it was too quick, too precise. The ball slipped past his outstretched hand and nestled into the back of the net.

[GOAL!] Mike roared as the stadium erupted. [Kevin Strootman has done it! PSV take the lead right at the death in the first half!]

GOOAAALLLLL!!!~

The cheers from the home crowd were deafening, their voices echoing around the Philips Stadion.

Strootman sprinted toward the corner flag with his arms outstretched, and a triumphant roar on his lips. His teammates rushed to him, engulfing him in a celebratory huddle.

[What a moment!] the co-commentator exclaimed, barely audible over the noise. [Strootman rises to the occasion, and PSV have turned this game on its head!]

On the other side of the pitch, the AZ Alkmaar players stood stunned. Marcellis shook his head in frustration, while Alvarado sat on the ground, staring at the ball in the net.

Their fans fell into silence, the jubilation of moments earlier replaced by disbelief.

[This is heartbreak for AZ Alkmaar,] Mike said, his tone a mix of awe and sympathy. [They’ve been brilliant, but PSV have punished them at the perfect moment]

Fweeee!~ Fweeeee!~

The referee blew the whistle for halftime almost immediately after the restart.

The PSV players walked off the pitch with wide grins, the momentum firmly in their favor.

Meanwhile, the AZ Alkmaar squad trudged toward the tunnel, their heads bowed but their resolve far from broken.

[Well, what a first half that was,] Mike said as the camera panned across the jubilant home crowd. [We’ve seen drama, incredible saves, and now a stunning goal from Strootman. This game has everything!]

[And it’s only halftime,] the co-commentator added with a chuckle. [If the second half is anything like this, we’re in for a treat]