Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King
Chapter 154: Cool, Calm, and Collected

Chapter 154: Cool, Calm, and Collected

The AZ Alkmaar players erupted instantly. Altidore spun toward the referee, pointing furiously at Willems. Martens and Henriksen joined the protest, their voices loud and insistent.

The referee hesitated for a moment, glancing toward his assistant, who raised his flag slightly and nodded.

[Oh, he’s given it! He’s pointed to the spot!] Mike shouted as the referee blew his whistle and signaled for a penalty. [This time, there’s no doubt about it!]

The stadium erupted into a cacophony of cheers and jeers. The PSV players surrounded the referee, Willems at the center of the protests, his face a mask of disbelief as he gestured wildly to explain his innocence.

[It’s chaos out there,] the co-commentator observed. [The PSV players are furious, but the referee’s made his decision]

The referee, unfazed by the protests, reached into his pocket and brandished a yellow card at Willems, who stomped away, his frustration evident in every step.

[Willems is booked, and it’s a penalty to AZ Alkmaar,] Mike summarized, his voice rising above the noise. [This is a huge moment in the game]

The AZ Alkmaar fans exploded with renewed energy, their chants echoing through the stadium as the players gathered near the spot.

Altidore gestured to Benjamin and he stepped forward after giving a slight nod. His face looked calm but focused as he picked up the ball. He placed it carefully on the penalty spot, taking a moment to adjust the angle.

[It’s going to be Benjamin, the youngster,] the co-commentator said. [What a moment for him. The pressure is immense]

Waterman crouched low on his line, his eyes locked on Benjamin as he bounced lightly on the balls of his feet. He stretched his arms out wide, attempting to unnerve the young forward.

[The goalkeeper’s playing mind games,] Mike noted. [But Benjamin doesn’t look fazed]

Fweeee!

The referee blew his whistle, stepping back to signal the start of the attempt. Benjamin inhaled deeply, then began his run-up, his strides measured and deliberate.

[Here he comes, Benjamin—]

With a clean, powerful strike, Benjamin sent the ball low and hard to the left corner. Waterman guessed correctly, diving with outstretched arms, but the shot had too much pace.

GOOOAAALLLL!!!

[It’s in! Benjamin converts! AZ Alkmaar are back in it! 3-3 and it’s all square in the Philips Stadion] Mike roared, his voice nearly drowned out by the crowd’s eruption.

[What composure from the youngster, and it’s two goals to his name] the co-commentator added. [That’s a pressure penalty if I’ve ever seen one]

Benjamin sprinted toward the corner flag, his fists clenched and his face alight with emotion. His teammates mobbed him, their relief and joy pouring out in celebration.

The AZ Alkmaar fans were on their feet, their chants ringing louder than ever as their team drew level.

[This game has been nothing short of incredible,] Mike said, his voice filled with admiration. [Benjamin has kept AZ Alkmaar’s hopes alive, and now it’s all to play for]

[What a response, Mike,] the co-commentator agreed. [AZ Alkmaar have shown incredible resilience tonight. This one’s far from over]

The fans roared their approval as the players regrouped for the restart.

The scoreboard now read 3-3, and the game hung on a knife’s edge. Every pass, every tackle, and every movement made by the players carried the weight of the match’s outcome.

PSV, undeterred by the equalizer, surged forward straight from the kick-off.

Van Bommel’s clipped pass found Jeremain Lens on the right wing, who immediately turned to face Gorter.

[And PSV are wasting no time here,] Mike said, leaning forward as Lens sized up his marker. [They’re coming right back at AZ Alkmaar]

Lens danced on the ball, a quick feint drawing Gorter in before exploding past him down the wing.

The crowd rose in anticipation as Lens whipped in a cross, the ball curling wickedly toward the far post.

[That’s a dangerous ball—Matavž is there!]

The Slovenian striker stretched every tendon in his body to meet it. His header connected but was too powerful and flew just off target.

The ball skimmed the top of the crossbar, and the crowd collectively gasped before breaking into applause.

[So close from Matavž!] Mike exclaimed. [He’s been a menace all night, but he just couldn’t keep that one down]

[That was inches away, Mike,] the co-commentator added. [AZ Alkmaar have to stay on their toes. PSV aren’t holding back]

Esteban Alvarado wasted no time restarting play, his long clearance sending AZ Alkmaar on the attack.

Henriksen rose to meet the ball, flicking it on to Benjamin, who once again proved to be a thorn in PSV’s side.

[Benjamin again, charging forward,] Mike said, the excitement in his voice building. [He’s been relentless tonight]

Benjamin cut inside, evading his marker with a clever drag-back. He spotted Altidore making a diagonal run into the 18 yard box and threaded a precise pass through the PSV defense.

[What a pass! Altidore’s in!]

Altidore took the ball in his stride, his powerful frame holding off Derijck as he closed in on goal.

Waterman raced off his line with his arms wide, ready to make himself as big as possible.

[This is it—Altidore!]

The American striker unleashed a low, thunderous strike, but Waterman was equal to it, throwing himself to his left and getting a strong hand to the ball.

The rebound fell to Benjamin, who was following up just outside the six-yard box.

[Benjamin! Can he finish?]

The youngster reacted instinctively, firing a low shot toward the bottom corner.

Waterman, still on the ground, stuck out a leg and somehow deflected the ball away. The PSV defense scrambled to clear, Bouma hoofing it upfield as the crowd erupted in disbelief.

[Incredible double save by Waterman!] Mike shouted, his voice nearly drowned out by the noise. [How did he keep that out?]

[That’s top-class goalkeeping, Mike,] the co-commentator said, shaking his head. [Benjamin was certain to score there, but Waterman just refused to be beaten]

The game swung back and forth with relentless intensity.

Strootman orchestrated another attack, threading a pass to Dries Mertens, who burst down the left wing. His low cross was met by Matavž, but Reijnen slid in at the last moment to block the shot.

[This is end-to-end football,] Mike said, his voice tinged with awe. [Both teams going for the win—nobody’s holding back]

The clock ticked into the 75th minute, and the players showed no signs of slowing down.

The energy on the pitch was matched only by the noise from the stands, the fans urging their teams forward with every passing second.

[It feels like there’s another goal in this,] the co-commentator said, his tone filled with anticipation. [The question is, who will get it?]

Both sides knew a single moment of brilliance—or a single mistake—could decide the match.