Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King
Chapter 159: Remember The Name

Chapter 159: Remember The Name

The ball dropped to Luciano Narsingh, who swung a hurried left boot at it. His shot ricocheted off Viergever’s sliding shin and back into the melee.

The players flailed desperately at the ball—shots blocked, rebounds deflected, every touch only adding to the pandemonium.

[This is madness in the box!] Mike shouted. [Nobody can get a clean hit!]

Van Bommel, who was hovering on the edge of the area, saw his chance as the ball rolled toward him. He charged forward and struck it with everything he had, his shot screaming through the crowd.

But AZ Alkmaar’s captian, Martens, tracked back quickly, and threw his body in the way, deflecting it straight up again.

[What bravery from Martens!] the co-commentator yelled. [He’s put everything on the line there!]

The ball dropped near the penalty spot, where Dries Mertens latched onto it, turning quickly to unleash a shot.

His effort, however, was blocked by Marcellis, who stumbled in the process but managed to clear it only as far as Jeremain Lens.

[Still alive for PSV!] Mike exclaimed, his voice almost cracking. [Jeremain Lens has a go—]

Lens struck the ball low, aiming for the bottom corner, but it struck the legs of an AZ Alkmaar defender, who managed to hack it clear to the edge of the 18 yard box.

By now, every player looked exhausted, their movements slower and less sharp.

[The tired legs are showing,] the co-commentator remarked, his tone tinged with disbelief. [Nobody’s able to get that final touch]

Depay, who was still lurking on the flank, collected the clearance and whipped in another cross.

The ball sailed toward the near post, where Marcelo rose to meet it this time, but his header glanced wide, skimming past the post and into the side netting.

[And it’s finally out of play!] Mike said, exhaling audibly. [That was one of the most chaotic scrambles I’ve ever seen!]

The AZ Alkmaar fans erupted in relief, their cheers drowning out the groans of the PSV supporters.

On the pitch, players from both teams bent over, hands on knees, trying to catch their breath.

[Unbelievable,] the co-commentator muttered. [It was like pinball in there. Every shot blocked, every clearance just falling right back into the danger zone]

[And credit to both teams,] Mike added. [The defenders threw everything they had at that, and PSV kept coming. You could see how much they wanted it]

Alvarado initially wanted to take his time with the goal kick, but a glance at the far left wing of the pitch picked out a sneaky Benjamin.

He waved his hands, pointing to the space just ahead of him were the PSV’s defense looked spent, their energy reserves completely drained.

[We’re deep into the last 30 seconds of added time now,] Mike said, his voice steady but filled with anticipation. [It feels like there might still be one last twist in this game]

Alvarado didn’t hesitate and with a quick step back, the goalkeeper launched the ball into the night sky, its trajectory perfectly angled toward the empty space Benjamin had pointed to.

[Alvarado’s seen something here!] Mike exclaimed. [Look at that pass—he’s put everything into it!]

The ball soared over the halfway line, bypassing the entire PSV midfield, who were still recovering from their own frantic attack.

The PSV backline, disorganized and flat-footed after the scrimmage in AZ Alkmaar’s 18 yard box, suddenly found themselves exposed.

[This could be trouble for PSV!] the co-commentator said, his voice rising with excitement. [Look at the space Benjamin has to work with!]

The ball dropped perfectly into Benjamin’s path, his first touch immaculate as he controlled it with the outside of his boot while accelerating.

PSV’s right-back, Timothy Derijck, and Bouma scrambled to recover, but they were caught on their heels, struggling to close the gap.

[Benjamin’s off and running!] Mike shouted. [He’s got acres of space in front of him!]

The crowd’s roar reached a fever pitch as Benjamin surged forward, his stride fluid and powerful. He glanced back briefly, taking stock of his options.

Johannsson and Beerens were barely catching up, so he decided to thread the solo path.

[It’s a three-on-one situation here,] the co-commentator noted, his voice tight with anticipation. [PSV have the advantage in numbers—can they stop this attack of the 17 years old from Haarlem?]

Benjamin drove toward the edge of the 18-yard box, the PSV defenders retreating desperately.

Timothy Derijck finally committed, lunging into a sliding tackle to block Benjamin’s path.

But the young winger saw it coming. With a deft flick of his right foot, he dragged the ball inside and through his legs, leaving Derijck sprawling on the turf.

[Oh, that’s silky from Benjamin!] Mike yelled, his excitement palpable. [He’s just danced past Derijck like he wasn’t there!]

Bouma and Marcelo, the last lines of defense, stepped up, trying to cut off Benjamin’s angle to goal. But Benjamin didn’t panic.

With Bouma closing in from the left and Marcelo angling his run from the right, Benjamin timed his next move perfectly. A quick shift of his weight to the left baited Bouma into committing too early.

[Watch this! He’s setting something up here!] Mike’s voice crackled with excitement.

In one smooth motion, Benjamin performed a La Croqueta—sliding the ball from his right foot to his left with a fluid sweep of his boot. Bouma was left lunging at thin air as Benjamin breezed past him, his control seamless and his speed electric.

[What a move! The La Croqueta! That’s Iniesta-esque!] the co-commentator shouted, his voice rising above the crowd’s roar.

Marcelo, realizing the immediate danger, accelerated to meet him at the top of the 18 yard box. Benjamin barely hesitated, his instincts taking over.

As Marcelo lunged in with an outstretched boot, Benjamin flicked the ball up with his toe and over the defender’s head in one audacious motion—the Sombrero Flick.

[Oh my word, he’s just flicked it over Marcelo!] Mike screamed, his disbelief echoing in the booth. [This kid is outrageous!]

Marcelo spun helplessly, his momentum carrying him forward as Benjamin darted around him to collect the ball on the other side.

The crowd was on their feet, the noise deafening as Benjamin bore down on the penalty area.

[He’s just taken out three defenders like it’s a training drill!] the co-commentator added, laughing in amazement. [Benjamin Rijkaard, remember the name!]

Waterman rushed off his line, desperate to narrow the angle as Benjamin entered the box. The young winger took a quick glance up, his composure unshaken.

[It’s one-on-one now!] Mike shouted, his voice trembling with anticipation. [Can Benjamin finish this incredible run?]

The tension inside the stadium reached an all-time high as Benjamin drew back his foot, ready to unleash the shot that could seal the moment as his.