Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King
Chapter 167: A Scorpion Kick!

Chapter 167: A Scorpion Kick!

The cross skidded off the turf, curling toward the six-yard box—

Jóhannsson darted forward, ready to pounce, but so was Maynard.

The SC Veendam captain lunged in, stretching every inch of his frame and just managed to get a toe on it.

The deflection sent the ball spiraling toward the edge of the 18 yard box—

Straight to a lurking Overtoom.

[Oh, this could be trouble—Overtoom lines it up!]

Overtoom wasted no time. He let it bounce once and then struck it first-time—a thunderous hit.

The ball rocketed through the air, slicing past the multiple bodies in front.

Nienhuis dived with his arms outstretched to the limits, but he didn’t have to.

The ball whizzed inches past the post, rattling the advertising boards behind the goal.

[Just wide! That was a bullet strike!]

[And look at Nienhuis—he was at full stretch, but he knew that was close!]

Overtoom clapped his hands together in frustration, exhaling sharply. He knew that was a chance.

Jóhannsson turned to him, raising a hand in approval of his efforts.

The SC Veendam fans exhaled, their hearts still pounding from the near-death experience.

Nienhuis took his time with the goal kick, rolling his shoulders before placing the ball down.

[AZ Alkmaar are knocking again... How long can SC Veendam hold on?]

The visitors tried to find some control, stringing a few passes together in their own half. Their manager, Heerkes, clapped, urging them forward.

[They need to take the sting out of this game,] the co-commentator added. [Slow it down, regain some composure]

But AZ Alkmaar weren’t letting them breathe.

A misplaced pass from Menting was all it took.

Haye intercepted this time around, quickly feeding Beerens down the right. The winger burst forward, defenders backpedaling, panic setting in.

[Here comes AZ Alkmaar again!]

Beerens skipped past one challenge, then another, before whipping a cross into the box.

Jóhannsson darted near post, but the ball was slightly behind him!

Adjusting mid-stride, he flicked his foot out and struck the ball with a delicate backheel that flew past the goalkeeper—who was too stunned to even move.

And into the net it went!

[GOOOOOOOAL!]

GOOOAAAAALLLLLLL!!!~

The crowd lost it...

[That is outrageous! What a finish from Aron Jóhannsson! That’s his hat-trick!]

The AZ Alkmaar bench jumped to their feet, Benjamin followed suit with his head shaking in disbelief. Even Gertjan Verbeek allowed himself a grin.

On the pitch, Jóhannsson stood with arms outstretched, soaking in the adulation. His teammates mobbed him, slapping his back, laughing in disbelief at the sheer audacity of the finish.

[Pure instinct! Pure class!]

[AZ Alkmaar are running riot now. 3-0! And you have to say, they fully deserve it!]

SC Veendam players stood frozen for a moment, some with hands on their heads, others staring at the net in disbelief.

Their goalkeeper, Nienhuis, remained seated on the turf, shaking his head. He hadn’t even dived—there had been no time. The ball was in the net before he could react.

[That is one of the most audacious finishes you will see all season! A brilliant scorpion-kick from the Icelandic-American—what a beauty]

[Oh, absolutely! He didn’t even look—just an instinctive flick of the heel, and it’s past the keeper before he knows what’s happened!]

The replay flashed on the screen. Jóhannsson, running near post, barely had a second to adjust as the cross came in slightly behind him.

But he improvised—sticking out his heel at the perfect angle, redirecting the ball with precision. It glided past the helpless Nienhuis, nestling in the bottom corner.

[The technique, the confidence, the execution—it’s top-class!]

[And just look at the reaction from Gertjan Verbeek—he’s loving that one!]

The camera panned to the AZ Alkmaar manager, who stood with arms crossed, a small smirk playing on his lips. He nodded once, clearly impressed.

On the bench, Benjamin was still up from his seat, eyes wide. He turned to Steven Berghuis beside him, who simply laughed and shook his head.

"That’s ridiculous," Benjamin muttered under his breath.

Jóhannsson wasn’t celebrating wildly. Instead, he stood still, arms stretched out, soaking in the moment. His teammates swarmed him, patting his head, ruffling his hair, playfully pushing him in disbelief.

[And that’s a first career hat-trick for Aron Jóhannsson! A striker hitting top form!]

[AZ Alkmaar are running riot now. 3-0 in the 20th minute! You have to say, they fully deserve it!]

The home crowd erupted, voices echoing through the stadium.

SC Veendam, meanwhile, looked broken. Their captain, Maynard, clapped his hands, trying to rally his teammates, but their shoulders sagged.

[What do SC Veendam do now? They’ve been absolutely outclassed here]

[At this point, they just have to keep it respectable. Because AZ Alkmaar? They don’t look like they’re done yet]

Fweeeee!~

The referee’s whistle sounded and SC Veendam restarted play, but their confidence had been rattled.

Passes that once felt assured now seemed hesitant. The weight of the scoreline and how early into the first half they’d conceded pressed down on their shoulders.

[They need to settle quickly,] the co-commentator said, his voice laced with concern. [Otherwise, this could get even worse for them]

Maynard, desperate to rally his side, called for the ball at the back. He looked up, searching for options, but AZ Alkmaar’s press was relentless. Beerens and Overtoom closed in, cutting off the passing lanes.

[Look at AZ Alkmaar—relentless! They smell blood,] Mike added.

Maynard had no choice. He went long, hoping to find Michael de Leeuw in midfield, but his pass was rushed—easily intercepted by Adam, who barely had to move.

[That’s too easy for AZ Alkmaar,] the co-commentator said, shaking his head. [They’re winning every second ball]

Adam wasted no time. He nudged it forward to Gudmunðsson, who took a quick glance up the pitch before darting forward.

[And here comes Johann Guðmundsson,] Mike said, the excitement creeping back into his voice. [He’s had an excellent game so far!]

Guðmundsson glided past his marker, Jeroen Ketting, with a simple drop of the shoulder, opening up space in front of him.

The SC Veendam midfield scrambled to close him down, but he played it out wide before they could get close.