Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King
Chapter 221: Second-half Begins

Chapter 221: Second-half Begins

Gertjan Verbeek stepped toward the tactics board, grabbing a marker. "Defensively, we stay compact. Henriksen, Martens, Elm—you three control the middle. No gaps, no easy passes for them. Every tackle, every clearance, make it count."

Elm nodded, his jaw set. Henriksen ran a hand through his damp hair, steeling himself.

Gertjan Verbeek’s voice dropped slightly, but his intensity didn’t waver. "If we get a chance, we take it. No hesitation. Brkić has been outstanding, but he’s not invincible. Test him more and follow up on every shot."

A few players nodded, their focus sharpening.

Assistant coach Martin Haar chimed in, his voice gruff. "They think we’re tiring. Prove them wrong. Make them suffer."

Gertjan Verbeek’s eyes locked onto each player before he finally nodded. "Forty-five minutes. Give everything you’ve got. We’re not leaving this pitch as victims."

He stepped back, exhaling. "Now go out there and show them who we are."

The room erupted with claps and murmurs of determination. Players rose, shaking out their limbs, exchanging nods and clenched fists.

***

Meanwhile, in the Udinese dressing room, the atmosphere was different. The players sat scattered around, some gulping down water, others stretching their legs, but the mood wasn’t as comfortable as one would expect from a team leading at halftime.

Francesco Guidolin stood near the tactics board with his arms crossed, watching his players closely. His face was unreadable, but the tension in his eyes spoke volumes.

Di Natale wiped his face with a towel, breathing heavily. He glanced at Brkić, who was still catching his breath after a half filled with heroic saves.

The coach finally spoke. His voice was calm, but there was an underlying edge in it. "We are winning, but it doesn’t feel like it, does it?"

Silence followed...

Francesco Guidolin nodded. "That’s because we let them dictate the game. We are playing against ten men, yet they look like they have eleven. Why?" He let the question hang for a second. "Because we’ve allowed them to believe they can come back. And that, gentlemen, is dangerous."

The players exchanged glances. Some looked down while others nodded slightly.

Francesco Guidolin turned to Muriel. "Luis, you’re too static. They are down a defender, but you’re not making them feel it. Move! Pull their center-backs out of position."

Muriel exhaled sharply and gave a small nod.

"Di Natale," Francesco Guidolin continued, shifting his gaze to his captain. "You’ve been excellent. But I need you to do more than just finish. Lead. Slow the game down when we have possession, speed it up when we see an opening."

Di Natale, always composed, gave a simple nod.

Francesco Guidolin’s eyes then darted to the midfielders. "Pereyra, Allan, Fernandes—where is the control? They’re pressing, and we’re panicking. We need to move the ball quicker, use the extra man. Make them run, make them tired."

Allan sighed, running a hand through his hair. Pereyra muttered something under his breath but nodded.

The coach took a step toward the tactics board. "This is how we kill the game. We keep possession. We don’t rush forward like headless chickens. We make them chase shadows. And when they are tired—then we strike."

He tapped the board, drawing quick movements with his marker. "Muriel drags them wide, Pereyra and Fernandes push into the gaps, and Di Natale—" he looked at his captain, "—you finish them."

A smirk formed on Di Natale’s lips.

Francesco Guidolin’s tone hardened. "This is not about just surviving the second half. This is about making a statement. We should not be struggling against ten men. We are better than this, and should play like it."

The room was still for a moment, then Brkić clapped his gloves together, breaking the silence. A few others followed suit, nodding to each other.

Francesco Guidolin exhaled, his voice lowering. "We finish this game our way. No mistakes, no mercy."

He stepped back. "Now get out there and prove it."

The players stood, rolling their shoulders, adjusting their shin pads, and exchanging glances of determination.

As they filed out of the dressing room to the tunnel, the cameras caught Di Natale and Muriel exchanging a quiet conversation.

***

[David, look at that body language. Udinese know they can’t let AZ Alkmaar keep up this pressure]

[Absolutely, Marco. And from Francesco Guidolin’s reaction, they’re not happy despite leading. They know a one-goal lead isn’t enough against a team like AZ Alkmaar]

The screen cut to the tunnel, where both teams were gathering, the tension thick between them. The second half was about to begin.

The players stepped onto the pitch under the floodlights. The energy in the stadium crackled with the crowd roaring as the second half was set to begin.

[David, this is it. Forty-five minutes left. Udinese are in control on the scoreboard, but AZ Alkmaar have played with the heart of a team refusing to back down despite being a man down]

[Marco, if they keep this tempo up, I wouldn’t be surprised if they find a way back into this match. Ten men or not, they have belief. And belief is dangerous]

Fweeeee!~

The referee blew his whistle. Udinese restarted play, passing the ball around their backline.

Fernandes received the ball in midfield, looking up to assess his options. Henriksen immediately closed him down, forcing a hurried pass to Allan. Before he could turn, Elm was already on him, pressing aggressively.

[Look at AZ Alkmaar! They’re swarming Udinese!]

[They’re playing like they’re the ones leading, David! This is incredible!]

Allan managed to flick the ball wide to Domizzi, who launched it forward to Muriel.

The striker brought it down with his chest and turned quickly—but Johansson was on him in an instant, shoulder-to-shoulder, fighting for possession.

Muriel stumbled but kept his balance, laying it off to Di Natale. The captain took one touch and unleashed a curling effort from outside the 18 yard box—

—but Alvarado reacted, diving to his right to parry it away!

[Alvarado again! What a save!]

[That was vintage Di Natale, Marco! The technique, the precision—almost perfect, but Alvarado had other ideas!]