Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King
Chapter 237: Indirect Free-kick

Chapter 237: Indirect Free-kick

[And now Twente have a real problem,] Erik said. [They’ve played well, created chances, but AZ Alkmaar have been more clinical.]

Fweeeee!~

As the referee signaled for the restart, Twente knew they had no choice but to go all out.

Twente wasted no time pushing forward again. The urgency in their play was evident, and the frustration from conceding another goal was fueling their attack.

Chadli, their most dangerous outlet so far, received the ball on the left wing and immediately drove at Marcellis.

[They need a quick response,] Ronald said. [And Chadli looks like he’s got one thing on his mind!]

Marcellis stayed tight, refusing to give the winger any room or chance to break. But Chadli’s footwork was sharp. He feinted one way before dragging the ball past the defender and sprinting toward the byline.

[Great skill from Chadli!] Erik praised. [He’s left Marcellis behind, sprinting towards the 18 yard box!]

Chadli whipped in a dangerous cross, bending it toward the six-yard box. Castaignos was lurking within, ready to pounce, but Reijnen reacted first, stretching to cut it out with a crucial interception.

[A vital touch there from Reijnen,] Ronald noted. [If he missed that, Castaignos had a free shot on goal!]

The ball spilled out to Brama, who wasted no time, striking it first-time from outside the 18-yard box. His shot was powerful, drilling toward the bottom corner—

Alvarado dived, stretching low to his right—And pushed it wide!

[What a save!] Erik shouted. [Alvarado refuses to be beaten for the umpteenth time!]

The Twente players couldn’t believe it, how has it not gone in? Brama had caught that shot sweetly, but the AZ Alkmaar goalkeeper was proving to be an impenetrable wall.

[He’s having a game to remember,] Ronald added. [Twente have thrown everything at him, and he’s stopped them every single time!]

The resulting corner was swung in by Tadić. Bjelland rose highest again, aiming a powerful header toward goal—but he couldn’t keep it down. The ball flew over the bar, and another opportunity went begging.

AZ Alkmaar took their time with the goal kick, Alvarado urging his teammates to stay calm and control the tempo of the game, especially within the midfield.

[This is smart from AZ Alkmaar,] Erik said. [They don’t need to rush anything now. They’ve got the lead, and FC Twente are the ones under pressure]

The home side worked the ball around the midfield, slowing things down before picking their moment to attack.

Maartin Martens, composed as ever, played a sharp pass to Marcus Henriksen, who turned quickly and spotted Benjamin making a run down the left.

[Here we go again!] Ronald’s voice picked up. [Benjamin Rijkaard is in space!]

The young winger sprinted forward, his pace forcing Rosales into retreat. He reached the edge of the 18-yard box, then shifted the ball inside onto his stronger foot.

[Will he take it on himself this time?] Erik wondered.

Benjamin hesitated for barely a second, then let fly with a curling effort toward the far post!

Boschker reacted instinctively, leaping to his right. The ball swerved, dipping dangerously towards the goal—

But it didn’t have enough curl, and smacked off the crossbar!

[Ohhh! So unlucky!] Ronald groaned. [Benjamin nearly with a wonder goal!]

The crowd gasped, hands on their heads as the ball bounced away from danger. Benjamin exhaled with his hands on his hips, before jogging back into position.

[That would have been spectacular,] Erik added. [He’s growing into this game—FC Twente need to be very careful with him.]

Twente, still reeling from their defensive scare, tried once more to break through. Fer drove forward, slipping a quick pass into Castaignos. The striker turned and spotted Tadić making a late run into the 18 yard box.

Tadić took one touch, then struck it cleanly toward the top corner.

[This looks dangerous—!] Ronald started.

But once again, Alvarado was there. He threw himself into the air, tipping the ball over the bar with a strong right hand.

[He’s unstoppable today!] Erik exclaimed. [Twente must be wondering what they have to do to score!]

The AFAS Stadion erupted in appreciation as Alvarado’s teammates rushed over to congratulate him.

Twente were giving everything, but as the game neared halftime, AZ Alkmaar remained in full control, their two-goal lead still intact.

Moments later, AZ Alkmaar earned an indirect free-kick just outside the penalty area after Wisgerhof’s back-pass to Boschker was ruled as illegal.

Fweeeee!~

The Twente players protested, but the referee stood firm, pointing to the spot.

[This is a golden opportunity for AZ Alkmaar,] Ronald said. [Twente will have to set up a solid wall here.]

Henriksen and Martens stood over the ball, exchanging glances. The Twente players crowded the goal line, with Boschker barking orders, his arms outstretched.

[Twente are throwing everyone back,] Erik noted. [They know how dangerous this position is.]

The whistle blew. Henriksen nudged the ball slightly to his right—Martens stepped up and struck it cleanly. The ball curled over the wall, dipping dangerously—

And smashed against the crossbar!

[Off the bar!] Ronald shouted. [So close!]

The rebound bounced into the crowded penalty area, bodies scrambling to react first. Brama got there before anyone else, hooking the ball away from danger.

[And Twente could break here!] Erik’s voice picked up. [Look at Chadli go!]

Chadli sprinted onto Brama’s clearance, taking a perfect first touch before turning on the jets. Marcellis chased, but the Twente winger had too much pace, eating up the ground with long, powerful strides.

[Twente are on the counter! Chadli has space to run!] Ronald exclaimed.

The home fans held their breath as Chadli crossed midfield, his eyes scanning ahead. Castaignos was making a run, pulling away from Viergever, while Tadić arrived in support on the left.

[AZ Alkmaar are scrambling back!] Erik noted. [Can Twente take advantage?]

Chadli feinted inside before pushing the ball further down the right, forcing Marcellis to turn awkwardly. He reached the edge of the final third and whipped a low ball across the box.

Castaignos sprinted onto it, stretching to connect—