Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King
Chapter 255: Halftime Team Talk

Benjamin, stationed near the halfway line, anticipated it early. He turned his body, watching the ball sail toward him, already planning his next move.

He cushioned the ball with his chest and instantly flicked it forward.

Jamie Carter: [Brilliant first touch from Benjamin—he’s looking for a quick break!]

Martens, reading the play, darted forward and collected the ball. He took one touch, then slid a pass out wide to Berghuis, who had Johnson backpedaling.

Rob Townsend: [AZ Alkmaar have a rare chance to break here—]

Berghuis cut inside, dodging Johnson’s tackle, before rolling the ball toward Benjamin, who was sprinting into space just outside the 18-yard box.

Agger and Carragher closed in fast.

Benjamin saw it. He did a quick step over and drop of the shoulder. He slipped between them with a deft touch, breaking into the 18 yard box.

Jamie Carter: [Oh, that’s class! Benjamin is through—]

Reina rushed out. Benjamin hesitated for a fraction of a second, then squared it across goal.

Altidore was there facing a wide, gaping, open net.

The ball rolled perfectly into his path and he swung his foot. The shot rocketed toward goal.

But somehow, Agger, lunging desperately, got a toe on it.

The deflection sent the ball spinning inches wide of the post.

Rob Townsend: [UNBELIEVABLE! That was the moment! That was it!]

Jamie Carter: [How has that not gone in?! Altidore was about to redeem himself! But Agger—what a block!]

Altidore fell to his knees, hands on his head. He couldn’t believe it.

Benjamin walked over, grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him up. No words was spoken, just a look that said. ’Focus.’

AZ Alkmaar had a corner now. Henriksen took it short, rolling it to Benjamin.

Benjamin faked a pass back, then spun quickly, driving toward the edge of the 18 yard box.

He cut inside, curling a shot toward the far post. It had power and precision.

Reina stretched and just got his fingertips to it.

Jamie Carter: [Reina saves Liverpool AGAIN! That was heading straight for the corner!]

Rob Townsend: [This is turning into a battle of goalkeepers! Alvarado at one end, Reina at the other—both refusing to be beaten!]

The referee checked his watch. Seconds later, he blew the whistle.

Fweeee!~ Fweeeee!~

Anfield let out a collective exhale.

Jamie Carter: [I need a breather, Rob. That was one of the most intense halves of football we’ve seen this season in the Europa League]

Rob Townsend: [And we’ve still got another 45 minutes to go! Liverpool dominated for large spells, but AZ Alkmaar had their moments. It’s still anybody’s game to win]

The scoreboard remained locked:

Liverpool 1-1 AZ Alkmaar.

As the players walked toward the tunnel, Gerrard clapped his hands, rallying his teammates.

Benjamin, meanwhile, jogged off without a word, his mind already thinking about the second half.

***

The AZ Alkmaar dressing room was quiet. Not peaceful—just quiet.

The players slumped onto the benches, some with hands on their knees while others were leaning back against the walls, staring at nothing.

Heavy breathing filled the space. Sweat dripped onto the tiled floor. The air was thick with exhaustion, frustration, and something else—determination.

Altidore sat with his elbows on his thighs, his head down. He hadn’t spoken since stepping off the pitch. Martens sat beside him, rubbing his temples.

Alvarado was still standing, pacing in front of his locker, shaking his head.

Then the door swung open.

Gertjan Verbeek strode in. His face was void of emotions, his eyes sharp. He didn’t speak right away. He walked past his players, his boots clicking against the floor, his hands resting on his hips.

The room stayed silent. The players waited.

Then he spoke.

"That... was not good enough." His voice wasn’t raised, but the weight of it settled over the room.

"We had them," he said, pacing. "We had them twice. And we let them back in."

His eyes flicked toward Altidore, but he didn’t say his name. He didn’t have to.

Altidore’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look up.

Gertjan Verbeek turned, facing the entire room now. "This is Anfield. You don’t get many chances here. You finish when you get them. Because if you don’t, you know what happens?"

No one answered.

Gertjan Verbeek took a step closer. "They will."

Silence... The only sound was the distant echo of Liverpool’s fans chanting outside.

Then, Gertjan Verbeek exhaled. He ran a hand through his hair, as if collecting himself. When he spoke again, his tone was calmer.

"We are not here to survive," he said. "We are not here to hope for a miracle. We are not here to hold on for dear life."

He pointed at the players. "We came here to win."

His voice carried through the room, steady and sharp. "And you know why? Because we can. We believe that we can."

His eyes landed on Benjamin, who was still sitting with his elbows on his knees, and his gaze fixed straight ahead.

The young midfielder blinked, but he didn’t say anything.

Gertjan Verbeek looked at the rest of them now. "You’ve seen it. Liverpool are dangerous, yes. They are relentless, yes. But they are not unbeatable." He let the words hang in the air. "They don’t like it when we press them. They don’t like it when we move the ball quickly. They don’t like it when we play without fear."

He pointed toward the tunnel. "Go out there and make them uncomfortable."

He turned toward Altidore now. The striker finally looked up.

Gertjan Verbeek didn’t yell. He didn’t criticize.

"Jozy," he said simply. "Take your moment."

Altidore swallowed hard and gave a small nod.

Gertjan Verbeek scanned the room one last time.

"They expect us to fold in the second half," he said. "Prove them wrong."

With that, he walked toward the back of the room, leaving his players to absorb his words and reflect on his words.