Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King
Chapter 295: Silky Stuff

Chapter 295: Silky Stuff

[Henriksen goes for goal!]

The shot swerved dangerously through the air, forcing Reina to react quickly. He backpedaled and punched it over the bar at full stretch.

[Reina had to be sharp there! That was dipping under the crossbar!]

The home fans erupted in applause as AZ Alkmaar won another corner. Benjamin placed the ball and prepared to swing it in.

[AZ Alkmaar have been threatening from set pieces tonight. Can they make this one count?]

Benjamin curled the ball toward the near post, where Viergever flicked it on—

[Chance! Altidore!]

Altidore lunged forward but couldn’t make clean contact, and the ball skidded just wide of the post.

[Oh, that was close! He knows he should’ve done better there!]

Liverpool restarted quickly. Reina rolled the ball to José Enrique, who fed Henderson in midfield. Henderson turned away from his marker and surged forward.

[Now here comes Liverpool! Henderson driving through the middle. He’s got options left and right.]

Henderson slipped a pass into Suárez, who danced past one defender before cutting inside. He shaped to shoot, but at the last second, he spotted Gerrard arriving—

[Gerrard’s in!]

Suárez flicked it to the captain, who struck it first-time from just outside the 18 yard box. The shot was low and hard, heading straight for the bottom corner—

[It’s in! No! Off the post!]

CLANG!!!~

The ball rattled against the inside of the post and rolled agonizingly along the goal line before Alvarado pounced on it.

[Unbelievable! How did that not go in?]

The Liverpool players threw their hands in the air, stunned. Gerrard clenched his fists in frustration, shaking his head.

[John, that was inches away. If that bounces slightly the other way, we’re talking about a Liverpool lead]

[Fine margins, Peter. Fine margins]

The game continued at a breakneck pace, slowly inching towards the 16th minute with neither side willing to slow down. The crowd roared with every tackle, every attack, every near miss.

[What a game this has been so far. Just over fifteen minutes gone, and it’s been relentless]

[This is what European nights are all about, John. High intensity, passion, and top-quality football.]

As the players paused for a brief water break, the camera panned to the Liverpool bench. Brendan Rodgers was deep in conversation with his assistant, eyes fixed on the pitch.

[Brendan Rodgers will be pleased with the way his side are playing, but he’ll want that finishing touch.]

[And on the other side, Peter, Gertjan Verbeek must be happy with how AZ Alkmaar have responded. They’re not sitting back—they’re taking the fight to Liverpool]

[Absolutely. They’re playing with confidence, and the crowd is right behind them. This game is wide open]

As the players returned to position, the referee signaled for play to resume.

Fweeee!

The energy remained electric, the battle far from over.

[Don’t go anywhere, folks. There’s still plenty of drama to come!]

Liverpool tried to settle back into rhythm, passing it around the back. Glen Johnson received the ball near the halfway line, looking for options.

[Glen Johnson in possession, but AZ Alkmaar are pressing well. They don’t want to give Liverpool time to build up]

Then, out of nowhere—

[Oh, Benjamin Rijkaard wins it! That’s brilliant pressing!]

Benjamin had anticipated the pass, darting in front of Johnson to steal the ball. The crowd erupted as he surged forward, with Johnson scrambling to recover.

[Now here’s a chance! Benjamin driving toward the 18 yard box—Johnson is back, but can he stop him?]

Benjamin positioned himself facing Johnson and use the inside of his right foot to push the ball sideways to his left foot in one smooth motion.

As the ball moved, he quickly shifted his body weight and used the inside of his left foot to push the ball further past the stunned defender, creating space to glide past Johnson effortlessly.

[Oh, my! What a piece of skill! The La Croqueta! That’s Iniesta-like from Benjamin!]

Johnson stumbled, left in the dust as Benjamin burst into the penalty area. Ahead of him, Carragher came rushing across cautiously, ready to block his path. The memory of the previous game’s encounter was still fresh in his mind.

[Jamie Carragher standing his ground—but Benjamin isn’t slowing down!]

Then came the audacity of the seventeen years old.

Benjamin positioned the ball between his feet with his right foot slightly behind it. He used his back foot to roll the ball up his standing leg while simultaneously leaning forward.

As the ball reached knee height, he used his front foot to flick it up—

[No way—HE’S GONE FOR A RAINBOW FLICK!]

The ball soared over Carragher’s head with a quick, scooping motion. The Liverpool veteran twisted, trying to react, but Benjamin was already past him, collecting the ball on the other side.

[That is outrageous! Absolutely outrageous! You don’t see that every day against a defender like Carragher!]

The young AZ Alkmaar winger wasted no time. He looked up and squared a low pass into the six-yard box—

[It’s a perfect ball across goal! Altidore’s there—]

Altidore lunged forward, stretching—

[He’s missed it! Oh, he’s slipped!]

The big striker lost his footing at the crucial moment, his outstretched boot grazing the ball but failing to make contact. The chance seemed to have gone—

[But wait! Berghuis is lurking!]

Steven Berghuis reacted faster than anyone, darting past his marker and meeting the ball with his left foot.

[Berghuis with the shot—]

A split-second later, the net rippled.

GOOOOOOOAAAAAALLLLL!!!~

The stadium exploded. Players rushed toward Berghuis as he sprinted toward the corner flag with his arms outstretched in celebration.

[AZ ALKMAAR TAKE THE LEAD! BERGHUIS WITH THE FINISH!]

[And what a move that was, John! That was pure magic from Benjamin Rijkaard! The dribbling, the composure, the vision—everything about that was world-class!]

The Liverpool players stood stunned. Reina picked the ball out of the net, shaking his head. Carragher and Johnson exchanged frustrated glances.

’Not again’ Carragher thought frustratedly.

He’d been dribbled past twice with the same skill move in two different matches by the same player. And worst of all, he was just a seventeen year old boy.

’F*ck me!’

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A/N- Thanks for the support y’all. Don’t forget to throw some golden tickets and power stones at me. Your gifts are also appreciated...