Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King
Chapter 301: Halftime Analysis 2

Chapter 301: Halftime Analysis 2

[Another save. Another heartbeat skipped.]

[He’s not just stopping shots, John. He’s reading the rhythm. He knows what’s next before it happens.]

Alvarado rose slowly, wiped his gloves on his shorts, and glanced at the fourth official.

The board was up now—red digits lit: +3.

[Three more minutes, Peter. Just three. But it feels like a lifetime.]

[For AZ Alkmaar, it probably is.]

Alvarado launched the ball long again, over halfway. This time, Jozy Altidore went up for it—alone, muscling between Skrtel and Agger.

He won it. Flicked it down.

[Hang on, John. They’ve got something here.]

Henriksen caught up to it, barely, and turned. He wasn’t going backward. He drove toward the edge of the 18 yard box, ignoring the roar behind him.

Allen tracked back, tight to him.

Henriksen feinted left, cut right, and then—just as space opened—pulled the trigger.

[Shot!]

It bent toward the near post—but Reina had seen it early. He stepped and caught it comfortably.

No danger, but a warning.

[That’s their first real shot in a while.]

[And it came out of nothing. That’s how this game’s been.]

Reina didn’t hold. He threw it out fast—wide to Johnson again.

Johnson was tireless. He was already running before the ball reached him.

And so was everyone else.

Gerrard yelled. Pointed. Sterling nodded.

The last minute was here.

[Last charge, Peter?]

[Looks like it.]

Johnson hit the halfway line, stepped past a lazy challenge, and fed Allen again.

The press was gone. AZ Alkmaar were backing off, out of breath, clinging.

Allen threaded it to Henderson.

Henderson stopped. Looked.

And then clipped it—gentle, curling—over the backline.

It floated perfectly for Suárez.

He was onside. Just.

[Oh! He’s in!]

[Last chance, surely!]

The ball came down just over his shoulder. Suárez tried to chest it, but it skipped off too far.

Too far?

No—he chased it. Met it near the endline and turned.

Now he had defenders back on him.

He dragged the ball with the sole of his boot, stepped over it, and feinted to shoot.

The defender bit.

Suárez dropped a shoulder and slipped left.

Then—bang.

The shot snapped off his boot, low, across goal.

It beat the keeper.

But it didn’t beat the post.

CLINK.

It struck the base and bounced sideways, right through the six-yard box.

[NO WAY!]

[Post again! This game is cursed!]

Sterling lunged—but it was just past him.

The ball rolled to the far corner flag, where an AZ Alkmaar defender hacked it into the stands.

And that was it.

Fweeee!~ Fweeeee!~

The halftime whistle.

[Halftime.]

[Well, take a breath, Peter. I think we all need one.]

The crowd stood—some clapped, some groaned. Mostly, they just stood.

Players dropped hands to knees. Suárez stared at the post again like it had personally insulted him.

Gerrard jogged to the ref, had a word, got nothing back but a gesture toward the tunnel.

[Let’s recap, John.]

[AZ Alkmaar: 1. Liverpool: somehow still 0.]

[They’ve hit the post so many times. Had two cleared off the line. A goal disallowed]

[And Alvarado has played like a man possessed.]

Down by the dugouts, Brendan Rodgers had a clipboard in one hand, shouting toward someone off-camera.

[This second half’s going to be something, Peter.]

[If it’s anything like the first, we might need oxygen.]

The players filed off slowly. Some shaking heads. Others shouting.

Behind them, the fans kept chanting. Some for hope. Some out of habit.

And high above, in the booth, two voices waited to fill the silence.

[Back in fifteen, folks. Don’t go anywhere.]

[We’ve only just started.]

***

There was a beat of silence as the whistle’s echo faded, the roar of the crowd flattening into a low, unsettled murmur. Then—headsets back on, red light blinking—the commentators were live again.

[Alright, breathe, John. If anyone’s still got fingernails left, now’s the time to check.]

[Or a pulse.]

Peter chuckled faintly, leaning back as he pulled the mic a touch closer.

[Let’s try to make sense of that madness.]

[Where do you start, Peter? Liverpool have dominated—completely dominated—but they’re still behind. I mean, how?]

[Alvarado, for one.]

They both glanced at the monitor again. A replay rolled silently—Suárez’s shot pinging off the post, Sterling’s lunge a second too late.

[You count that as four saves, two from point-blank, one foot save, and a fingertip off the bar. And that’s not even including the ones that hit the post.]

[He’s everywhere. He’s got glue on his gloves and magnets in his boots.]

Peter nodded, eyes narrowing slightly.

[And not just that—his positioning’s been spot on. It’s like he’s reading Liverpool’s build-up before it happens.]

The camera cut to the tunnel. Players were filing in—Suárez last, shaking his head. Gerrard’s jaw clenched as he walked.

[But let’s not pretend this is a one-man show. AZ Alkmaar might’ve been clinging, but they’ve held. That’s a full first half with no goals conceded against that kind of pressure.]

[And they took their one big chance.]

[That’s the difference right now.]

Another replay flickered on-screen—Berghuis’ goal in the 20th minute. A sharp one-man play from Benjamin and a square into the 18 yard box. Reina was caught flat, Altidore slipped but Berghuis took his chance, finishing low and cool.

[That was the moment, Peter. Took the wind out of Liverpool early.]

[Well, temporarily.]

Peter leaned forward again, tapping a finger on the desk.

[Let’s talk about Raheem Sterling.]

[Yes. Let’s.]

[He’s nineteen, John. Nineteen. And he’s been electric.]

[Every time he touches the ball, you feel something could happen.]

[Speed, sure—but it’s the decisions. He’s not just running blind. He’s playing.]

[And the strength. That one where he stayed up in the 18 yard box, could’ve gone down? That’s maturity.]

[Brendan Rodgers will be pleased with that, even if he’s probably fuming about the missed chances.]

The camera panned to the dugouts now—Brendan Rodgers standing beside his assistant, mid-gesture, jabbing a finger toward a clipboard.

[He’s got something planned. You saw that conversation near the end of the half.]

[Yeah, and you don’t wave the clipboard unless it’s serious.]

[Think we see a change?]

[Second half, definitely. Might even be two.]

They paused again as the producer fed new graphics to the screen—first half stats.

Possession: AZ Alkmaar 33%, Liverpool 67%. Shots: 9, 14. On Target: 5, 7. Off the woodwork: 2, 4.

[Well that tells a story.]

[It’s the wrong story for Liverpool, though.]

[And look at the distance covered—Allen and Henderson have both logged over six kilometers already. That’s relentless.]

[But is it sustainable? That’s the real question.]

[If it stays 1–0 too long, panic creeps in. You could see it near the end.]