Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King
Chapter 309: Liverpool Bites Back

Chapter 309: Liverpool Bites Back

Johnson chased him down, his legs now heavy and slow. Benjamin curved his run inward, then pulled it back onto his left and rolled a pass to Henriksen, who immediately gave it back.

Benjamin paused on the edge of the 18 yard box. This time, he wasn’t looking for the shot. He was waiting for support.

Martens arrived.

A flick. A dummy. Back to Benjamin.

He shifted his body weight, danced left, then dragged the ball right, creating just enough space for a cross.

He curled it in low, flat, and fast.

Too quick for Altidore, but it flashed through the six-yard box.

Any touch would have done it.

But none came.

Reina dove anyway, palms low, then scrambled to his feet and screamed for someone to mark.

[He’s still dangerous.]

[They’ve given him too much room again.]

Liverpool recovered possession quickly, trying to exploit the gap left behind.

Sturridge dropped deep to collect and carried it forward with pace. He beat one man with a shimmy, accelerated past another, and fed a clean ball into the feet of Suárez.

Suárez didn’t need an invitation. He spun his marker, got his body between the ball and the man, and surged into the final third.

Alkmaar were stretched now.

[This is it! This is the chance!]

Sturridge burst forward to his left. Johnson raced up the right. Options, finally.

Suárez chose Downing, trailing just behind.

The Englishman ran onto the ball in stride, twenty-five yards out, and without breaking rhythm, wrapped his foot around it.

It was dipping. Quick.

Alvarado dived—got fingertips to it.

Corner.

The stadium erupted again.

[Brilliant save! That was goal-bound.]

[This keeper, I swear. He’s been unbelievable tonight.]

Gerrard trotted over. Another set-piece. Another shot at salvation.

He raised a fist in the air. The signal. Familiar to all.

Agger pushed forward. Skrtel followed. Even Johnson stayed high now.

The delivery was sharp. Whipped in near-post.

Agger met it with a powerful header—but it struck the back of Suárez, who couldn’t duck in time.

The deflection dropped at the feet of Maher, who hacked it clear.

The counter was on.

Benjamin was already moving.

He didn’t need a call. He saw it.

Maher’s clearance wasn’t perfect, but it found grass, and Benjamin chased it down like a man reborn.

[Again?! He’s still got legs?!]

[Unbelievable!]

The crowd’s noise turned from encouragement to panic as Benjamin streaked past the halfway line. He had space ahead, and only Johnson chasing from behind.

He reached the edge of the final third and glanced across the field.

Martens was arriving. So was Altidore.

Benjamin feinted a pass, dragged the ball wide, then crossed low and early.

Skrtel read it well. He slid in with a crucial block.

The ball spun out for a throw-in.

AZ Alkmaar bench rose in applause.

Benjamin crouched down again, hands on knees, breathing hard.

[What a performance.]

[He’s been the difference tonight by winning the penalty Altidore converted in the first half and also scoring the freekick to put AZ Alkmaar 2-1 ahead in the AFAS Stadion. A kid, playing like a veteran]

Liverpool still refused to surrender.

Suso again, in the thick of it. He danced through midfield, left two men behind, and lofted a ball over the top.

Suárez was on it.

He cushioned it with his chest, dropped it to his feet, and tried to cut inside.

Viergever slid in with a perfectly timed tackle. No foul. Just the ball.

[He’s been rock solid, Viergever. Quiet, but vital.]

Gerrard. Henderson. Suso. All pushing up.

Agger stayed forward again.

Suárez dropped into the pocket, played it wide to Johnson, who curled in a hopeful ball.

Alvarado came. Missed it.

The ball bounced in the 18 yard box and chaos ensued with bodies everywhere.

Bodies crashed into each other in the box. Arms flailed. Boots swung. The ball pinged off a shin, then a thigh, then deflected straight up into the air.

Time seemed to slow.

Suárez reacted first.

He twisted his body, backpedaling as the ball dropped behind him. With his eyes locked on it, he contorted and threw his foot at it.

Scissor kick.

Contact.

The ball shot through a gap, low and awkward, past the last defender.

Alvarado dropped like a stone.

But this time, he couldn’t get there.

The ball skidded under his glove and bounced off the inside of the post.

And in.

The Kop exploded.

Anfield, roaring, shaking.

2–2.

[It’s in! It’s in! They’ve equalised!]

[And it’s Suárez again! Who else? When you need a moment, he gives you one.]

Gerrard sprinted to the corner flag, fist pumping. Johnson followed, arms raised. Even Reina charged to the halfway line.

On the sideline, Brendan Rodgers clenched both fists, yelling toward the pitch. His team had found a way.

[They just refused to lie down, didn’t they? That was chaos in the 18 yard box, but Suárez made it his.]

[And now... now we’ve got a finish on our hands.]

Minute seventy-eight.

Alvarado sat up slowly, pulling his gloves off for a moment and wiping sweat from his forehead. He looked at the ball, lying still in the net, before picking it up and walking toward the penalty spot.

He kicked long. High. Desperate.

But Liverpool were on top now. Everything had shifted.

Agger rose, commanding, and won it cleanly.

The ball landed at Henderson’s feet, and he didn’t hesitate. He sprayed it wide to Suso, who was already in motion.

Suso took it in stride, carried it past Martens, then cut inside, searching for a lane.

He dipped his shoulder, pulled it back onto his left, and tried a shot from range.

Blocked.

Back out to Henderson.

This time he fed Suárez.

Suárez tried to turn again—but Henriksen wrapped a leg around the ball and cleared.

Only as far as Gerrard.

[They’re not getting out! Liverpool have them pinned in now.]

[It’s wave after wave.]

Gerrard looked up. No time to think. He spotted Johnson wide and fired it out to him.

Johnson took one touch and fizzed a cross low and hard into the danger zone.

Sturridge darted in front of his marker, stuck a toe out.

But Alvarado was there this time. Brave, fast off his line, sliding in to smother.

The collision was rough.

Sturridge tumbled over him but the whistle stayed silent.

The keeper held it tight.

[That was close.]

[Really brave goalkeeping. He had to go for that.]