Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King
Chapter 48: Halftime Team Talk

Chapter 48: Halftime Team Talk

The AZ Alkmaar dressing room was filled with the sound of heavy breathing and the occasional clatter of boots against the tiled floor.

Most of the players sank into their seats with their heads tilted back, and sweat dripping down their faces. The faint noise of the spectators filtered through the walls, but the room itself was tense and quiet.

Gertjan Verbeek entered into the dressing room last, his footsteps sounded unhurried as his eyes scanned the room.

He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he let the silence stretch on uncomfortably, and the pressure of his presence filling the air.

Alvarado sat on the edge of his bench with his gloves resting beside him. His face appeared calm, but his chest still heaved from exertion. Beside him, Viergever sat down while leaning forward with hands on his knees as he kept staring at the floor.

Finally, Gertjan Verbeek stopped in the center of the room with his arms crossed.

"Well," he began, his voice sounding low but steady, "that was... not good enough."

His eyes locked onto the right-back, Marcellis, first. "Dirk," he said sharply, "how many times are you going to let Willian get the better of you? He’s fast, yes, but you know that, so why are you letting him have so much space down the flank?"

Marcellis looked up, his mouth opening slightly to respond, but Gertjan Verbeek cut him off by raising his hands. "No excuses. You need to stick tighter. If you can’t, then at least push him to the outside and force him to cross under pressure. Make him feel uncomfortable and make it harder for him to create chances. Right now, it’s a little too easy for him."

Marcellis nodded on every instruction and Gertjan Verbeek turned next to Captain, Martens. "And you," Verbeek said, his tone firm. "You are the captain, for crying out loud. How many loose passes have you given away? This isn’t a training session. Every time you misplace one, we’re inviting them to counter. You’re better than that."

Martens nodded, his jaw tight, but Verbeek had already moved on. His gaze settled on Altidore.

"Jozy," he said, his voice softening slightly, though there was no mistaking the disappointment behind it. "When Beerens delivers a cross like that, you have to finish. This is the Europa League, not a sunday league football. Opportunities like that don’t come often, and we can’t afford to waste them. I need more from you in the second half."

Altidore looked down, his hands gripping the edge of the bench, but he gave a small nod.

Then Gertjan Verbeek’s tone shifted, and his gaze moved to Alvarado. "Esteban," he said, his voice carrying a note of approval. "You’ve kept us in this game. Three saves, and all of them crucial. Well done."

Alvarado offered a small smile, but Verbeek wasn’t finished. "But you shouldn’t have to do it alone. Defenders, where are you? Why are we giving Samuel Eto’o and Lacina Traoré so much freedom? You should be closing them down and winning your duels. We need to be stronger in the second half."

He paused, letting his words sink in. Then he clapped his hands once, the sharp sound cutting through the room.

"Listen," Verbeek said, his tone more direct now. "We’re still in this game. They haven’t scored, and that’s because of the fight some of you have shown. Henriksen, your through ball to Gudmundsson—that’s what I want to see. More of that creativity, more of that ambition."

Henriksen nodded with a determined expression.

"And Gudmundsson," Verbeek continued, "your effort was good, but you need to hit the target. Test the goalkeeper. Make him suffer."

After saying his piece, Gertjan Verbeek stepped back and looker around the room, his gaze sweeping over each player. "We’ve matched them at times, but we need to do more. In the second half, I want us attacking more from the flanks. Beerens, Gudmundsson, you both should stretch their defense. Get the ball wide and whip it in. Jozy, position yourself better and be ready for those deliveries."

Gertjan Verbeek moved toward the tactics board, picking up a marker. He drew quick lines from the wings into the penalty area. "Their defensive lines are pushing high up the pitch. Exploit the space behind them and hit them on the counter when we can. And don’t hesitate... If you see an opening, take it."

He capped the marker and faced them again. "This is a fight, gentlemen. They’re good, but so are we. Show them that in the second half. Play like you want it."

The players began to nod, the energy in the room shifting to a much lighter tone. Verbeek’s words weren’t loud, but they carried enough weight.

"Alright," he said, clapping his hands once more. "Let’s get out there and turn this around."

As they stood and began to prepare for the second half, the tension in the room was replaced with a sense of purpose.

Gertjan Verbeek watched them file out. The battle was far from over.

***

The camera feed returned to the stadium, showing a sweeping view of the Anzhi Arena as the crowd buzzed with anticipation for the second half.

The commentators’ voices cut through the noise, their energy rising as the teams re-emerged from the tunnel.

[Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen,] Paul said, his voice smooth but tinged with excitement. [If you’re just joining us, you’ve missed a first half filled with intensity, drama, and a few heart-stopping moments]

[That’s right, Paul,] Willem chimed in, his tone slightly gruffer but no less enthusiastic. [Anzhi Makhachkala came out swinging in the first half, showing exactly why they’re the favorites in this matchup]

[AZ Alkmaar, on the other hand, had their moments but have been living dangerously. They’ve got their keeper, Esteban Alvarado, to thank for keeping the scoreline level]

Paul chuckled lightly. [Indeed, Willem. Three absolutely crucial saves from Alvarado. He’s been a wall back there, hasn’t he?]

[A wall? More like a fortress,] Willem replied, his voice carrying a hint of admiration. "But you have to wonder how long he can keep that up if the defense doesn’t tighten up. Lacina Traoré and Samuel Eto’o have been sniffing around like wolves on a hunt, and you know they only need one clear chance to punish you]

The camera cut to the AZ Alkmaar bench, where Gertjan Verbeek stood with his arms crossed, watching as his players jogged onto the pitch.

[Speaking of AZ Alkmaar,] Paul continued, [it’ll be interesting to see what adjustments Gertjan Verbeek has made during the break. His side showed flashes of quality, particularly through Henriksen and Gudmundsson, but they’ve got to be more clinical in the final third]

[Absolutely,] Willem agreed. [And let’s not forget Beerens on the right wing. He’s been a live wire, but his crosses need to find their target. If they can get Altidore more involved, AZ Alkmaar might just have a chance to pull off something special here]

The camera panned to the Anzhi Makhachkala players huddling near the center circle, their coach gesturing animatedly from the sidelines.

[Meanwhile, Anzhi Makhachkala will feel like they’ve left goals on the table,] Paul observed. [That header from Samuel Eto’o off the crossbar—how close was that?]

[Millimeters, Paul,] Willem replied, shaking his head. [And let’s not forget Willian’s dangerous runs down the flank. He’s been a nightmare for Marcellis so far. If Anzhi Makhachkala keeps up this level of pressure, it’s only a matter of time before they find the breakthrough]

The players took their positions on the field as the referee performed a final check of his watch. The camera lingered on Alvarado, who crouched low between the sticks, his eyes locked on the ball at the center circle.

[One thing’s for sure,] Paul said, his voice dropping slightly, [this second half is going to be a real test of AZ Alkmaar’s character. Can they weather the storm and hit Anzhi Makhachkala on the counter? Or will the home side’s quality finally shine through?]

Willem let out a low whistle. [If AZ Alkmaar wants to come away with something here, they’ve got to play smarter, not just harder. The first ten minutes of this half will be crucial]

Fweeee!~

The referee blew his whistle, and the second half began with a roar from the spectators.