Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King
Chapter 49: Anzhi Makhachkala Draw First Blood

Chapter 49: Anzhi Makhachkala Draw First Blood

The second half began with an electrifying energy and Anzhi Makhachkala wasted no time as they immediately started pressing high and forcing AZ Alkmaar onto the back foot.

Willian received a pass from Lassana Diarra and darted down the left flank relentlessly with his quick feet leaving Marcellis scrambling to keep up.

The crowd’s roar swelled, a mix of discordant sounds of support from the home side as their team mounted attack after attack.

From the commentators’ booth, Paul’s voice rose above the din. [And here we go! Anzhi picking up right where they left off in the first half, pouring forward with intent. The Brazilian winger is on the ball now, doing what he does best]

[He’s been a thorn in AZ Alkmaar’s side all night, Paul,] Willem interjected. [Look at that control and the pace. He’s running the show on that left wing]

Willian skipped past Marcellis again, cutting inside and threading a pass to Eto’o who stood in wait at the edge of the box.

Eto’o controlled the ball and turned sharply to evade his marker. His movement was swift and decisive, before laying it off to Lacina Traoré.

The Ivorian forward unleashed a shot one time without allowing the ball to settle. The ball flew towards the post, but Alvarado was there once more, diving low to his left to palm it away.

The AZ Alkmaar fans, clustered in a small corner of the stadium, erupted into cheers for the brilliant save by Alvarado, but their voices were drowned out by the boos of the home supporters.

In the stands filled with Anzhi Makhachkala supporters, a group of fans settled into their seats amidst the din of the crowd.

One of them was a stocky man with a neatly trimmed beard and a scarf with Anzhi Makhachkala’s colors. He carefully balanced a tray of snacks and bottles of vodka as he returned to his friends

The bitter cold didn’t seem to bother them; their laughter and animated conversations filled the air around them.

The bearded fan, Sergei, dropped into his seat with a satisfied sigh while passing around the bottles as his companions eagerly grabbed handfuls of sunflower seeds from the tray.

They cracked the shells expertly, spitting them into empty plastic cups while the vodka circulated among them in thick, frosty glasses.

Sergei leaned back on his seat with his gloved hands resting on his lap. "What a perfect night for football, da?" he said, his voice cutting through the roaring crowd.

Beside him, his friend Ivan nodded while tipping his glass slightly in agreement. "Perfect night for another victory," he added with a smirk. "No team has a chance against us here in the Anzhi Arena."

"Especially not some Dutch kids," Sergei chimed in with a dismissive tone.

As they sipped their drinks and watched the game unfold, the group’s laughter grew louder.

Sergei tilted his head back and drained his glass, setting it down with a soft clink. "You should have seen this kid I ran into last night at Serg’s café," he said while his voice carried a hint of amusement.

"A Kid?" Ivan asked, popping another seed into his mouth.

"Might be a tourist or a travelling AZ Alkmaar supporter," Sergei explained while waving his hand. "Thought he knew football. Some teenager, maybe twenty at most. Made a ridiculous bet with me."

This piqued Ivan’s interest. "A bet? What kind of bet?"

Sergei chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned forward. "He said AZ Alkmaar would win. Can you believe it? Against our Anzhi."

"Hahaha!~"

The group erupted into laughter, their voices blending with the crowd noise around them.

"Bold, I’ll give him that," Ivan said between laughs. "But stupid. Does he even know who we have on the pitch?"

"Probably not," Sergei replied, shaking his head. "I told him—five-nil. Easy peasy."

"Hahaha!~"

Another round of boisterous laughter followed, but the sound was tinged with a certain self-assuredness.

"Poor kid," one of their friends chimed in. "Losing money and watching his team get humiliated. Not a good way to spend a trip to Russia."

As the conversation continued, Sergei reached for another handful of seeds. His gaze flickered down to the pitch where the players scrambled for possession.

He smirked as Zhirkov overlapped and darted past an AZ Alkmaar defender with effortless ease. His movements were fluid and precise.

"Look at that," Sergei said, pointing toward the action. "They’re not just outmatched—they’re outclassed."

Ivan grinned, raising his glass again. "To dominance!"

"To Anzhi!" the group chorused, their voices melding into the larger chant of the crowd.

"GOAAAAL!"

The commentator’s voice suddenly boomed through the speakers, and the stadium erupted like a dormant volcano suddenly turned active.

The roar of the Anzhi Makhachkala faithfuls shook the air like a clap of thunder. The sound rolled across the stands like an unrelenting wave of jubilation that drowned out everything else.

For a moment, it felt as though the very foundations of the Anzhi Arena trembled under the pressure of the celebrating supporters.

The Anzhi supporters around them leapt to their feet in unison.

Sergei nearly dropped his glass of vodka, his head snapping toward the pitch. "What happened?!" he he stammered, his eyes darting to the pitch. He had missed the moment entirely.

His friends were equally startled, and they crambled to look at the massive screens mounted above the stands.

Ivan tugged at his sleeve, pointing towards the stadium’s massive screens. "The replay, look!"

They turned their gaze upward as the sequence played out in slow motion.

Willian had received a pass from Zhirkov near the halfway line, and he raised his head up to survey his options.

With a deft flick, he danced past the debutant, Adam, then the right-back, Marcellis, before threading a perfect through ball to Eto’o who was making a run into the 18-yard box.

The striker didn’t hesitate as he took a single touch to control it before firing a low shot past Alvarado and into the bottom corner.

The screen cut to a jubilant Eto’o, who’s arms were outstretched as he sprinted toward the corner flag with his teammates mobbing him in celebration.

[What a goal! What a finish by the 31 year old Cameroonian, Samuel Eto’o, in the 52nd minute of the second half! The build-up was sensational, and the execution—clinical,] Paul exclaimed, and his excitement palpable.

[You can’t defend against that, Paul. Willian’s vision, the precision of that pass, and Eto’o’s composure under pressure to put it in the back of the net—it’s world-class football, plain and simple,] Willem added, and his tone was a mix of admiration and resignation.

Back on the AZ Alkmaar bench, Gertjan Verbeek slammed his palm against the dugout’s frame, frustration etched across his face.

He turned towards his assistant, muttering something under his breath and before long, Victor Elm and Steven Berghuis could be seen warming up on the sidelines.

The camera shifted to the pitch, and the AZ Alkmaar players could be seen looking visibly deflated.

Alvarado picked the ball out of the net, his expression unreadable as he lobbed it towards the center circle.

"What are you looking glum for, there’s still time to turn this around... C’mon!"

Martens jogged over to rally his teammates, clapping his hands and shouting words of encouragement.

On the bench, Benjamin leaned forward, his fingers gripping the edge of his seat. His heart raced as he watched the replay unfold on the screen above.

He couldn’t help but admire the brilliance of the goal, but it also filled him with a slight annoyance at being left out on the bench.

With Elm and Berghuis warming up on the sidelines, it was clearly obvious that they would be substituted in soon and that would mean—only a single spot remained for the last substitution of the game.

In the stands, Sergei and his friends erupted into cheers, and their vodka glasses were raised high in celebration.

Sergei’s earlier dismissal of the Dutch team was momentarily forgotten as he joined in the chants that now swept through the stadium like a wave.

"Anzhi!~ Anzhi!~ Anzhi~"