Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King
Chapter 52: Instant Impact

Chapter 52: Instant Impact

Samuel Eto’o took measured breath as he stood a few paces back from the ball.

The Cameroonian’s eyes locked onto Alvarado, who stood on the goal line. He crouched low with his arms outstretched and his body poised like a coiled spring.

The tension was electric, and the air heavy with anticipation as fans on both sides held their breath.

Fweeeeee!~

The referee’s whistle sliced through the stillness and Eto’o began his run.

His strides were precise and uneven to confuse the goalkeeper, but Alvarado’s gaze was fixed on his mark, his focus was unflinching as he tracked Eto’o’s movements.

Time seemed to slow down as Eto’o planted his left foot just to the front side of the ball.

Alvarado noted the angle of his foot and the slight tilt of the striker’s body—It was enough for him and he made his decision.

The goalkeeper locked in, diving sharply to his left the moment Eto’o’s right foot struck the ball.

Thwack!

The stadium erupted as Alvarado’s outstretched fingertips met the ball, and deflected it with a sharp, resounding thwack against his gloves.

The ball ricocheted back into play, as it bounced dangerously near the penalty spot.

[What a save from Alvarado!] Paul shouted, his voice cutting through the din of the spectators. [Alvarado keeps AZ Alkmaar in it with an incredible stop to deny Samuel Eto’o’s strike from the penalty spot!]

Willem’s voice followed, filled with astonishment. [That was pure instinct! He read Eto’o like an open book—what a moment for the Costa Rican!]

The AZ Alkmaar fans behind the goal erupted in cheers, their earlier frustration momentarily replaced by sheer relief.

On the sideline, Gertjan Verbeek punched the air, a flicker of hope reigniting in his eyes.

But the danger wasn’t over yet as Eto’o, who’s instincts was as sharp as a predators, sprang forward with the intent to bury the rebound in the back of the net.

But before he could connect with the ball, the central defender, Etiënne Reijnen, darted in with a sliding tackle and cleared the ball out for a throw-in.

[Etiënne Reijnen with the crucial clearance! AZ Alkmaar survive—barely!] Willem exclaimed, his voice tinged with disbelief.

The Anzhi Makhachkala fans groaned in unison, their earlier cheers giving way to frustrated murmurs. In the stands, Sergei slapped his thighs, spilling sunflower seeds onto the ground.

"Bah! So close!" he muttered, shaking his head.

On the touchline, Gertjan Verbeek didn’t waste a second. He gestured furiously to the fourth official. "Substitutions!" he barked, his voice cutting through the din.

Benjamin glanced up from where he had been warming up, his pulse quickening. This was it.

The announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers. [Substitution for AZ Alkmaar. Number 19, Johann Gudmundsson, off. Number 21, Benjamin Rijkaard, on]

The young winger jogged to the sideline, high-fiving Gudmundsson as he stepped onto the pitch.

Around him, the noise of the Anzhi Makhachkala supporters swelled again, the boos directed at the newcomer echoing in his ears.

Benjamin took a deep breath, and ignored the booing Anzhi Makhachkala fans as his focus narrowed to the game in front of him.

[This is a big moment for the youngster, it’s his UEFA Europa League debut after having debuted for AZ Alkmaar in their previous game against Heracles Almelo] Willem noted. [Gertjan Verbeek is rolling the dice with this change. Can Benjamin rise to the occasion?]

[The away fans will hope he can, Willem. AZ Alkmaar need something special here, and time is running out,] Paul replied, his tone tinged with anticipation.

Across the pitch, Anzhi Makhachkala’s coach made a pair of changes of his own, injecting fresh legs into his midfield and defense. The chess match was intensifying, and every decision carried weight.

The camera panned to Gertjan Verbeek, who stood at the edge of his technical area with his arms folded, and his gaze fixed on the field.

The AZ Alkmaar coach turned briefly to Benjamin, "Be bold, kid," he muttered under his breath, his expression a mix of frustration and hope.

Back on the pitch, Benjamin settled into position on the left wing. His eyes scanned the field, taking in the movement of his teammates, the opponents players, and the gaps in Anzhi Makhachkala’s formation.

The pressure of the moment pressed on him, but he pushed it aside.

Play soon resumed and Benjamin adjusted his position, staying light on his feet as he tracked the ball’s movement across the midfield.

Anzhi Makhachkala pressed high and their players snapped at every loose pass.

Paul’s voice broke through the noise of the crowd. [Anzhi Makhachkala are looking to seal the deal here, Willem. They’re relentless in their press after Eto’o failed to convert the spot kick]

[They are, Paul, but let’s not forget, AZ Alkmaar still have a few tricks up their sleeve. And these young players, Benjamin Rijkaard and Steven Berghuis—they could be the right click for AZ Alkmaar tonight]

The ball shifted to AZ Alkmaar’s defensive third, where Nick Viergever collected it under pressure. He made a quick turn and sent a long pass that soared down the left flank.

Benjamin took off towards the direction of the ball. His first touch to control the ball was smooth as he cushioned the ball with raised his leg raised.

After controlling the ball, he kept it within stride as he surged forward to the 18-yard box.

Booooo!~

The home crowd’s boos intensified to kill his morale. They thought that he was just a young player with barely to no experience with first team football and so he’d be weak willed.

But he blocked them out, and his focus zeroed in on the defender closing him down.

[Look at that pace from the young lad!] Willem’s voice was almost a shout. [The boy’s got wheels for legs, Paul!]

The Anzhi Makhachkala right-back, Logashov, stepped up to charge at Benjamin while lowering his stance.

Benjamin feinted to move towards his left, but then he exploded to his right, skipping past Logashov who had bought the first move with a burst of speed.

[Fantastic skill from Benjamin Rijkaard!] Paul chimed in, excitement lacing his words. [He’s broken free down the wing]

After evading his marker, Benjamin glanced up to scan the 18-yard box. He spotted Berghuis making a darting run toward the near post, while Altidore positioned himself centrally between the two Anzhi Makhachkala central defenders.

Without hesitation, Benjamin opted to find Berghuis and he whipped in a low cross with the outside of his right foot—a trivela.

The ball zipped past the two central defenders and Altidore, curving perfectly into Berghuis’ path.

[And it’s Berghuis!] Willem’s voice was sharp with anticipation.

The forward met the ball with a flick of his boot, redirecting it toward the bottom corner.

The ball flew with pace towards the bottom corner of the post.