Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King
Chapter 53: A Quick Counter-Attack

Chapter 53: A Quick Counter-Attack

The ball flew with pace towards the bottom corner of the post with intent, but Gabulov was quick off his line, throwing himself low to make the save.

The ball deflected off his gloves, bouncing back into play.

[Ooh! He’s denied by Gabulov!] Paul exclaimed, his voice rising. [But AZ Alkmaar aren’t done yet!]

The rebound fell to direction of the AZ Alkmaar captain, Martens, at the edge of the box.

He surged forward and latched onto the ball with a powerful shot, but a defender lunged in, deflecting the effort wide for a corner.

[A corner for AZ Alkmaar] Willem noted, his tone settling slightly. [But what a statement from the youngster. That run and cross—he’s already causing problems for Anzhi Makhachkala]

As the players jogged toward the box for the corner, Gertjan Verbeek clapped his hands on the sideline, shouting instructions.

Benjamin lingered near the edge of the 18-yard box, catching his breath but keeping his eyes on the ball.

The stadium buzzed with a mix of anticipation and tension. The AZ Alkmaar fans behind the goal rose to their feet, urging their team forward.

Henrikson placed the ball at the corner flag, his movements calm and he raised his arm to signal the play.

[This is a big chance for AZ Alkmaar,] Paul remarked. [Set pieces can be decisive in this sort of games, and with someone as technical as Henrikson delivering it, anything can happen]

Willem eagerly chimed in, [Watch for Altidore here, Paul. He’s a big target in the box, and we know he can cause chaos in the air]

The referee blew his whistle, and Henrikson took a few steps back. His eyes scanned the crowded penalty area, picking his target.

With a deep breath, he swung his foot through the ball.

The delivery was sharp, curling inward with pace and precision. The players of both teams jostled for position, and the air felt thick with tension as the ball arced toward the six-yard box.

[Altidore rises!] Willem’s voice shot up as the big forward leapt above the pack.

Thud!

His header connected cleanly, the ball rocketing toward the top corner.

Gabulov scrambled for the ball, and his fingertips almost brushed the ball as it grazed the crossbar and flew over.

[So close from the American!] Paul shouted, and his disbelief was evident in his tone. [Altidore connects to the ball with a towering header, but it just won’t go in!]

Willem exhaled sharply. [AZ Alkmaar are knocking on the door, Paul. They’re asking all the right questions, but Gabulov and that defense are holding firm]

The camera panned to Altidore, who shook his head in frustration before jogging back into position. On the sideline, Verbeek was pacing around with his hands on his hips as he muttered under his breath.

Back in play, Anzhi Makhachkala took the goal kick quickly, aiming to catch AZ off guard.

The ball zipped toward the midfield, where Eto’o fought off a challenge from Viktor Elm and brought it down with a deft touch.

Adter controlling the ball, he spun away from his marker, his acceleration leaving the AZ Alkmaar midfield in his wake.

[Eto’o’s on the move now!] Willem exclaimed in a sharp tone. [This could be dangerous for AZ Alkmaar]

The Cameroonian surged forward, his strides powerful and fluid. Benjamin, tracking back from the wing, saw the danger unfolding. He dug deep, sprinting forward to quickly close the gap.

[Eto’o’s breaking through!] Paul shouted, his voice rising with the crowd’s roar. [Can anyone stop him?]

Just as Eto’o reached the edge of the box, Benjamin slid in from behind, his timing impeccable. He clipped the ball cleanly with both feet, stealing the ball from Eto’o’s legs.

[What a tackle!] Willem’s voice was full of admiration. [Benjamin Rijkaard—where did he come from? That was absolutely vital!]

The away crowd erupted, and a mix of cheers and groans filled the air. Eto’o glanced back at Benjamin, his expression a mix of frustration and shock.

Paul’s voice carried over the noise. [This youngster is making his presence felt on both ends of the pitch. He’s fearless, Willem. Fearless.]

Benjamin pushed himself to his feet, brushing off the dirt from his kit. His head snapped up as soon as he regained his footing.

The ball which now in his control, felt like a live wire under his boot. His eyes scanned the pitch, seeking an opening, and there it was—a solitary figure near the halfway line.

Jozy Altidore.

Because of the previous counter-attack from Anzhi Makhachkala, most of their players were currently in AZ Alkmaar’s half and so Altidore was isolated, with only one Anzhi Makhachkala defender marking him.

But the space ahead of him was open, like a perfect runway.

Benjamin didn’t hesitate as he shifted his weight to lean back slightly, and launched the ball with his right foot.

The ball soared high while spinning as it cut through the night air.

[He’s gone for the long ball!] Paul exclaimed, his excitement bubbling over. [And look who’s waiting at the other end—it’s Altidore!]

Willem chimed in, his voice rising with anticipation. [That’s an ambitious pass from Benjamin, but Altidore’s reading it. And now, he’s on the move!]

Altidore’s instincts kicked in, and his body sprang into action as he bolted forward.

The Anzhi Makhachkala defender was caught flat-footed for a moment, but soon chased after him. His arms pumping desperately to keep up pace with the striker.

The ball dipped and fell into Altidore’s path like it was drawn to him. He took it in stride with a light touch that sent it rolling perfectly ahead.

The defender was closing in, but Altidore’s sheer power and speed were too much for the poor guy to bear.

[He’s past his man!] Willem shouted, his voice almost drowned out by the growing roar of the crowd. [This is a golden opportunity for AZ Alkmaar!]

On the touchline, Gertjan Verbeek threw his arms up, and his usually stoic face was now alight with hope. "Go on, Jozy!" he bellowed, his voice raw with emotion.

The AZ Alkmaar fans erupted, their chants and cheers blending into a wave of noise that swept through the stadium.

The Anzhi Makhachkala supporters, on the other hand, grew tense, and their earlier confidence replaced by murmurs of worry.