Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King
Chapter 54: AZ Alkmaar Draw Level

Chapter 54: AZ Alkmaar Draw Level

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.

Inside the 18-yard box, Altidore was met by Gabulov, who charged off his line in a last-ditch effort to smother the chance.

The two players locked eyes for a split second, it was a silent battle of nerves.

[It’s one-on-one now!] Paul’s voice cracked with excitement. [Altidore against Gabulov—who’s going to come out on top?]

Altidore didn’t falter and loose focus as Gabulov rushed off his line. With a slight shift of his body, he waited for Gabulov to commit.

The goalkeeper lunged low with his arms outstretched, but it was too late.

With a deft flick of his boot, Altidore chipped the ball, sending it sailing over the onrushing goalkeeper.

Time seemed to pause as the ball floated in an arc, dipping just beneath the crossbar and nestling into the back of the net.

[GOAAAAL!] Willem roared, his voice breaking. [Jozy Altidore with an ice-cold finish to bring AZ Alkmaar level in this game! It’s 1:1, and AZ Alkmaar are right back in this game!]

GOAAAAL!~

The AZ Alkmaar fans erupted, and a sea of red and white surging in celebration. Flags waved furiously, and fists punched the air as the noise became deafening.

On the sideline, Verbeek jumped in joy with both fists clenched as a grin split his face. "That’s it! That’s what we needed!" he shouted to his staff, his earlier tension melting away.

Paul’s voice was nearly drowned out by the crowd. [What a counterattack! Benjamin Rijkaard with the vision to let Altidore loose on a counter, and Altidore with the composure to put the ball in the back of the net—it doesn’t get better than that!]

Willem added, his tone brimming with admiration. [And let’s not forget, Benjamin Rijkaard started it all with that tackle. This kid is having a game to remember]

Across the pitch, the Anzhi Makhachkala players stood stunned, their earlier confidence shaken. Gabulov pounded the ground in frustration, his face twisted in disbelief.

Within the stands, Sergei’s glass of vodka froze mid-air, halfway to his lips. His face was a storm of emotions—confusion, disbelief, and anger mingling into a flushed hue.

The replay above the stands looped Altidore’s deft chip, the ball dipping gracefully into the net. Sergei blinked as the realization of what had happened finally setting in.

"Chto za chert?! (What the hell?!)" he growled, slamming his glass onto the tray.

His friends were equally stunned, their chatter dying in an instant. Ivan’s sunflower seed slipped from his fingers as he leaned forward, his jaw slack. "How did that happen?!"

The large screen above flashed to the AZ Alkmaar players celebrating wildly.

Sergei’s heart skipped a beat. ’That face—it looks familiar.’ he thought.

"Podozhdi... (Wait...)" he muttered under his breath, squinting at the screen.

His mind raced back to Serg’s café, to one of the youth who had sat quietly while his friend mocked his team. And then it clicked, like a puzzle piece sliding into place.

Benjamin Rijkaard was one of the boys that he had casually dismissed in Serg’s café.

Benjamin’s figure appeared briefly in the clip, his tackle that had sparked the counterattack and led to the goal.

"It’s him," Sergei said aloud, his voice cutting through the stunned silence at their seating end.

Ivan turned towards him with his eyebrows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

Sergei pointed a gloved finger at the screen. "That boy—he’s one of them! He’s one of the boys I bet with!" His voice rose in pitch, tinged with incredulity.

The others followed his gaze, their expressions shifting as the connection dawned on them. "You’re saying he’s a player? That kid?" Ivan asked, his voice heavy with skepticism.

Sergei nodded firmly. "Da, that’s him. I didn’t recognize him at first, but now..." He trailed off, his mind replaying their exchange in Serg’s café, the confidence in the other boy’s eyes that he had brushed off as youthful arrogance.

The stadium’s roars softened slightly as the game resumed. Sergei’s face hardened, his earlier bravado melting into unease.

The atmosphere in the commentary box was electric, and the energy radiating from the field infecting the two commentators.

Paul leaned forward, his voice barely containing his excitement. [Willem, this game has turned on its head! Altidore’s equalizer is just the spark AZ Alkmaar needed]

Willem, gripping the edge of his chair, nodded vigorously. [Absolutely, Paul. And can we take a moment to talk about Benjamin Rijkaard? What a tackle to start that counter. The vision to release Altidore—unbelievable for a player so young]

Paul gestured toward the monitor, where a replay focused on Benjamin’s precise tackle. [Look at this—clean as a whistle. That’s the kind of play that changes games]

Willem chuckled, a note of disbelief in his tone. [I don’t think anyone expected this kid to have such an impact. But here he is, putting his name on the map]

The camera panned back to the field, where the AZ Alkmaar players were regrouping, their confidence visibly renewed.

Paul adjusted his headset, his voice taking on a reflective tone. [It’s moments like these, Willem, that define careers. If AZ Alkmaar can capitalize on this momentum, we might just witness something special tonight]

The Anzhi Makhachkala supporters were restless now and the earlier chants of "Anzhi!~ Anzhi!~" had dimmed, replaced by murmurs of frustration.

Sergei’s fist clenched on the armrest of his seat. His earlier glee had been replaced by a simmering irritation. He muttered curses under his breath, his pride stinging more than the cold air biting at his cheeks.

Ivan nudged him, smirking slightly. "Looks like your bet isn’t as safe as you thought, eh?"

Sergei shot him a glare, his jaw tightening. "Don’t start, Ivan. It’s only 20,000 RUB, i can afford to pay if i lose."

He said that with confidence but his gaze kept drifting to the pitch, searching for Benjamin. When the camera briefly showed the young winger jogging back to his position, Sergei’s stomach twisted.

He couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that this kid wasn’t done yet.

He shook his head, muttering under his breath. "Maybe... I underestimated them."

***

On the field, Benjamin felt the adrenaline coursing through him.

His breathing was heavy, but his mind was sharp. He could still feel the vibration from Altidore’s strike, the roar of the crowd searing itself into his memory.

The game was far from over, and Benjamin was ready to keep proving himself until he earned his place in the starting lineup.

From the bench, Gertjan Verbeek watched with an approving smile. His earlier frustration had shifted to cautious optimism.

He turned to his assistant, Martin Haar, while nodding toward the field. "That boy," he said, "he’s got something special."

The assistant grinned. "Think he’s earned a little more time on the pitch?"

Gertjan Verbeek didn’t hesitate to repy. "Definitely. Let’s see what else he’s got."

The game surged forward with an intensity that kept the crowd on the edge of their seats.

The equalizer had injected new life into both teams, transforming the match into a relentless end-to-end battle.

The clock soon ticked into the 81st minute, and the game burst into life once more.

Anzhi Makhachkala knew that a draw wasn’t enough but AZ Alkmaar would be happy if the game ended in this scoreline as they now had a slight advantage over the Russian side.

With the away goal rule, AZ Alkmaar now had an advantage over Anzhi Makhachkala when they meet again in Alkmaar for the second-leg of the Europa League qualifying play-off match.