Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King
Chapter 75: Away Fans Leaving In Embarrassment

Chapter 75: Away Fans Leaving In Embarrassment

The camera panned toward the away end of the AFAS Stadion, where the Heerenveen supporters began rising from their seats.

Some shook their heads in frustration while others muttered angrily as they shuffled toward the exits.

[Well, look at this, Martin,] Dirk said, his tone laced with surprise. [A mass exodus from the away fans. They’ve seen enough]

[You can’t blame them, can you?] Martin replied. [Five goals down in the 60th minute, ten men on the pitch, and Marco van Basten’s team have barely laid a glove on AZ Alkmaar since the first half]

A close-up shot captured a father and son in Heerenveen jerseys making their way up the stairs. The boy’s shoulders were slumped, and his scarf dangled lifelessly from his hand. Around them, more fans joined the slow, embarrassed departure.

[That’s football, unfortunately,] Dirk said, almost sympathetically. [When your team’s outplayed like this, you just want to get out of there]

Meanwhile, the AZ Alkmaar supporters filled the air with chants, and were proudly waving their red and white scarves high above their heads.

A booming rendition of the club anthem echoed across the stadium, turning the atmosphere into a celebration.

The Heerenveen players trudged back into position for the restart. Their body language said it all—their heads were down, shoulders slumped, their fighting spirit drained.

Otigba barked out instructions to his teammates, trying to organize the defensive line, but the effort felt futile. The damage was already done.

On the AZ Alkmaar bench, Gertjan Verbeek turned to his assistants with a nod of satisfaction while muttering a few instructions. His face, calm once again, reflected quiet confidence.

[You have to give credit to Gertjan Verbeek,] Martin noted. [His team’s been ruthless tonight. There’s no slowing down, no complacency. That’s the sign of a team that wants to make a statement]

[And they’re certainly making one,] Dirk replied. [This is the kind of performance that gets people talking. It’s a warning shot to the rest of the league]

The camera briefly settled on Benjamin, who stood near the touchline, catching his breath.

His gaze flickered across the pitch with focus yet relaxed, and the faintest of smiles playing on his lips as the crowd chanted his name. The energy from the home fans was palpable.

[It’s hard to believe this kid’s 17 and just getting started,] Dirk said, admiration clear in his voice. [He plays with so much confidence that bellies his age, like he’s been doing this for years. I’ll tell you what, Martin—Benjamin Rijkaard isn’t just a rising young star anymore. He’s arrived to challenge for accolades]

[He has,] Martin agreed. [And if I were a defender in this league, I’d be losing sleep knowing I had to deal with him]

Fweeee!~

The referee blew his whistle for the restart.

Heerenveen kicked off, the ball rolling back toward their defense as AZ Alkmaar’s front line immediately pressed forward again.

The Heerenveen players looked tired, as though each touch of the ball weighed them down.

The camera returned to the stands, where empty seats now outnumbered fans in the away section. Their chants had faded, replaced by the confident roars of the home crowd.

[Well, it’s gone from bad to worse for the traveling fans,] Dirk said, shaking his head. [This will be a night to forget for Heerenveen]

[And a night to remember for AZ Alkmaar,] Martin added, his voice lifting with excitement. [Especially for Benjamin Rijkaard. A goal, two assists, and a performance to match, with 30 more minutes to go until full-time]

As the game resumed, AZ Alkmaar looked hungry for more. The home crowd’s chants grew louder, and their belief in this team—this young boy from Haarlem—now stronger than ever.

For the Heerenveen supporters already on their way out, the long journey home had begun. For AZ Alkmaar, the night was far from over.

The game rolled on, but AZ Alkmaar weren’t done. The home side smelled blood, and the next ten minutes showcased just how relentless they could be.

In the 62nd minute, Henriksen picked up the ball deep in midfield and his eyes were immediately scanning for movement ahead.

Benjamin peeled off his new marker, Otigba, his speed pulling Otigba wide as the makeshift defender scrambled to keep up.

With a quick shift of his weight, Benjamin ghosted past Otigba on the outside before whipping a teasing low cross into the six-yard box.

[Dangerous ball in!] Martin called as the ball zipped past the defense.

Berghuis lunged toward it with his boot stretched to make contact, but he arrived a second too late. The ball skidded inches past his outstretched foot and rolled harmlessly out for a goal kick.

[So close!] Dirk groaned. [Any kind of touch and that’s six. That cross from Benjamin was begging for a finish]

[Heerenveen got away with one there,] Martin agreed. [Otigba doesn’t know whether to stick or twist, and Benjamin’s got him on strings]

This time around in the 64th minute, it was Martens in control of the ball. He danced through the central area as Heerenveen’s midfield retreated in panic.

Martens slipped a clever through ball into space, and Altidore powered past his man, the American striker charging into the box.

[Altidore’s through here!] Martin shouted as the striker angled for a shot.

Altidore swung his right foot, striking the ball cleanly, but Nordfeldt was quick off his line. The goalkeeper spread himself wide, and the ball smacked into his outstretched shin before spinning away.

[That’s a massive save!] Dirk said, half in disbelief. [Nordfeldt keeping this scoreline somewhat respectable. Credit to the big man]

[But look at Altidore’s reaction,] Martin added, as the striker slapped the ground in frustration. [He knows he should’ve buried that and completed his hat-trick]

The pressure continued to mount, suffocating Heerenveen inside their own penalty area.

In the 66th minute, a neat exchange between Henriksen and Elm on the edge of the box left the defense in chaos. Elm clipped a delicate chip over the top, where Benjamin was already darting into the 18-yard box.

[Here comes Benjamin again!] Dirk’s voice peaked with excitement.

The teenager struck the ball first-time in a half-volley that was struck with venom. The crowd held their breath as the shot rocketed toward goal.