Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King
Chapter 77: Bloodbath 2

Chapter 77: Bloodbath 2

Heerenveen kicked off again, the ball barely moving before AZ Alkmaar’s high press snapped into action.

Henriksen and Martens immediately closed down the midfield, forcing them to make a hurried pass backward.

[They’re like wolves out there,] Dirk said, his tone admiring. [Heerenveen can’t even get out of their own half without pressure breathing down their necks]

[That’s exactly what Gertjan Verbeek demands from his players,] Martin replied. [Relentless intensity. It’s exhausting to play against, and Heerenveen look completely gassed]

In the 69th minute of the game, the ball found its way to Maracek, who attempted to hoof it long. Instead, the clearance landed straight at Elm’s feet just outside the halfway line. Without hesitation, Elm volleyed it forward to Altidore, who had his back to goal.

[Look at that control!] Dirk marveled as Altidore brought the ball down with his chest, shielding it from his marker. [He’s so strong, so composed under pressure]

With a deft touch, Altidore laid the ball off to Martens, who was surging forward.

Martens skipped past a defender before threading another pass toward the left flank, where Benjamin was already on the move.

The crowd’s anticipation surged like a wave, rising with every step the teenager took toward the box. Otigba, who’s face was lined with frustration, squared up to Benjamin in a desperate attempt to halt the onslaught.

[Here we go again,] Martin said, leaning forward. [Can Otigba stop him this time?]

Benjamin slowed down his pace, teasing his opponent with subtle feints and step overs.

Then, in a blur of motion, he faked a pass by swinging his right foot forward, then he dragged the ball behind his standing leg with the inside of his right foot and turn sharply.

The Cruyff-Turn technique was filled with flair and deception as he surged past Otigba who tumbled awkwardly to the ground.

[He’s gone! Just like that,] Dirk exclaimed. [Otigba’s chasing shadows again!]

Benjamin reached the byline and whipped in a cross with his left foot. This time, the delivery had just the right pace and height, curving wickedly toward the near post.

[That’s a beauty of a ball!] Martin shouted as the camera zoomed in on the six-yard box.

Altidore struggled to get past the pincer marking from the two Heerenveen central defenders, but thet created enough space for Berghuis.

Berghuis darted in ahead of his marker, van Anholt, meeting the cross with a glancing header that sent the ball flying past Nordfeldt and into the top corner.

GOAAAAL!~

[Finally, Berghuis gets his reward!] Dirk yelled over the roaring crowd. [7-0 to AZ Alkmaar, and this place is rocking!]

The AFAS Stadion erupted. Berghuis slid on his knees toward the corner flag with his arms stretched wide, as his teammates swarmed him in celebration.

Benjamin jogged over with his face lit up with a grin, and patted Berghuis on the back before turning to the crowd and raising his fist.

[You have to admire Benjamin there,] Martin said. [Another assist to make three for the night, and he’s still playing like it’s the first minute of the match. The hunger, the energy—it’s infectious]

[It’s incredible to watch,] Dirk agreed. [He’s been everywhere tonight. Three assists and one goal—this is a man-of-the-match performance, no question about it]

The Heerenveen players, meanwhile, looked utterly defeated. Their heads hung low as they trudged back to the center circle.

Nordfeldt slapped his gloves together in frustration, shouting at his defenders to do better, but his words seemed to fall on deaf ears.

[What more can you do as a goalkeeper?] Martin asked, shaking his head. [Nordfeldt’s made save after save, but the defense in front of him is nonexistent. He must feel like he’s fighting a losing battle]

[And he is,] Dirk replied. [Heerenveen just want this to end, but AZ Alkmaar are relentless. You wouldn’t bet against them scoring an eighth, would you?]

The camera cut to Marco van Basten on the sidelines.

The Heerenveen manager stood motionless, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He looked numb from the goals conceded, but his jaw was clenched and his eyes fixed on the ground as if he couldn’t bear to watch anymore.

[You have to feel for Marco van Basten,] Martin said softly. [This is a legendary player who’s had his fair share of glory, but tonight, he’s watching his team get torn apart. It’s a harsh reality for any manager]

The AZ Alkmaar fans didn’t share the commentators’ sympathy.

Their chants grew louder, their celebrations more exuberant with each passing minute. Their scarves twirled in the air, and the stadium vibrated with pure joy.

The scoreboard now read AZ Alkmaar 7-0 Heerenveen, and there were still twenty-one minutes plus added time left to play.

As the players reset for another kickoff, the atmosphere in the stadium remained electric.

Fweeee!~

The referee signaled for the game to restart, and Heerenveen tapped the ball back cautiously.

Their movements were sluggish, their spirit visibly drained, and AZ Alkmaar pounced immediately. Altidore and Henriksen pressed high, forcing yet another aimless clearance.

The ball floated toward the touchline and bounced once before going out of play near the halfway line.

[Another turnover,] Dirk observed. [You can see it in Heerenveen’s body language—they’re desperate just to get the ball out of their half]

[There’s no escape,] Martin replied. [AZ Alkmaar have them boxed in like prisoners, and they’re not letting up anytime soon]

As Gorter jogged to retrieve the ball for the throw-in, a sharp whistle cut through the noise. Gertjan Verbeek stepped forward from the technical area, raising his hand toward the referee.

[Hold on, what’s this?] Dirk asked, his tone curious. [It looks like AZ Alkmaar are making a change]

The referee paused the game, pointing to the sideline where the fourth official had positioned himself. The official held the substitution board high, its neon lights signaling the changes.

[Here we go,] Martin said as the camera zoomed in on the board. [Number 7, Steven Berghuis, is coming off for Roy Beerens. And there’s another change—Number 20, Martin Martens, makes way for Adam Maher]

The crowd rose in applause as Berghuis jogged toward the sideline, his face flushed with exertion but lit by a satisfied smile. Beerens was already bouncing on his toes, eager to join the fray.

[Berghuis can be proud of his performance tonight,] Dirk noted. [Two goals and some tireless work down the wing—he’s done his part. And now Beerens has the chance to add to the chaos]

On the other side of the field, Martens handed over the captain’s armband to Elm before walking off to a standing ovation. Adam stepped onto the pitch, his eyes scanning the field with a calm expression.

[This is an exciting moment for Adam Maher,] Martin added. [The young man’s been patient, waiting for his chance, and now he gets a solid 20 minutes to show what he can do]

[And what a game to come into,] Dirk said. [You’re stepping into a side that’s completely dominant. If he keeps things simple and keeps the ball moving, this could be a big confidence boost for him]

As the substitutes took their positions, Gertjan Verbeek gave quick instructions to both Adam and Beerens, gesturing animatedly with his hands.

His voice barely carried over the crowd’s cheers, but the players nodded in understanding before sprinting into place.

[Gertjan Verbeek isn’t done yet,] Martin remarked. [Even at 7-0, he’s still tweaking things, still demanding more from his players]

[That’s what makes him such a good coach,] Dirk replied. [He never lets his team get comfortable. No matter the scoreline, there’s always room for improvement]

The game resumed with Martens launching a long throw toward Altidore, who immediately flicked it on to Benjamin.

The teenager’s first touch was flawless, cushioning the ball as he turned sharply and began another charge down the left flank.

[Here we go again,] Martin said with a grin. [Fresh legs or not, Heerenveen are in trouble]