Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King
Chapter 98: Halftime Team Talk

Chapter 98: Halftime Team Talk

[This is a pivotal moment in the game. The pressure is immense, and you can feel it in the air,] the lead commentator said.

As Altidore picked himself up, he was greeted by his teammates, their hands on his shoulders in encouragement. He took a deep breath, placed the ball on the spot, and stepped back, his eyes locked on Gabulov.

[Gabulov versus Altidore. This is it. Can AZ Alkmaar level the score right before the break?]

The stadium fell into a tense silence, save for the faint hum of chants from the AZ Alkmaar fans.

Altidore took a long breath, his chest rising and falling as he stepped up to the ball. His eyes never left Gabulov, whose imposing frame seemed even larger as he crouched low, his arms outstretched like a predator ready to pounce.

[This is high-stakes football,] the lead commentator murmured. [Altidore has to get this right. Gabulov has been immense tonight.]

[But can Gabulov outthink him here? He’s been reading the game brilliantly so far,] the co-commentator replied.

The referee blew his whistle, and the tension in the AFAS Stadion was palpable. Altidore began his run-up, his strides measured, his body calm. Gabulov shifted slightly, trying to anticipate the striker’s intent.

Altidore’s eyes flickered briefly to the corners of the goal but remained mostly fixed on Gabulov. He planted his left foot and swung his right. Instead of the usual power-driven shot, he opted for a panenka—a gentle chip toward the center of the goal.

[Oh my word, he’s gone for the panenka!] the lead commentator gasped.

The ball arched delicately, but instead of nestling into the net, it clipped the crossbar with a resounding clang. The stadium fell silent, the sound echoing like a hammer striking metal.

Gabulov, who had committed early and dived to his right, froze mid-motion, his gaze snapping to the ball as it ricocheted harmlessly away. Altidore stood rooted to the spot, his hands on his head, disbelief written all over his face.

[It’s hit the bar! Altidore misses! Can you believe it?] the co-commentator exclaimed, his voice climbing an octave.

[Oh, what a moment! A huge chance for AZ Alkmaar, and it’s gone begging,] the lead commentator added, almost breathless.

On the touchline, Verbeek dropped to his knees, clutching his head in despair. He pounded the turf with his fist before quickly regaining his composure, yelling instructions to his players to regroup.

Guus Hiddink, meanwhile, allowed himself a small smile, his calm demeanor returning as he gestured for his players to stay focused.

The home fans groaned audibly, some burying their faces in their hands, while others rose to their feet, clapping in encouragement.

[What a missed opportunity for AZ Alkmaar. Altidore had the chance to bring his team level, and instead, the crossbar denies him,] the lead commentator said.

[But credit to Gabulov, his presence clearly got into Altidore’s head. The mind games from the Russian keeper worked wonders there,] the co-commentator noted.

In the stands, the Anzhi Makhachkala fans erupted into cheers, their jeers directed toward Altidore and the AZ faithful.

BOOOO!~

[Listen to the Anzhi fans—they’re loving this. They know how important that miss could prove to be,] the lead commentator observed.

[And let’s not forget, there’s still a whole second half to play. But right now, Gabulov is the hero for Anzhi Makhachkala,] the co-commentator added.

As the referee blew the whistle for halftime, Altidore walked off the pitch slowly, his head bowed. His teammates patted him on the back, offering words of encouragement.

The commentators wrapped up the half with a mix of excitement and analysis.

[Well, what a first half we’ve had. Anzhi Makhachkala leads 1-0, and Gabulov has been nothing short of sensational,] the lead commentator said.

[AZ Alkmaar had their moments, but they’ve been wasteful in front of goal. That penalty miss from Altidore could haunt them if they don’t turn things around in the second half,] the co-commentator concluded.

The players disappeared down the tunnel, and the fans began discussing the drama of the first half, their voices buzzing with anticipation for what was still to come.

***

In the AZ Alkmaar dressing room, the air was thick with a solemn energy.

Gertjan Verbeek paced back and forth with his hands gesturing emphatically as he addressed his players.

"We’ve had them on the ropes all half!" Gertjan Verbeek’s voice was sharp, cutting through the subdued silence. "But if we don’t convert those chances, they’ll keep punishing us. You know it, and I know it."

He turned toward Altidore, who sat with his head bowed. His expression shifted between myriad of form before he finally sighed, "Jozy, forget about it. The miss is gone. What matters is the next one."

The American striker nodded slowly, his jaw tightening as he absorbed the words.

Gertjan Verbeek’s tone softened slightly as he moved to address the whole squad. "This is football, boys. We’re creating the much needed chances—we’re doing every f*cking thing right except finding the back of the net. We need to keep pushing and trust in the game plan."

He paused, letting his words sink in before glancing at Henriksen. "Markus, I need you to keep that offensive tempo high. Their midfield is struggling to keep up with you."

Henriksen nodded, his eyes steely with focus.

"And Benjamin," Gertjan Verbeek continued, turning to the young winger with a reassuring smile on his face. "You’ve been brilliant out there. I want you to keep taking them on and forcing mistakes. You’re making them nervous."

Benjamin gave a slight smile in response, his confidence growing despite them being a goal behind.

Gertjan Verbeek clapped his hands together, bringing everyone’s attention back. "We’ve got 45 minutes to turn this around. 45 minutes to make through to the group stages. Play with your hearts, but keep your heads. We can do this!"

A collective murmur of agreement rippled through the room, and the players exchanged determined glances.

Meanwhile, in the Anzhi Makhachkala dressing room, Guus Hiddink’s tone was measured and calm. He stood before his players with his hands resting on his hips.

"Good work out there, boys" he said, nodding approvingly. "You’ve stayed true to the tactics, and that’s why we’re leading. But this game is far from over."

He looked directly at Gabulov. "Outstanding saves out there, but keep that focus. They’ll come at you even harder in the second half."

The goalkeeper gave a small nod, his face expressionless but resolute.

Guus Hiddink shifted his gaze to Willian, Traore, and Eto’o. "We’ve got the pace and the skill. When they push forward, the gaps will open naturally. That’s when we strike. Be vigilant."

Eto’o leaned back in his chair with a small smile playing on his lips, while Willian nodded enthusiastically to the manager’s words.

"You guys should stay compact, and stay smart," Guus Hiddink finished. "This is our game to lose. Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen."