Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King-Chapter 281: Second-half Begins

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Chris: [And there’s the halftime whistle! The first half comes to an end, and AZ Alkmaar somehow find themselves behind!]

Boos rang out from the home crowd as the players trudged toward the tunnel. Altidore walked off slowly, hands on his hips. Guðmundsson wiped sweat from his face, still shaking his head from the free-kick incident.

Rob: [Chris, if you’re AZ Alkmaar’s coach, what do you even say at halftime?]

Chris sighed, leaning back in his chair.

Chris: [I tell them to keep going. They’ve done everything right except score. But football doesn’t care about ’deserving’—you have to take your chances.]

Rob: [And if you’re Den Haag?]

Chris: [You tell them to be smart. They’ll expect AZ Alkmaar to come flying out in the second half. Sit deep, stay compact, and frustrate them]

Rob: [Well, whatever happens, we’re in for a big second half. AZ Alkmaar have 45 minutes to turn this around]

The cameras zoomed in on Altidore, his expression locked in focus as he disappeared into the tunnel. The job wasn’t done yet.

The broadcast cut to a shot of the AZ Alkmaar fans, some still standing in disbelief, others shaking their heads as they made their way for a halftime break. The commentators had a moment to breathe.

Chris: [Alright, let’s put this into perspective. As things stand, AZ Alkmaar are four points behind Ajax in the table. We’re in Matchday 11—this isn’t panic mode, but it’s not where they want to be.]

Rob: [Exactly. A win today would keep them right on Ajax’s heels. A loss? That gap starts to feel a little bigger. You don’t want to be chasing too much, too early in the season.]

The screen shifted to a live table, showing Ajax on 31 points, AZ Alkmaar on 27—if the result stood.

Chris: [And let’s be honest, AZ Alkmaar have played well enough to be winning this game. They’ve just been wasteful. If they don’t find that cutting edge, Ajax could start pulling away at the top] ƒrēenovelkiss.com

Rob: [And that’s where Benjamin Rijkaard comes in.]

The name brought an immediate reaction. A slow replay rolled across the screen—Rijkaard’s brief cameo in the previous games before his unfortunate injury, destabilizing defense, traumatizing defenders, stretching his legs, playing a few simple but penetrative passes.

Chris: [He’s still out on injury, hasn’t played a full match yet in the past two and a half weeks. But we know what he brings to this team.]

Rob: [Experience, control, a bit of magic when they need it. If he can play longer after full recovery, maybe he’s the one who leads AZ Alkmaar to lift a Silverware come end of the season]

The cameras switched back to the tunnel, where players from both teams were beginning to re-emerge.

Chris: [Well, the second half is moments away. AZ Alkmaar have 45 minutes to rescue this. Can they turn it around? We’re about to find out.]

***

Benjamin Rijkaard sat on his couch with one arm resting on the back of it, eyes locked on the TV screen. A half-empty water bottle sat on the table beside him.

The volume was high enough that he could hear the stadium noise—boos, chants, whistles—as the players walked back onto the pitch.

The commentators’ voices filled the room.

Chris: [The second half is underway! AZ Alkmaar trailing 1-0, but they’ve got 45 minutes to put things right.]

Benjamin exhaled, his fingers tapping lightly against his knee. He had watched every minute of this game with a tight jaw, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. He wanted to be out there. Needed to be out there.

Rob: [And look at this, AZ Alkmaar straight on the front foot. No surprises there.]

On-screen, Henriksen drove forward from midfield, spreading the ball wide to Gudmundsson. AZ Alkmaar weren’t wasting time.

Benjamin leaned forward slightly. "Good. That was good."

Chris: [You can already see the intent. They’re pinning Den Haag back, forcing them deep.]

Rob: [The key is patience. They can’t just throw bodies forward and leave themselves open at the back.]

The camera briefly cut to the AZ Alkmaar bench. Gertjan Verbeek, arms crossed, was barking instructions. Benjamin’s eyes flicked to the substitutes. He knew what the team needed.

He knew, if he was out there, he could change this game. But all he could do now was watch.

The camera followed Gudmundsson as he twisted away from his marker and drove toward the byline. He glanced up once before whipping a cross into the 18 yard box.

Chris: [Gudmundsson delivers... dangerous ball—]

Altidore lunged for it, stretching every inch of his frame, but the defender got there first, nodding it away.

Rob: [Better. AZ Alkmaar need more of that—good delivery, keep the pressure on.]

The loose ball fell to Henriksen, who didn’t hesitate. One touch, then a drive from distance—

THUMP!

It smacked against a Den Haag defender, deflecting out for a corner.

Benjamin exhaled sharply, his knee bouncing. He could see it. The momentum was shifting. AZ Alkmaar were pushing, but they needed to be ruthless.

The camera cut to Gertjan Verbeek again, standing on the edge of his technical area with his hands on his hips.

Chris: [You can see the frustration on Gertjan Verbeek’s face. His team have controlled this game, but that final touch, that final moment—it’s missing.]

Rob: [And that’s the worry, isn’t it? The longer this stays 1-0, the more Den Haag will believe they can hold on.]

The corner was taken short, quickly worked to Beerens on the edge of the 18 yard box. He faked a shot, then clipped a curling ball toward the back post—

Altidore rose and met it clean with a glancing header.

Chris: [Altidore!]

But unfortunately, it flew straight into Coutinho’s gloves.

A groan rippled through the away crowd. Altidore turned away with hands on his head, then clapped his palms together in frustration.

Benjamin leaned back, rubbing his chin. They were getting closer. The question was—when would Den Haag crack?