Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King-Chapter 283: Substitutions

Martens skipped past one defender, then another. The crowd rose in anticipation. He slid a pass toward Altidore—

Chris: [Altidore! Can he turn?]

Altidore held off his marker, shifted the ball onto his right foot, and struck—

Blocked.

Again.

Rob: [Den Haag are throwing bodies in front of everything! AZ Alkmaar just can’t find a way through!]

The ball ricocheted off a defender’s shin and rolled toward Henriksen, who reacted quickly, hitting it first-time—

Over the bar.

A collective groan rippled through the stadium. Henriksen buried his face in his hands before jogging back into position.

Chris: [You can feel the frustration now. AZ Alkmaar have had all the ball, all the pressure, but still no breakthrough.]

Gertjan Verbeek had seen enough. He turned to the bench, waving for the changes.

The fourth official raised the substitution board. Victor Elm, Beerens and Gudmundsson off. Adam Maher, Berghuis and Jóhannsson on.

Rob: [Here we go. AZ Alkmaar are going all-out attack now. Fresh legs, fresh ideas. Can Berghuis and Jóhannsson provide the spark they need upfront?]

The game restarted with Den Haag still sitting deep. Their midfielders barely crossed the halfway line, content to let AZ Alkmaar have the ball.

Martens picked it up again, turning into space. He played it wide to Beerens, who instantly drove at his defender.

A quick step-over and a burst of pace. He created a yard of space and whipped in another cross—

Jóhannsson rose to meet it with a glancing header—

Saved!

Chris: [Coutinho again! He’s having a fantastic night!]

Jóhannsson threw his arms up in frustration as the keeper smothered the ball and stayed down, eating up precious seconds.

The referee jogged over, urging him to get up. More boos rained down on him from the kop.

Rob: [You knew this was going to happen. Den Haag will do everything they can to waste time now.]

Coutinho finally got to his feet and launched another long kick forward. Den Haag won a throw-in, taking their time to restart play.

More time wasted. More frustration building.

Benjamin shifted in his seat. He hated games like this. He hated the waiting, the time-wasting, the tactical fouls that broke the flow.

AZ Alkmaar won the ball back quickly, pushing forward again.

Maher played a clever one-two with Berghuis, slipping into the 18 yard box. He took a touch, squared it—

Jóhannsson lunged in—

Deflected out for a corner!

The stadium roared. Another chance.

Berghuis jogged over to take it, raising his hand before delivering a curling ball into the 18 yard box—

Viergever climbed highest—

Header—

Cleared off the line!

Chris: [Off the line! How close can you get?!] freeweɓnovel-cøm

Den Haag scrambled to clear, but AZ Alkmaar recovered possession immediately. They weren’t letting up.

Jóhannsson picked it up again, this time cutting inside. He curled a shot toward the far post—but it flew just wide off the post.

More groans.

Rob: [Another one goes begging. They’re getting closer, but they need to take one of these chances.]

The clock ticked past the 68th minute. Time was running out.

Den Haag made a rare foray forward, winning a free kick near the corner flag. The referee allowed them to take their time, further slowing the game down.

The ball was swung in—

Headed clear by Marcellis.

AZ Alkmaar broke immediately.

Martens surged forward, slipping a pass into space for Berghuis. The winger sprinted down the right, lifted his head, and curled an inviting cross to the back post—

Jóhannsson met it clean—

Bullet header—

Over the bar!

Chris: [Oh, that was the chance! That was the moment!]

Jóhannsson dropped to his knees, hands on his head.

Rob: [You have to hit the target from there. He knows it. The fans know it. AZ Alkmaar are running out of time.]

Benjamin exhaled sharply. His fingers tapped restlessly against his knee.

Back on the pitch, AZ Alkmaar kept pushing.

Maher danced past a challenge and slipped a pass into Berghuis inside the 18 yard box. The winger cut inside, looked up, and curled a left-footed shot—

Palmed away by Coutinho! The rebound fell to Jóhannsson and he swung a powerful boot at it—

Blocked!

The ball ricocheted wildly. Adam Maher reacted first, twisting his body to get a shot off—but it struck the side netting!

More groans. More heads in hands.

Chris: [It’s unbelievable! AZ Alkmaar are throwing everything at Den Haag, but nothing is going in!]

Rob: [You have to give credit to Den Haag. This is a defensive masterclass. They’re suffering, but they’re surviving.]

The clock ticked past 70 minutes.

Time was slowly running out. AZ Alkmaar had the possession, the shots, the chances—everything but the goal.

Den Haag were in full lockdown mode now. Ten men behind the ball, refusing to give an inch. Every clearance, every second wasted, was another small victory for them.

Gertjan Verbeek was pacing the touchline, shouting instructions. He pointed toward the left, urging his team to switch play faster.

Adam Maher responded, collecting a pass in midfield and spraying it wide to Berghuis. The winger controlled it, took on his man, and swung in another cross—

Headed away.

The second ball dropped to Martens, who nodded it back toward goal. Altidore shielded it, turned—

Shot blocked.

Again.

Benjamin clenched his fists. This was suffocating. He knew exactly how his teammates felt. The desperation. The frustration.

Chris: [AZ Alkmaar need something special. A moment of magic. But where is it going to come from?]

Den Haag weren’t just defending now; they were draining the clock at every opportunity. A goal kick took an eternity. A throw-in stretched into a full routine of time-wasting gestures.

More whistles from the home crowd.

The referee finally had enough and he flashed a Yellow card.

Rob: [About time! How long have they been wasting now? Five? Ten minutes? It’s going to be comical if they do lose this game]

But the damage was already done. The seconds kept slipping away.

Adam Maher got on the ball again. He turned sharply, gliding past a challenge. Space opened up. He went for it—

A thunderous strike from 25 Yards out—