Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King-Chapter 304: Pressure

Alkmaar tried to gather themselves. The restart was hesitant—short to Martens, who tried to turn but was immediately smothered by Henderson.

[They look rattled now, Peter.]

[That goal’s done more than level the score. It’s shaken the whole structure.]

Ball won back. Liverpool again. Downing skipped past Henriksen like he wasn’t there. He squared up Viergever. Little feint left, touch right.

[Too easy.]

Viergever stuck out a leg. Foul.

[That’s cynical.]

Free kick, twenty-five yards out, slightly left of centre. Gerrard was already placing the ball.

[You know what he’s thinking.]

[He’s done this before.]

Alvarado crouched low, lining his wall, shouting. One hand up. Eyes never left Gerrard.

[Here comes the captain.]

The whistle blew.

Gerrard whipped it, right-footed, curling over the wall—and thudding off the crossbar.

[OH!]

Alvarado had dived full stretch but wouldn’t have got there.

[That’s rattled the frame!]

[It’s raining fire now.]

AZ Alkmaar scrambled the rebound clear. Barely. Martens punted it long, anywhere. Benjamin chased, but Agger had the legs.

[That tells the story, doesn’t it?]

[No control. Just survival instinct.]

John adjusted his mic as the noise around them swelled again. Liverpool had smelled blood, and now they wanted the whole thing.

[You have to feel for AZ Alkmaar. They’ve defended like lions.]

[But now they look... tired.]

[And Liverpool? Like sharks in water.]

The Reds came again. Downing through the centre this time. He slid it right to Johnson, overlapping, surging.

[Johnson’s been flying down that side.]

He squared it low. Skrtel was still up—yes, Skrtel, the centre-back turned striker—backheeled it toward goal.

[Audacious!]

Blocked. Martens slid in, took the hit, stayed down.

[He’s taken one for the team.]

The referee blew for a stoppage. Trainers ran on.

[That might help AZ Alkmaar, though. Just a moment to breathe.]

Peter nodded, leaning closer to his monitor.

[Even that won’t be enough if they don’t get their shape back.]

Martens was up again, wincing but waving the bench off. The ball was returned. Liverpool didn’t argue. They restarted with Gerrard, straight back to work.

[No charity tonight.]

Ball zipped into Henderson, who laid it off first-time to Downing.

[Look how tight they are now. One-touch, two-touch, gone.]

Downing shaped to shoot but faked. Elm bit. Downing slipped it through to Suárez again—

[He’s on the turn!]

Not this time. Alvarado was off his line like a sprinter, smothering at his feet.

[Brave goalkeeping. Again.]

The ball bounced loose. Benjamin was there first, cleared it. Long.

[He’s done his job today. Not many teenagers can say they held off Skrtel and Agger for an hour.]

But it came straight back. Gerrard to Sterling. Sterling to Johnson. Another cross—low, dangerous.

[They’re knocking. And knocking. And knocking.]

John rubbed his hands together.

[You feel like the door’s going to come off its hinges.]

The crowd knew it. You could hear the intake of breath every time Liverpool entered the final third.

Then—finally—a break.

A wayward pass from Henderson. Too much on it. Out for a throw-in near AZ Alkmaar’s dugout.

[That’s rare. But maybe... just maybe that’s a crack.]

Berghuis jogged over to take it. No rush, but not stalling. AZ Alkmaar needed something. Anything.

He threw it to Martens, who laid it back. Henriksen shifted it wide to Berghuis, who hadn’t been seen in an attacking position in twenty minutes.

[They need to show some ambition. This can’t be one-way forever.]

Berghuis floated one up the line. Benjamin made a run. Just beat Johnson to it. Cut inside.

[Go on, lad.]

Flicked it to Martens, who danced away from Lucas and played a reverse ball—

[Berghuis! In behind!]

Touch, shoot—

[OH!]

Side netting.

The away fans had started to rise. They sat back down.

[You’d think that went in.]

[Me too. My heart skipped.]

Peter smiled. "It’s something, though. Signs of life."

Back came Liverpool.

[Relentless, this.]

Gerrard again, threading passes. Sterling drifting central now. The patterns were hypnotic. AZ Alkmaar chasing shadows.

[They’re so fluid, John. Gerrard’s playing quarterback out there.]

Ball switched left to Downing. He waited for the overlap. Suárez didn’t make one—he wanted it to feet.

Downing obliged.

Back to goal, Suárez took it, turned—

[Oh, he’s rolled him!]

He’d left Elm behind. One step into the 18 yard box. Then another.

[Not again...]

He shot. Hard. Near post.

Alvarado didn’t move.

[HIT THE POST!]

It clanged, flew across goal and out the other side.

[It’s still 1-1, somehow.]

[But for how long?]

Time ticked to the 57th minute.

Rodgers called for a change. Joe Allen stripped his jacket off. More legs in midfield.

[Smart sub. They don’t want to just draw here.]

AZ Alkmaar responded with Gudmundsson, fresh legs on the flank. Benjamin came off to applause.

[He’s run himself into the ground.]

The Icelandic winger brought energy. Immediately he was in, pressing Johnson, winning a throw.

[That’s what they need. Little sparks.]

Throw to Martens. He slipped. Recovered. Played back to Henriksen—who misjudged the bounce.

[Downing’s in!]

He stole it. Off and running. No one ahead of him but green space.

[They’ve got to foul him. Stop the break!]

Too late. He drove forward, thirty yards. Pulled it wide to Suárez.

[Here we go again.]

Suárez squared it to Sterling—

[Sterling!]

But Berghuis slid across, perfectly timed, knocking it away.

[Heroic.]

[Last-ditch stuff, but effective.]

AZ Alkmaar were clinging on. Every second longer they stayed level, belief crept back in.

[You’ve got to admire them. This is like holding back a flood with a bucket.]

59th minute now. Martens again. Still chasing. Still probing.

He laid it off to Gudmundsson. A quick touch. And then—

[He’s going for it!]

From distance. Why not?

It curled. Dipped. Reina backtracked—

[OH HE’S HIT THAT CLEAN!]

Reina flung himself—

[TIPS IT OVER!]

[WHAT A STRIKE!]

AZ Alkmaar won a corner. Their first in what felt like an hour.

[This could be it. One chance. One delivery.]

Martens jogged over. Hands on hips. Breathing hard.

He lifted his arm. The signal.

Whipped in—back post—

[Viergever rises!]

Header! Goalward!

But Skrtel got a body in the way. It ricocheted.

[Still alive!]

Martens swung a boot. Blocked. Gudmundsson! Saved!

[REINA WITH A REACTION STOP!]

Peter stood up now, hands on his head.

[My word. That could’ve been it.]

[That should’ve been it.]

AZ Alkmaar weren’t done. They smelled a chance now. A taste of something more.

[The game’s flipped again. Just like that.]

John grinned. "This isn’t football anymore, Peter."

"No?"

"It’s chaos."

62 minutes. Liverpool came once more. Tired legs. Heavy touches. But still pressing.

Downing. Allen. Sterling. All probing.

One pass too many. AZ Alkmaar broke again.

[This is turning into a slugfest.]

Martens to Gudmundsson. Long ball. Berghuis chasing. He reached it. Played across the 18 yard box—

[ANYONE THERE?]

Ball skipped across the 18 yard box—too far for Martens, too fast for Henriksen.

[Agonising.]

[That needed just a toe.]

Reina collected and bowled it out quickly. Liverpool weren’t waiting. The tide turned again. End to end. Heart in mouth.

[No one’s settling now. It’s a storm.]

Peter leaned forward, fingers tapping his notes but eyes fixed on the screen.

[You can feel it, John. One goal and this whole place explodes.]

Liverpool worked it wide. Sterling again. Allen made a decoy run. Sterling kept it.

[He’s dancing now.]

Little touches, little feints. A drop of the shoulder. Henriksen hung on by his studs.

[Still going!]

Ball clipped toward the near post—Suárez lunged—

[OFF THE BAR AGAIN!]

It bounced down, right on the line—no goal given!

[THAT’S MILLIMETRES!]

Alvarado snatched it up like it was his own child.

[How? How is that not in?!]

[Goal-line tech might’ve had something to say.]

Replay showed it—bar, bounce, spin. Never fully over.

[Unreal.]

Alvarado launched it long again. Like a boxer on the ropes, AZ Alkmaar punched back.

Gudmundsson brought it down. Skipped past Lucas. Cut inside.

[He’s got something about him.]

He laid it off. Martens again. From twenty yards—

[STRIKE!]

Blocked.

Rebound. Henriksen tried. Charged down.

[They’re throwing themselves at it now. Everyone’s a defender.]

Peter shook his head.

[You forget who’s the underdog here.]

63 minutes. Still level. Somehow.

AZ Alkmaar pressed again. Another corner won.

[One moment, John.]

[This could be it.]

Martens, every step now heavy, approached the flag. This time it was short—Berghuis, touch back, whipped in early.

[That’s clever.]

Ball dipped near post—Viergever again!

[HEADER—]

Over the bar.

[He’ll be seeing that in his sleep.]

[He rose so well. Just couldn’t keep it down.]

Liverpool restarted quick. No pause. No let-up.

Downing, now on for Sterling, looked sharp. First touch into space. Shifted right to Johnson.

Overlap. Cross.

Suárez again!

[Saved!]

Alvarado, hands firm, body behind it.

[He’s been colossal.] freewebnøvel.coɱ

[Man of the match?]

[Even if they lose, he might still be.]

The game refused to breathe.

Martens, exhausted but unbowed, threaded a pass to Gudmundsson. Touch and go. He broke the line.

[Is he on?]

Flag stayed down.

[HE’S THROUGH!]

But Reina was off his line—quick, brave.

[That’s smart keeping.]

Gudmundsson clattered into him. No malice. Just momentum.

They both stayed down a moment. Then slowly got up.

[Even the grass looks tired now.]

Back the other way. Liverpool came again.

Downing found Suárez.

[He’s everywhere.]

He drifted wide. Waited. Played it back.

Gerrard.

Touch. Look up. Shot from distance.

[It’s dipping!]

Over.

[He’s trying to write the script again.]

John laughed. "It’s starting to feel like the last page of a thriller, isn’t it?"

Peter nodded.

"And no one knows how it ends."

AZ Alkmaar slowed things now. Just slightly. Maher dropped deep, trying to dictate. One-two with Henriksen. Shift wide to Gudmundsson. He cut in—

[Again?]

Tried his luck. Left-footed.

Blocked.

Skrtel thumped it clear.

Sterling picked it up and danced. Slipped past Maher. Threaded a gorgeous ball—

[Suárez is free!]

Just wide. Inches.

Alvarado shouted. Screamed. Gestured. His voice hoarse now, but still leading.

[What a war this is.]

AZ Alkmaar pushed higher. Not reckless. But brave.

Ball wide. Berghuis again. Inside. Finds Martens.

He turned. Spotted Gudmundsson making a diagonal run. Played it—

[It’s inch perfect.]

The winger ran onto it, squared across—

[Altidore!]

Sliced it.

[Oh no.]

Peter slapped the desk.

[That was it.]

John exhaled, long and low.

[One pass. One strike. That’s football.]

Liverpool took the goal kick quick. It was non-stop.

Allen, Sterling, Downing. Fast feet.

[They’re trying to blitz the way through.]

Suárez again. Ball to feet. One step. Shot.

Saved.

Alvarado again.

He dropped, held it, stayed there a moment.

[He’s milking it.]

[Wouldn’t you?]

The ref gestured to move. He did. Eventually.

AZ Alkmaar still in it. Still dreaming.

Berghuis won another throw.

They kept possession. Calm, precise.

Benjamin spread it wide. Henriksen again. The menace.

Cut in. Edge of the 18 yard box.

[He wants it.]

But he didn’t shoot.

He played it short. Martens. Square ball.

Berghuis.

First-time effort—

[BLOCKED! AGAIN!]