Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King-Chapter 307: Offense Is The Best Defense 1

A tug. A trip.

Fweeee!

[Another foul!]

[He’s causing chaos every time he gets near the ball.]

This one was farther out—thirty-plus yards. AZ Alkmaar played it short. Kept it.

Time ticked.

[They’re not in a rush. They’ve done their job.]

[Now Liverpool have to find theirs.]

Minute sixty-seven.

Suárez dropped deep to find the ball. Suso overlapped. He took it, cut inside, laid it off.

Sturridge again.

He jinked. Juked. Then poked it forward to Downing.

Downing hit the byline—crossed hard.

Blocked.

Corner.

Gerrard trotted over. Placed the ball. Raised a hand.

[They’ve scored so many from set-pieces this season.]

[It would be the perfect time.]

The 18 yard box filled with red shirts. Skrtel jostled near the far post, while Agger edged closer to the near. Suárez lingered just outside the penalty arc, eyes locked on the curl.

Gerrard whipped it in.

[It’s a good ball—]

Agger rose.

—but Altidore met it first, towering above the crowd to nod it away.

Not far.

Only to Suso. He took one touch and then struck the ball.

Blocked.

The rebound skidded to Allen. He shaped for the volley—

—but Martens was there, sliding in, blocking with his thigh and spinning the ball out toward touch.

[Still alive!]

Johnson darted in to keep it from going out. He backheeled it, sharp and low, keeping it in play for Suso again.

[Pressure now. Liverpool turning the screw.]

Suso crossed, but it floated too close to Alvarado. The keeper rose above the mess, punched it clear with both gloves.

And Benjamin was there.

Again.

He controlled it on his chest, turned in one smooth motion, and darted toward the sideline.

[He’s not done, is he?]

[Surely not again.]

But he didn’t sprint. Not this time. He slowed, glanced back over his shoulder, and picked his pass.

A diagonal one. Long and skipping. Straight to Adam Maher.

Maher didn’t rush. He slowed it down. Waited. Gestured for teammates to come forward.

AZ Alkmaar had weathered it—for now.

[That was smart, Peter. He knew the legs were heavy after that free kick. Knew when to push, and when to pull it back.]

[You’d forget he’s seventeen.]

[Then he does something like that—and you remember. Because no one else would’ve tried it.]

Liverpool pressed again. High. Hungry.

Gerrard pushed up. So did Johnson. So did Allen.

The middle opened.

Maher spotted it.

[Here we go—look at this space.]

He laid it off to Henriksen, who drove forward.

The ball zipped to Martens. Martens squared it, sharp and flat—

—and there was Benjamin again.

Hovering at the edge of the 18 yard box.

He feinted to receive, drew Gerrard in, then let the ball roll through his legs.

Johnson bit. Too hard.

Benjamin took it on the spin, inside the right channel.

[He’s dancing!] freewebnoveℓ.com

He cut it back with the outside of his foot, searching for Altidore.

Agger stretched and got a toe in.

Cleared.

But only just.

[That was close.]

[They’re living on the edge here, John.]

Suárez screamed for the ball. His hand waved wildly as he dropped deep again.

Skrtel hit it long.

Too long.

[They’re forcing it now.]

Alvarado let it bounce harmlessly into his arms. He held it. Waited. Walked slowly to the edge of the 18 yard box.

Boos rained from the Kop.

[They’re winding the clock now.]

[And Liverpool are letting them.]

Time slipped. Minute seventy.

Liverpool kept pushing. But the bite was dulled.

The edge—gone.

Benjamin walked now. Tired, but alert. He pointed, called for the midfield to slide. His mouth moved constantly—words for Maher, then Martens, then the back line.

[He’s leading now.]

[That’s the thing. You don’t just play like that—you become something after a performance like this.]

[It’s more than just a goal.]

Martens trotted over, tapped Benjamin on the back, whispered something with a grin.

Benjamin didn’t smile.

Just nodded.

Then jogged back into position.

Brendan Rodgers paced. Arms folded. Eyes darting. He barked for Henderson. A change coming.

[They’re going to need something fresh.]

[They need a spark. Something to unsettle AZ Alkmaar.]

But AZ Alkmaar looked settled.

Too settled.

Altidore dropped into the half-space, muscling Skrtel again. Won another foul. Another few seconds off the clock.

The referee held his whistle longer this time. Then blew. Soft. But clear.

Fweeee!

[Another one.]

[That’s game management.]

And Benjamin went over again.

To the ball.

[Oh, is he taking this too?]

[Not shooting from here.]

[No—but he might have something.]

He placed it quickly. A glance. Then flicked it out wide, perfectly into the path of Adam Maher, who hadn’t even started running yet.

Maher smiled. Took the hint. Jogged onto it, forced Downing back.

Then stopped. Killed it. Looked for the corner.

The fans screamed. The tempo died.

[This is clever.]

[This is brutal.]

The crowd roared in frustration. But the seconds ticked on.

Gerrard pressed. Won it back.

Turned.

[Can he drag them out again?]

He played it quickly to Johnson. Johnson to Suárez.

Suárez to Sturridge.

A flick. A turn.

Sturridge broke into the box.

AZ Alkmaar closed in.

The crowd rose.

But Stijn Schaars slid low—perfect timing. Took ball and man, clean. The ref waved play on.

[Oh that’s massive.]

[Absolutely vital.]

The crowd groaned again. Suarez threw his arms up, appealing, but the ref shook his head.

And again, AZ Alkmaar didn’t rush.

Back to Alvarado. A slow walk. A bounce. Another.

Liverpool kept coming.

They had to.

Suso tried to spark something. He danced across the midfield, cutting left and right, dragging defenders. He found Allen, who found Johnson, who whipped in a high one.

Too high.

Altidore rose again, nodding it clear.

Maher collected. Turned.

And again—Benjamin was off.

[He’s running again—!]

[He’s got fuel left?]

Down the left, past the halfway line.

Johnson chased. But the legs were heavy now. His sprint had dulled.

Benjamin slowed—looked up.

And cut inside.

[He’s done it again—]

Martens flew forward, calling for it. Benjamin found him. One touch. Then back to Benjamin on the overlap.

The crowd shifted nervously. You could feel it.

He reached the byline, crossed it low and hard.

Agger stuck out a foot.

Cleared. Just.

But the message was clear.

AZ Alkmaar weren’t done.

Not yet.

[They’re still looking for a third.]

[That’s the best defense—keep them busy at the other end.]