Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King-Chapter 311: Ruled Out

Alvarado’s clearance wasn’t neat. It swirled and dipped through the night sky, more hopeful than precise.

Skrtel let it bounce.

Big mistake.

Benjamin was on his bike before anyone reacted. He slipped in behind, let the ball drop over his shoulder, and poked it ahead with his toe.

[He’s in here.]

[He’s got a step on Skrtel.]

Skrtel recovered quick. One long stride. Then two. He slid—desperate.

Too late.

Benjamin chopped it left, into the 18 yard box. The angle was tight, but he still went for it. Quick release. Low and hard.

Reina didn’t dive.

He stuck out a leg—reflex.

The ball clattered off his boot and skidded across the six-yard box.

Altidore lunged.

Missed it by a stud.

[Ohhh!]

[That’s massive. Huge chance.]

The groans from the away bench were audible. Adam Maher spun away in frustration. Martens threw his head back.

Benjamin dropped to his knees, fists clenched. He’d done everything right. Just no finish.

Reina didn’t celebrate. Just yelled. Arms waving. Ordering.

Liverpool reacted instantly.

Johnson took it forward. Quick throw. Allen darted inside, laid it off to Henderson, who passed to Suso.

Suso didn’t slow. He turned and fed Suárez between the lines.

Suárez touched it once. Then again. He beat his man and burst through the middle.

[He’s not done.]

[Look at the urgency now.]

Sturridge made a diagonal run. Suárez waited. Then slipped it into space.

Perfectly timed.

Sturridge reached it. One touch to steady. One to shoot.

Across goal.

Past the keeper—but wide.

[No way.]

[He’s dragged it.]

Sturridge stared at the turf. Mouth open. He knew.

Suárez didn’t shout. He just walked away, hands on his hips.

[That’s another one gone. That’s two golden ones in two minutes.]

Minute eighty-one.

Both benches stood now.

Brendan Rodgers, pacing. Gertjan Verbeek, fists on hips.

The crowd roared again. Tired throats, hoarse and cracked—but still believing.

AZ Alkmaar went long again.

This time, Agger won the header. Powerful. Direct. Right back into midfield.

Downing dropped in, controlled it on his chest, and danced around Martens with a little drag-back.

[He’s silky, isn’t he?]

[Glides through traffic.]

Downing pushed forward. Slipped a ball wide to Sturridge, who had hugged the touchline.

Sturridge took it in stride, darted down the right, and cut inside, jinking past Adam Maher. He played a one-two with Suarez, then tried to cut through the middle—but Henriksen intercepted.

One touch. Then a long pass forward.

Benjamin came alive.

He sprinted into the space behind Johnson, checked his shoulder once, then again. The ball took a small bounce—he controlled it with his chest, then brought it down smoothly.

[Here we go.]

[Look at him. Just look at him go.]

Johnson tried to recover. Too slow.

Benjamin darted past him, then feinted inside. Henderson stepped in. Benjamin spun. Quick as a blink. Left foot, right foot—both moving as one.

He skipped through a gap that barely existed.

The crowd rose.

One-on-one now.

Agger stepped up. Benjamin slowed. The ball barely moved. Just a toe-tap.

Agger shifted left—Benjamin went right.

Gone. Into the 18 yard box.

Still going.

Skrtel came flying in.

Benjamin cut back—Skrtel slid past.

[He’s dancing in there.]

[This is magic.]

The keeper came out.

Benjamin didn’t panic.

He waited. Let Reina close the gap.

Then lifted it—soft and smooth—over him.

The net rippled.

GOOAAAAALLLLLLLL!!!~

He wheeled away, arms stretched wide, running toward the corner flag. Teammates chased him, roaring.

The away end erupted.

But then—

The whistle pierced the air.

But clear.

Fweeeee!

Confusion.

The referee jogged toward the touchline, one hand raised. Talking the linesman. Then pointed back.

Foul in the buildup.

Henriksen had shoved Sturridge in the back before the pass.

[Oh no.]

[He’s ruled it out.]

Boos. Cheers. Groans.

All at once.

Benjamin stood still. Arms still out. Frozen.

Martens approached the ref, arms open, shaking his head.

AZ Alkmaar’s bench exploded—staff out of their seats, arms flailing.

Brendan Rodgers turned toward the fourth official, clapping slowly. Sharp. Deliberate.

[You’ve got to be kidding.]

[You just don’t want to see that kind of moment chalked off.]

Benjamin finally turned back. Slow walk. No complaint. Just disbelief.

He mouthed something to Altidore as he passed.

Suárez, walking back for the restart, tapped Benjamin on the shoulder. No words. Just respect.

The game restarted quickly. Liverpool wasting no time.

Minute eighty-four.

The mood shifted again.

Gerrard dropped deep to collect from Reina. Passed short to Skrtel, who played it wide to Sterling.

Sterling turned, ran at his man. He skipped past one challenge. Got tripped.

Free kick.

Thirty yards out. Left side.

[Good position, this.]

[He’ll go for goal.]

Gerrard stepped up.

Whistle.

He struck it hard.

It dipped early, skipped off the turf—

—and bounced inches wide of the far post.

Alvarado didn’t move. Just watched.

[That was sneaky.]

[Keeper had no chance if that’s on target.]

AZ Alkmaar reset again.

Martens, eager to make up for the foul, dropped deep to start the move.

He passed it inside to Maher, who sent a long diagonal to the opposite flank.

Benjamin received again.

This time, he didn’t sprint.

He waited.

He looked around. Then touched it back to Henriksen.

AZ Alkmaar were in no rush now.

But Liverpool pressed. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

Allen stepped up. Then Henderson. The ball was forced wide. Then out.

Liverpool throw.

Johnson took the throw quickly. Straight to Allen, who shifted it forward to Suso. The Spaniard let it roll across his body, turned, and flicked it back into space for Sturridge.

Sturridge took off.

One touch. Then another. He exploded down the line, skinning Martens for pace.

[He’s electric.]

[Fresh legs. Could be the key here.]

The crowd rose with him.

Sturridge reached the byline and chopped the ball back toward the six-yard box.

Gerrard arrived. Late run.

He met it.

But his left-footed shot flew high. Just over the bar.

Groans again.

[That’s his moment. He usually buries those.]

[You could see what he wanted—just leaned back.]

Alvarado jogged to the ball, wasting seconds. He placed it down and waved his team forward.