Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King-Chapter 318: All Square At Halftime

The AFAS Stadion pulsed with raw energy, the crowd’s chants a relentless drumbeat as the 40th minute ticked over. Udinese clung to their 1-0 lead, Willians’ strike still stinging AZ Alkmaar.

The floodlights gleamed, casting long shadows as players sprinted across the slick pitch, every touch heavy with intent.

Elm scooped a loose ball, firing it wide to Benjamin. The winger took off, boots chewing turf, and his eyes locked on Basta. The Udinese wing-back edged closer, stance low, wary of another trick.

Benjamin slowed, ball rolling under his foot, then exploded forward with a quick step-over. Basta lunged, arm swinging, but Benjamin was gone, darting toward the 18-yard box.

Tony’s voice surged. [Benjamin’s away! He’s got Basta chasing shadows!]

Jack clapped, mic crackling. [That’s vintage stuff, Tony! Kid’s tearing it up!]

Benjamin weaved inside, Domizzi charging to meet him. The winger feinted left, then chopped right with Ronaldo’s Chop, slipping past and into the 18 yard box like a ghost.

Domizzi, desperate to prevent a goal, slid in, his boot clipping Benjamin’s shin. The winger stumbled, arms flailing, and hit the grass hard.

Fweeee!~

The whistle pierced the air.

Tony gasped. [Penalty! Ref’s pointing to the spot!]

Jack roared, voice electric. [Clear as day, Tony! Domizzi’s done him—Benjamin’s earned it!]

The stadium erupted, red and white scarves swirling. Domizzi jumped up, arms wide, shouting at the referee, but the official waved him off, pointing firmly to the spot.

Gertjan Verbeek punched the air, a rare grin breaking through. Benjamin stood, brushing dirt off his shorts, nodding to Altidore, who grabbed the ball and jogged to the penalty mark.

Jack’s tone buzzed. [Altidore’s taking it, Tony. Big moment for the big man]

Tony leaned forward, voice tight. [Got to stay cool, Jack. This could change everything]

Altidore placed the ball, eyes fixed on Brkić. The keeper bounced on his toes, arms waving, trying to rattle him. The crowd held its breath, a sea of anticipation.

Fweeee!

The whistle blew. Altidore ran up, struck it hard—low, aiming for the left corner.

CLANG!~

The ball cannoned off the post with a sickening clang, spinning back toward the edge of the 18 yard box.

Tony groaned. [Off the post! No way!]

Jack’s voice spiked. [It’s not over, Tony—look!]

Henriksen, hovering near the half circle, reacted like lightning. He sprinted, meeting the rebound with a first-time strike.

His boot connected clean, the ball rocketing past Brkić’s dive, smashing into the top corner. The net bulged, and the stadium exploded, fans leaping, voices breaking.

Tony shouted. [Goal! Henriksen! AZ Alkmaar are level!]

Jack laughed, mic shaking. [What a hit, Tony! He’s blasted it—Brkić’s got nothing!]

The scoreboard flicked to 1-1, 42nd minute. Henriksen sprinted to the corner, arms wide, teammates piling on. Altidore, shaking off the miss, joined the huddle, clapping Henriksen’s back.

Gertjan Verbeek’s arms stayed crossed, but his nod said enough. Guidolin kicked the turf, barking at Domizzi, who shook his head, grass staining his shorts.

Jack chuckled, still buzzing. [From agony to ecstasy, Tony. Henriksen’s bailed out Altidore there]

Tony exhaled, warm. [That’s a lifeline, Jack. Benjamin’s run, Henriksen’s finish—AZ Alkmaar are right back in it]

The game restarted, Udinese rattled but regrouping. Pinzi collected, passing short to Badu, who tried to drive forward. Elm snapped in, winning it back, and fired a pass to Martens. The captain darted through midfield, slipping it to Berghuis on the right.

The winger cut inside, past Armero’s lunge, and crossed low. Danilo intercepted, booting it clear, but the home fans roared, sensing blood.

Tony’s voice lifted. [AZ Alkmaar are buzzing now, Jack. They’ve got the momentum]

Jack’s tone matched him. [Udinese are wobbling, Tony. This crowd’s lifting them]

#45th minute.

The fourth official signaled two minutes added.

AZ Alkmaar pushed hard. Benjamin picked up a loose ball, slithering past Willians with a quick Snake-Bite. He aimed a curler toward the far post, but Brkić leaped, fingertips brushing it wide.

The corner came quick—Benjamin’s delivery dipped, but Benatia rose, heading clear.

Jack whistled. [Brkić’s keeping Udinese in this, isn’t he?]

Tony’s voice was tense. [He’s got to, Jack. AZ Alkmaar are knocking loud]

Udinese countered. Armero broke down the left, outpacing Marcellis. His cross was sharp, Di Natale peeling off Viergever.

The striker’s volley was low, but Alvarado sprawled, gloving it wide. The corner fizzled—Gorter headed clear, and the whistle loomed.

Tony exhaled. [Alvarado’s standing tall. What a half]

Jack’s voice was warm. [End to end stuff, Tony. That penalty miss could’ve killed AZ Alkmaar, but Henriksen’s got them level]

Fweeee!~ Fweeeee!~

The whistle blew for halftime.

Players trudged off, Benjamin wiping sweat, muttering to Martens. Di Natale jogged to the tunnel, head high, Willians beside him.

Gertjan Verbeek clapped his squad, urging them on, while Guidolin gestured sharply, calling his defenders over.

Tony leaned back, mic off for a moment. [Gertjan Verbeek’s got to love that fightback, Jack]

Jack nodded, sipping water. [He’ll want more, Tony. Benjamin’s their spark—second half’s going to be a cracker]

The crowd buzzed, replays of Henriksen’s screamer flashing on the big screen. Fans in red and white chanted, while Udinese’s pocket of supporters waved their scarves, undeterred.

Replays of Henriksen’s thunderbolt flickered on the big screen. The scoreboard read 1-1, AZ Alkmaar clawing back from Willians’ opener, but the air crackled with the promise of more.

In the commentary booth, Tony adjusted his headset, his voice steady but alive. [What a half, Jack. We’re level at 1-1, and this game’s got everything—goals, drama, a missed penalty. Where do you start?]

Jack leaned forward, mic close, a grin in his tone. [Start with Benjamin, Tony. That kid’s run for the penalty—pure magic. He’s got Udinese’s defense on strings]

Tony nodded, though no one saw. [He’s the spark, no doubt. That chop on Domizzi—textbook. But Altidore’s got to be kicking himself. That penalty miss could’ve changed the game]

Jack chuckled, sipping water. [Could’ve, but Henriksen said, ’Hold my beer.’ What a strike to level it. Top corner, no messing about]

The screen flashed Willians’ goal, the ball kissing the post before nestling in. Tony’s tone shifted, analytical. [Udinese’s goal, though—classy from Willians. Badu’s pass split AZ Alkmaar open like a knife. Gertjan Verbeek’s got to fix that midfield gap]