Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King-Chapter 328: Second-half Begins

The De Kuip’s roar faded to a hum as the halftime whistle echoed, AZ Alkmaar leading 1-0. The floodlights still blazed, but the pitch lay empty, players disappearing down the tunnel. In the commentary booth, Jon adjusted his headset, glancing at the replay screen showing Altidore’s goal, while Rob scribbled notes, his coffee steaming.

[Jon leaned back, voice warm. That was a proper half, Rob. AZ’s got the edge, but Feyenoord’s not lying down. What’s Verbeek telling his lads right now?]

[Rob chuckled, pen tapping. He’s probably telling Benjamin to keep skinning Janmaat, Jon! But they’ll need to tighten up—Pellè’s a whisker away. Koeman’s got to fire up Feyenoord, too.]

In AZ Alkmaar’s dressing room, the air was thick with sweat and focus. Lockers clanged as players slumped onto benches, water bottles squirting. Verbeek stood at the center, clipboard tucked under his arm, his face stern but calm. Benjamin wiped his brow, leaning forward, while Altidore sat, shin guards loose, nodding as Verbeek’s voice cut through.

Verbeek pointed to a whiteboard, Feyenoord’s 4-3-3 sketched in red. His finger jabbed at Clasie’s name. "He’s their heartbeat. Maher, Henriksen, crowd him—don’t let him turn." He glanced at Benjamin, eyes narrowing. "You’re killing Janmaat. Keep running at him, but get back when they break." Benjamin nodded, cracking his knuckles, picturing another chop past the right-back.

Altidore raised a hand, wiping sweat. Verbeek turned, nodding. "Jozy, you’re winning duels, but stay sharp—Mathijsen’s reading you. Use your pace, not just strength." Altidore grinned, tapping his boots, the goal still buzzing in his veins. Viergever sat quietly, ice on his knee, but his eyes were locked on Verbeek, absorbing every word. The coach clapped, sharp. "One goal’s not enough. We push, we finish them. No slacking."

The room stirred, players straightening, murmuring agreement. Henriksen slapped Benjamin’s shoulder, both sharing a quick grin. Esteban, sipping water, shouted, "Come on, let’s bury them!" The squad laughed, tension easing, but their eyes stayed hard, ready for the second half.

Across the tunnel, Feyenoord’s dressing room crackled with urgency. Koeman paced, his voice sharp, hands slicing the air. Players sprawled on benches, shirts soaked, Pellè leaning back, towel over his head. Clasie sat forward, hands clasped, while Boëtius bounced his knee, itching to run again.

Koeman stopped, pointing at Janmaat, his tone biting. "Daryl, you’re letting Benjamin waltz past you. Step up, get tight, don’t dive in." Janmaat nodded, jaw tight, wiping grass from his shorts. Koeman turned to Clasie, softening slightly. "Jordy, you’re running it, but we need quicker balls to Graziano. He’s got Reijnen rattled." Pellè pulled the towel off, nodding, his eyes glinting with hunger.

The whiteboard showed AZ’s setup, blue lines marking their wingers. Koeman tapped Benjamin’s name. "He’s their spark. Vilhena, Immers, double up on him—don’t give him space." Vilhena cracked his knuckles, still stinging from the offside call, while Immers muttered agreement. Koeman’s voice rose. "We’re one goal down, not dead. De Kuip’s behind you—use it. Get that equalizer, then we crush them."

Pellè stood, clapping his hands, his voice booming. "Let’s go, boys! We’re not losing here!" The room erupted, players shouting, fists bumping. Boëtius grinned, tossing his water bottle, while Clasie’s calm nod hid a fire. The squad rose, boots clacking on the floor, ready to storm back out.

Back in the booth, Jon sipped water, watching the tunnel on the monitor. [What do you reckon, Rob? Verbeek’s probably telling AZ to keep the pedal down, but Koeman’s got to light a fire under Feyenoord.]

[Rob nodded, grinning. Spot on, Jon. Koeman’s tearing into Janmaat, I bet—Benjamin’s giving him nightmares. But Pellè’s so close. If Feyenoord get one, this place’ll explode.]

The players emerged, Feyenoord first, Pellè leading, his stride purposeful. Clasie jogged beside him, muttering, eyes fixed on the pitch. AZ Alkmaar followed, Benjamin stretching his calves, Altidore clapping his hands, hyping up Viergever. The De Kuip roared back to life, scarves waving, the second half looming like a storm.

[Jon’s voice surged. Here they come, Rob! De Kuip’s ready to blow—AZ lead 1-0, but Feyenoord’s got 45 minutes to turn it around!]

[Rob’s tone buzzed. This is it, Jon! Benjamin’s got Janmaat on toast, but Clasie and Pellè are hunting. I’m sticking with 2-2—buckle up!]

Minute 46. Feyenoord kicked off, Clasie tapping to Immers. The midfielder fired it wide to Verhoek, who sprinted past Gorter, his boots chewing grass. Viergever stepped up, intercepting the cross, but the intent was clear—Feyenoord meant business. Esteban rolled it quick, sparking an AZ break. Maher passed to Benjamin, who darted down the left, chopping past Janmaat with a step-over.

[Jon’s voice lifted. Straight into it, Rob! Benjamin’s picking up where he left off!]

[Rob clapped, mic shaking. Janmaat’s in for a long half, Jon! Feyenoord need to shut him down!]

Minute 48. AZ Alkmaar pressed. Benjamin slipped it to Altidore, who wrestled with Martins Indi, firing low. Mulder dove, palming it wide. The corner came—Benjamin’s delivery curled, but Mathijsen headed clear, sparking a Feyenoord counter. Clasie fed Boëtius, who sprinted, chopping past Johansson, but Reijnen’s tackle was clean.

[Jon gasped. Altidore’s hunting, Rob! Mulder’s keeping Feyenoord alive!]

[Rob’s voice buzzed. Six saves, Jon! This game’s a keeper’s paradise!]

Minute 50. Feyenoord pushed back. Vilhena passed to Pellè, who held off Reijnen, laying it back to Clasie. The midfielder darted forward, slipping past Henriksen, and fired from 20 yards. The shot sailed high, but the crowd roared, scarves waving, sensing a shift. Koeman clapped from the touchline, urging more.

[Rob’s voice sharpened. Clasie’s turning it up, Jon! Feyenoord’s coming alive!] frёewebηovel.cѳm

[Jon’s tone tightened. AZ need to track him, Rob! De Kuip’s lifting them!]

Minute 52. AZ Alkmaar struck back. Martens fired a long ball to Berghuis, who sprinted down the right, outpacing Nelom. His cross was sharp, Altidore rising, but Mathijsen matched him, heading clear. The ball landed with Immers, who broke, feeding Verhoek. His shot sailed wide, clipping the boards.

[Jon’s voice lifted. Berghuis is lively, Rob! Mathijsen’s standing tall!]

[Rob chuckled. Feyenoord’s not backing down, Jon! This is wide open!]

The match crackled, Feyenoord’s hunger clashing with AZ Alkmaar’s pace. Benjamin tormented Janmaat, while Pellè tested Viergever’s resolve. The De Kuip roared, every moment a spark, the scoreline still 1-0 but ready to ignite.

AZ Alkmaar held their 1-0 lead, Altidore’s first-half strike still the difference, but Feyenoord’s hunger for an equalizer kept the match on edge. The floodlights gleamed, the pitch a blur of sprinting boots and crunching tackles.

Feyenoord pushed forward. Clasie scooped a pass to Boëtius, who darted down the left, outpacing Johansson. His cross was low, Pellè lunging, but Viergever slid, deflecting it to Esteban. The keeper rolled it quick, sparking an AZ break. Benjamin took off, chopping past Janmaat with a Snake Bite, the away fans roaring.

[Jon’s voice surged. Benjamin’s at it again, Rob! Janmaat’s chasing shadows!]

[Rob clapped, mic crackling. He’s unstoppable, Jon! Feyenoord can’t handle him!]

Minute 56. Benjamin crossed, aiming for Altidore, but Mathijsen headed clear, the ball landing with Immers. The midfielder broke, feeding Verhoek, who sprinted past Gorter. His shot was fierce, but Esteban dove, gloving it wide. The corner came—Clasie’s delivery curled, but Reijnen nodded it out.

[Rob whistled. Esteban’s sharp, Jon! Verhoek’s so close!]

[Jon’s tone tightened. AZ’s hanging tough, Rob. Reijnen’s a rock back there.]

Minute 58. AZ Alkmaar countered. Henriksen won a loose ball, firing it to Martens. The midfielder darted forward, slipping it to Berghuis. The winger cut inside, past Nelom, and curled a shot toward the top corner. Mulder leaped, fingertips brushing it wide. The corner fizzled—Martins Indi headed clear.

[Jon gasped. What a save, Rob! Berghuis is knocking!]

[Rob’s voice buzzed. Mulder’s on fire, Jon! Seven saves now!]

Minute 60. Feyenoord struck back. Vilhena passed to Pellè, who held off Reijnen, laying it back to Clasie. The midfielder’s through ball found Boëtius, who fired low. Esteban sprawled, gloving it wide. The crowd roared, scarves waving, as the corner came to nothing—Viergever headed clear.

[Rob’s voice surged. Boëtius is dangerous, Jon! Esteban’s standing tall!]

[Jon exhaled. Close one, Rob! AZ need to plug those gaps!]

Minute 62. AZ Alkmaar pushed hard. Maher slipped it to Benjamin, who danced past Janmaat with a step-over. His cross was sharp, Altidore rising, but Mathijsen intercepted, booting it to Clasie. The midfielder broke, feeding Immers, whose shot sailed high, rattling the boards.

[Jon’s voice lifted. Benjamin’s running riot, Rob! Mathijsen’s just holding on!]

[Rob chuckled. Feyenoord’s fighting, Jon! Immers is swinging!]

Minute 64. Feyenoord kept pressing. Clasie fired a long ball to Verhoek, who sprinted past Gorter. His cross was low, Vilhena darting in, but his shot rolled to Esteban. The keeper sparked an AZ counter, rolling it to Henriksen, who passed to Altidore. The striker fired, but Mulder dove, palming it wide.

[Rob’s voice surged. End to end, Jon! Both sides are going for it!]

[Jon’s tone buzzed. Pure chaos, Rob! This is Eredivisie at its best!]

The match stayed electric, Feyenoord’s physicality clashing with AZ Alkmaar’s pace. Benjamin tormented Janmaat, while Pellè tested Viergever’s grit. The De Kuip roared, every near-miss a spark, the scoreline still 1-0 but teetering.

[Rob leaned forward, grinning. This is why we’re here, Jon! No one’s backing down!]

[Jon nodded, mic close. AZ’s got the lead, Rob, but Feyenoord’s not done. It’s anyone’s game!]