Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King-Chapter 332: UEL Round Of 32 Draw 1

The entire focus of everyone shifted to Nyon, Switzerland, where the Europa League round of 32 draw was set for Monday, December 17, at 6:00 PM.

In Alkmaar, Benjamin and Adam Maher gathered at Benjamin’s apartment, the clock ticking toward the draw. The living room was cozy, a red and white AZ Alkmaar scarf spread over the couch, a half-eaten pizza on the coffee table.

Benjamin flopped onto the sofa with the remote in hand, his socks mismatched—one blue, one black. Adam sat cross-legged on the floor, sipping an energy drink, his phone buzzing with teammates’ texts in their group chat.

The TV screen flickered to life, UEFA’s logo spinning against a sleek blue background, the words "Europa League Round of 32 Draw" in bold white.

Benjamin stretched, grinning. "This is it, mate. Who do you reckon we’ll get?"

Adam shrugged, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Hope it’s not Chelsea. They’re a nightmare. Maybe Genk? We’d smash them."

Benjamin laughed, tossing a pizza crust at him. "Chelsea? You scared? We’re AZ Alkmaar—we don’t back down."

Adam caught the crust, smirking. "Not scared. Just smart and truthful. You’ll see."

The broadcast began, the camera panning across UEFA’s headquarters in Nyon. A polished stage sat under bright lights, a large screen behind it flashing Europa League highlights—Altidore’s goal against Liverpool, Benjamin’s dribbles, a roaring AFAS Stadion.

Two glass bowls rested on a table, each filled with white balls, their contents hidden. A crowd of officials and media filled the room, their murmurs a low hum.

The host, a tall man in a sharp suit named Marco, stepped forward, his smile wide. "Good evening, everyone! Welcome to the UEFA Europa League round of 32 draw. I’m Marco Rossi, and we’re here to set the stage for the knockout rounds. Joining me are two special guests—former Europa League winners Luis García and Pierre van Hooijdonk!"

The crowd clapped as Luis García, compact with a graying beard, and Pierre van Hooijdonk, towering with a grin, waved.

Luis adjusted his jacket, nodding to the camera, while Pierre leaned back, hands in pockets, his eyes scanning the room. Marco gestured to the stage, his voice smooth.

"Before we start, let’s go over the process," Marco said, pointing to the bowls. "We have 32 teams—12 group winners and 4 best third-placed teams from the Champions League in Pot 1 as seeded teams. The other 12 group runners-up and 4 remaining third-placed Champions League teams are in Pot 2, unseeded. Teams from the same group or country can’t be drawn together, and group winners play the second leg at home."

Benjamin leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Pot 1, that’s us. Top spot in Group A. Means we’ve got the edge, right?"

Adam nodded, eyes on the screen. "Yeah, mate. Home second leg’s huge. We can turn any tie around at AFAS."

Marco continued, gesturing to Luis. "Luis García will draw the seeded teams from Pot 1, and Pierre van Hooijdonk will draw the unseeded teams from Pot 2. Let’s get started with the first seeded team!"

Luis stepped up, his hand dipping into the bowl. The balls clacked softly, his fingers pulling one out. He twisted it open, unfolding the paper inside, and held it up. "Benfica." freewёbnoνel-com

The screen flashed Benfica’s logo, their red and white eagle stark against a black background. Marco nodded, turning to Pierre. "Pierre, let’s find Benfica’s opponent."

Pierre reached into Pot 2, his large hand fishing out a ball. He cracked it open, his grin widening as he read. "Bayer Leverkusen."

The crowd murmured, cameras flashing. The screen showed the matchup: Benfica vs. Bayer Leverkusen. Benjamin whistled, leaning back. "Tough one for Leverkusen. Benfica’s got firepower."

Adam smirked, sipping his drink. "Leverkusen’s got pace, though. Could be a cracker."

Marco’s voice cut through. "Next seeded team, please, Luis."

Luis pulled another ball, his movements quick. "Bordeaux."

Pierre dipped into Pot 2, his fingers quick. "Dynamo Kyiv."

The screen updated: Bordeaux vs. Dynamo Kyiv. Adam frowned, setting his can down. "Kyiv’s tricky on the road. Bordeaux better be sharp."

Benjamin nodded, eyes glued to the screen. "Yeah, but Bordeaux’s got home advantage. They’ll fancy that."

The draw rolled on. Luis drew Chelsea, and Pierre paired them with Sparta Prague. The room buzzed—Chelsea’s name always stirred noise. Marco kept the pace, his smile steady. "Next up, Luis."

Luis grabbed a ball, twisting it open. "FCSB."

Pierre reached in, pulling out a ball with a quick snap. "Ajax."

The screen flashed: FCSB vs. Ajax. Benjamin laughed, clapping his hands. "Ajax! They’re in our league—they can’t face us yet. But FCSB? That’s a tough trip."

Adam grinned, stretching his legs. "Ajax will roll them. Too much quality in that team."

Luis drew again, his hand steady. "Fenerbahçe."

Pierre pulled a ball, reading with a nod. "BATE Borisov."

The matchup appeared: Fenerbahçe vs. BATE Borisov. The crowd clapped, the draw gaining steam.

Benjamin scratched his chin, the pizza completely forgotten. "Fenerbahçe at home second leg—that’s big. BATE’s got no chance."

Adam shrugged, less sure. "BATE’s scrappy, mate. They’ll fight."

The next draw came quick. Luis announced, "Hannover 96," and Pierre paired them with AZ Alkmaar. The screen updated, the room’s energy rising. Benjamin sat up straight, eyes wide, as the AZ Alkmaar logo flashed on the screen. "There we are! Hannover 96—that’s us!"

Adam punched the air, grinning. "Hannover’s tough, but we’ve got this. AFAS second leg—perfect."

Marco smiled, his voice steady. "AZ Alkmaar cannot face Ajax, as they’re from the same association, but this matchup stands. Let’s move on."

Luis reached again, his expression calm. "Liverpool."

The room buzzed louder—Liverpool’s name carried weight. Pierre pulled a ball, his grin flashing. "Zenit St. Petersburg."

The screen showed: Liverpool vs. Zenit. Benjamin leaned back, eyes narrowing. "That’s massive! Liverpool and Zenit—two giants."

Adam whistled, shaking his head. "Zenit’s got Hulk. Liverpool better be ready. Anfield second leg, though—that’s a fortress."

The draw pressed on. Luis drew Olympiacos Piraeus, and Pierre paired them with Levante. The screen updated, the crowd’s murmurs steady.

Benjamin grabbed a slice of pizza, chewing fast. "Olympiacos at home second leg—they’ll take that. Levante’s no pushover, though."

Adam agreed, his voice thoughtful. "Yeah, Levante’s got grit. Could be tight."

The next draw followed. Luis pulled Napoli, and Pierre drew CFR Cluj. The matchup flashed: Napoli vs. CFR Cluj. Benjamin grinned, nudging Adam. "Napoli’s got this. Cluj’s are out of their depth."

Adam laughed, nodding. "No contest, mate. Napoli’s too strong an opponent."