Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King-Chapter 337: Twente Sting Fast

[Oh, it’s wide!] the lead commentator gasped, his tone a mix of disbelief and awe. [Altidore buries the chance, but it’s off the post—how close was that?!]

[So close for AZ Alkmaar!] the co-commentator sighed. [Altidore had the goal gaping—he’ll be kicking himself for that miss. What a counter that was!]

Mihaylov jumped up, shouting at his defense, his face red as he pointed to the gaps they’d left. Douglas and Wisgerhof exchanged a glance, their chests heaving, knowing they’d been let off the hook.

On the sideline, Gertjan Verbeek clapped his hands, urging his team to stay focused, while McClaren shook his head, his arms crossed, aware of how dangerous AZ Alkmaar’s counter had been.

Benjamin jogged back, his head down, while Altidore stood for a moment, hands on hips, staring at the post that had denied him.

[That was end-to-end stuff,] the lead commentator said, catching his breath. [AZ Alkmaar showed their pace on the break—Benjamin and Altidore were electric!]

[Twente got away with one there,] the co-commentator added. [They were caught napping—AZ Alkmaar will feel they should be ahead. But that’s the fine margins in this league!]

The game continued, the score still 1-1, both teams knowing the next goal could be decisive in this tight Eredivisie clash.

#25th minute.

FC Twente took the lead. Brama won a loose ball in midfield, passing to Chadli, who chopped past Johansson with a quick feint. He squared it to Bulykin, who fired low from 15 yards, the ball sneaking past Esteban Alvarado’s glove.

GOOOAAAAAALLLLLLLL!!!~

The stadium erupted, Twente’s fans jumping, their red banners waving wildly. [Goal! Bulykin! 2-1—Twente take the lead!] the lead commentator roared. [Chadli’s magic, Bulykin’s finish—De Grolsch Veste is rocking!]

[That’s what Twente can do,] the co-commentator said, his tone sharp. [Chadli’s creativity, Bulykin’s power—AZ Alkmaar’s defense switched off there.]

AZ Alkmaar didn’t back down. In the 38 minute, Martens scooped a pass to Berghuis, who sprinted down the right, outpacing Schilder.

His cross was sharp, Benjamin meeting it with a volley at the back post, but Mihaylov dove, tipping it onto the post. The ball bounced back, Altidore lunging, but Douglas cleared it off the line.

The away fans groaned, hands on heads. [Oh, so close!] the lead commentator gasped. [Benjamin’s volley—Mihaylov’s save, Douglas’s clearance—Twente are hanging on!]

[That’s brilliant defending,] the co-commentator noted. [Mihaylov’s on fire tonight—AZ Alkmaar are knocking, but they can’t find the net.]

#30th minute.

AZ Alkmaar’s traveling supporters, though outnumbered, kept their chants steady, their red and white scarves a defiant splash of color in the stands.

FC Twente pressed their advantage, looking to capitalize on their momentum of a goal lead. Fer fired a long ball to Tadić, who controlled it on the right flank, his first touch smooth.

He darted past Gorter with a quick feint, cutting inside, his eyes locked on the 18 yard box. Chadli made a run, pulling Reijnen out of position, while Bulykin hovered near the penalty spot, ready to pounce.

Tadić’s pass was low and sharp, aimed for Chadli, but Viergever stepped in, his interception clean, the ball rolling to Johansson, who cleared it upfield. The away fans clapped, their relief echoing, while Twente’s supporters groaned, sensing a missed opportunity.

[Solid defending from Viergever again!] the lead commentator exclaimed, his voice steady. [Tadić and Chadli linking up, but Viergever’s reading the game so well!]

[He’s been immense tonight,] the co-commentator added. [Twente are piling on the pressure, but AZ Alkmaar’s backline isn’t budging—yet.]

AZ Alkmaar tried to settle, Johansson passing to Martens in midfield, who took a touch, glancing up for options. Twente’s midfield closed in fast, Brama and Fer pressing high, forcing Martens to turn back.

He rolled the ball to Henriksen, who shielded it from Chadli, his body strong, before firing a pass to Gorter on the left. Gorter pushed forward, but Rosales tracked him, sliding in with a clean tackle, the ball going out for a throw.

The home fans cheered, Rosales pumping his fist, while Gorter dusted himself off, jogging to the touchline.

[Twente are pressing high now,] the lead commentator noted. [They’re not giving AZ Alkmaar any time on the ball—Rosales with a good challenge there!]

[That’s what McClaren wants,] the co-commentator said. [They’re up 2-1—they want to keep AZ Alkmaar pinned back and hit them again.]

#35th minute.

AZ Alkmaar fought back, refusing to let the game slip away. Adam Maher picked up the ball in midfield, shrugging off Brama with a quick turn. He spotted Benjamin making a run down the left, Rosales caught high up the pitch.

Maher’s pass was inch-perfect, the ball sailing over Fer, landing at Benjamin’s feet. The young winger took a touch, chopping past Schilder with a step-over, his speed electric as he charged toward the 18 yard box.

The away fans roared, scarves waving, their chants growing louder.

[Benjamin’s on the move!] the lead commentator shouted, the excitement building. [He’s got Schilder on the back foot—Twente’s defense is stretched!] novelbuddy-cσ๓

[Look at that speed!] the co-commentator exclaimed. [Rosales is nowhere—Benjamin’s got a chance to create something here!]

Benjamin kept driving, Douglas stepping up to meet him, arms wide to block the angle. Wisgerhof shifted to cover Altidore, who was lurking near the penalty spot, while Berghuis made a late run on the right, unmarked.

Benjamin feinted a cross, forcing Douglas to commit, then chopped the ball back, creating space. He squared it to Altidore, who took a touch, steadying himself, the goal in sight.

Mihaylov rushed out, narrowing the angle, but Altidore fired low, the shot skimming past the keeper—only for Wisgerhof to slide in at the last second, the ball deflecting out for a corner.

The away fans groaned, hands on heads, while Twente’s supporters cheered, Wisgerhof’s block a lifeline.

[Oh, what a block from Wisgerhof!] the lead commentator gasped. [Altidore thought he had it—Mihaylov was beaten, but Wisgerhof saves the day!]

[That’s heroic defending,] the co-commentator added, his tone full of admiration. [Wisgerhof threw himself in there—Twente are hanging on!]