Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King-Chapter 338: Chadli Masterclass

The first half at De Grolsch Veste was nearing its climax, with FC Twente leading 2-1 over AZ Alkmaar in a gripping Eredivisie clash.

The stadium buzzed with energy, Twente’s red-clad fans chanting relentlessly, their banners swaying in the chilly December air, while AZ Alkmaar’s traveling supporters in red and white kept their spirits high, their scarves waving defiantly.

The floodlights cast a sharp glow on the pitch, the tension palpable as both teams fought for control.

The corner from Benjamin’s play was quickly taken, the ball curling into the 18 yard box under the floodlights. Viergever rose, outmuscling Douglas, his header thumping toward the top corner, but Mihaylov leapt, his fingertips brushing the ball, tipping it over the bar.

The away fans groaned, their frustration clear, while Twente’s supporters cheered, Mihaylov’s save keeping their lead intact. The referee signaled for a goal kick, Mihaylov jogging to retrieve the ball, his chest heaving as he shouted at his defense to stay focused.

[Another big save from Mihaylov!] the lead commentator shouted, his voice sharp with excitement. [Viergever’s header was on target—what a stop!]

[He’s been a wall tonight,] the co-commentator noted, scribbling in his notebook. [AZ Alkmaar are knocking, but they can’t break through—Twente are holding firm!]

FC Twente attacked, looking to catch AZ Alkmaar off guard. Chadli picked up the ball on the left, chopping past Johansson with a quick feint. He darted inside, passing to Fer, who fired a through ball to Castaignos, sprinting past Reijnen.

Castaignos took a touch, the goal in sight, but Esteban rushed out, his arms spread, forcing Castaignos to shoot early. The shot was low, but Esteban dove, gloving it wide, the ball rolling out for a corner.

The home fans groaned, hands on heads, while AZ Alkmaar’s supporters cheered, Esteban Alvarado’s save keeping them in the game.

[What a chance for Castaignos!] the lead commentator exclaimed. [Esteban Alvarado stands tall—big moment for AZ Alkmaar!]

[That’s a huge save,] the co-commentator said, his voice sharp. [Castaignos had the angle—Esteban Alvarado’s keeping AZ Alkmaar alive here!]

The corner came, Tadić’s delivery curling into the 18 yard box, the ball hanging under the lights. Douglas rose, outmuscling Viergever, his header looping toward the far post, but Reijnen was there, heading it off the line, the ball bouncing clear.

Martens scooped it up, clearing it upfield, the danger averted. The home fans groaned, their frustration clear, while AZ Alkmaar’s supporters clapped, their defense holding firm. [Reijnen clears it off the line!] the lead commentator shouted. [Twente so close to making it 3-1!]

[Great defending from Reijnen,] the co-commentator noted. [Twente are pushing for another, but AZ Alkmaar’s backline is standing tall.]

#39th minute.

Mihaylov rolled the ball out to Wisgerhof, who took a touch, his eyes scanning the field. The keeper’s quick distribution caught AZ Alkmaar off guard, their midfield caught high up the pitch after the corner.

Wisgerhof fired a long pass to Fer in midfield, who controlled it with a soft touch, his head up, searching for options. AZ Alkmaar’s press was slow to react, Martens and Henriksen caught out of position, leaving Fer with time to turn.

He spotted Brama making a run, and with a quick flick, he rolled the ball into Brama’s path, sparking a counterattack. The home fans roared, sensing an opportunity, their chants growing louder as Twente surged forward.

[Here comes Twente on the counter!] the lead commentator exclaimed, the crowd’s energy surging. [Fer and Brama linking up—AZ Alkmaar are caught high up the pitch!]

[This is dangerous,] the co-commentator warned, his tone sharp. [AZ Alkmaar’s midfield is nowhere—Twente have numbers here!]

Brama took a touch, pushing the ball forward as he crossed the halfway line, his eyes locked on the space ahead. Johansson sprinted back, trying to close the gap, but Brama was too quick, his pass sharp, finding Tadić on the right flank.

Tadić controlled it with a deft touch, his body angled toward the sideline, Gorter charging to meet him. The winger feinted left, then chopped right with a quick step-over, leaving Gorter flat-footed, the ball rolling past him as Tadić burst into AZ Alkmaar’s half.

The home fans leapt, their scarves a blur, the noise a wall of sound as Twente’s counter gained momentum.

[Tadić is away!] the lead commentator shouted, his voice cracking with excitement. [Gorter’s beaten—he’s got space to run into!]

[Look at that skill!] the co-commentator exclaimed. [Tadić is electric—AZ Alkmaar’s defense is scrambling to get back!]

Tadić kept his head down, the ball glued to his foot as he charged toward the edge of the 18 yard box, AZ Alkmaar’s defense in disarray.

Viergever dropped back, shouting to Reijnen to cover the center, while Johansson sprinted across to track Castaignos, who was making a diagonal run. But Tadić wasn’t slowing down.

He glanced up, spotting Chadli making a darting run down the left, Schilder caught high up the pitch after AZ Alkmaar’s earlier attack.

Tadić rolled a precise pass across the field, the ball skimming the grass, finding Chadli in stride, the winger taking a touch as he raced into AZ Alkmaar’s half. The home fans roared, their chants peaking, sensing a goal.

[Chadli’s in on the left!] the lead commentator gasped. [Tadić with the perfect pass—AZ Alkmaar are stretched thin!]

[This is a clinic on the counter!] the co-commentator added, his voice rising. [Chadli’s got space—where’s the cover for AZ Alkmaar?]

Chadli kept driving forward, the ball at his feet, his speed electric as he crossed into AZ Alkmaar’s final third. Reijnen stepped up, arms wide, trying to block the angle, while Viergever shifted to cover Bulykin, who was lurking near the penalty spot.

Chadli feinted a cross, forcing Reijnen to commit, then chopped the ball back with a quick Ronaldo’s Chop, creating a yard of space.

Johansson sprinted to close him down, but Chadli was too quick, his eyes locked on the 18 yard box as he looked for options. Castaignos made a run, pulling Viergever out of position, while Bulykin held his ground, ready to pounce.

[Chadli’s got Reijnen on the back foot!] the lead commentator roared. [He’s got options—he can shoot or cross!]

[AZ Alkmaar are in trouble here,] the co-commentator warned. [Chadli’s got the beating of them—he needs to pick the right move!]

Chadli glanced up, spotting Castaignos at the far post, but Viergever was tracking him, the angle tight. Instead, Chadli kept the ball, darting inside, his quick feet leaving Johansson trailing.

Esteban Alvarado positioned himself on his line, arms spread, narrowing the angle, while Reijnen scrambled to recover, shouting for cover.

Chadli took a touch, steadying himself, the goal in sight. He swung his left foot, striking the ball cleanly, the shot low and hard, aimed for the bottom corner.

Esteban Alvarado dove, his fingers stretching, but the ball was past him, arrowing toward the net. The stadium held its breath, the noise peaking as the ball hit the back of the net, the net rippling under the floodlights.

[GOOOAAAAAALLLLLLLL!!! Chadli! 3-1—Twente extend their lead!] the lead commentator shouted, his voice echoing through the stadium. [What a counter—what a finish! De Grolsch Veste is erupting!]

[That’s pure class!] the co-commentator exclaimed, clapping his hands. [Chadli’s run, his composure—AZ Alkmaar had no answer for that! Twente are flying now!]

The home fans leapt, their red banners waving wildly, the noise a wall of sound as Chadli sprinted to the corner flag, his arms wide, soaking in the cheers.

Tadić and Castaignos joined him, their fists pumping, while Fer and Brama clapped from midfield, their counterattack executed to perfection.

On the sideline, McClaren pumped his fist, a rare smile crossing his face, while Gertjan Verbeek shook his head, his arms crossed, knowing his team had been caught cold.

Esteban Alvarado slammed the ground, his frustration clear, while Viergever shouted at his teammates to regroup, their heads dropping after the goal.

[That was end-to-end football at its best,] the lead commentator said, catching his breath. [Twente turned defense into attack in a flash—Mihaylov’s quick thinking, Fer’s pass, Tadić’s vision, and Chadli’s finish. Sublime!]

[AZ Alkmaar will be kicking themselves,] the co-commentator added, his tone sharp. [They were caught too high up the pitch—Martens and Henriksen couldn’t get back in time. Twente punished them, and now it’s 3-1. Big mountain to climb for AZ Alkmaar now!]

Fweeeee!~

The game restarted, AZ Alkmaar kicking off, their heads down but their resolve still intact. The away fans clapped, urging their team on, their chants a defiant response to Twente’s dominance.

The scoreboard flashed 3-1, the clock ticking toward halftime, AZ Alkmaar knowing they needed a response—and fast—if they were to keep their title chase alive in this tight Eredivisie clash.

The home fans were in a frenzy, their red banners waving wildly, their chants echoing through the chilly December night. AZ Alkmaar’s traveling supporters, though deflated, kept their red and white scarves raised, their voices steady, urging their team to fight back.

The floodlights cast a sharp glow on the pitch, the tension thicker than ever as the first half ticked into its final moments.