God Of football

Chapter 958: A Job Well Done!

The whistle cut through the noise again, as the game rolled back into play.

Arsenal’s end found its voice immediately, louder than it’d been when the game started.

Not just cheers, but a steady roar that followed the ball, rising every time red shirts tried to settle it.

”And we are underway once more at Anfield,” Drury said.

”Arsenal in front, and that changes the scope of this game entirely.”

His analyst came in calmly beside him.

”It has to, Peter. Liverpool cannot wait now. If they let this drift, Arsenal will take the air out of it. They either take the initiative, or Arsenal take the three points from Anfield.”

Down on the touchline, the camera caught Arne Slot, who stood still with his arms wrapped around each other while he stared keenly as the scenes unfolded on the pitch.

There were no usual gestures or instructions like he did most of the time, but rather, his eyes told the story that he was trying to solve a problem.

”Look at Slot,” Drury added.

”A very good season for him this past season, and if it hadn’t been for Arteta and his men, he’d have most likely won the league.”

On the pitch, Liverpool tried to answer quickly.

The ball was worked to Salah on the right, the crowd lifting as soon as he turned.

He pushed the ball ahead of him and burst down the flank, Calafiori retreating and help slow to arrive.

Salah opened his body and swung in a cross that deserved more than it got.

”Good ball in,” the analyst said as Ekitike rose, unmarked for once, but the contact was all wrong.

His header climbed instead of dipped, sailing harmlessly over the bar and into the Kop as the groans rang out, before a wave of slow applause followed.

”And that,” Drury replied, ”is the frustration. The delivery is there. The moment is there. The finish just isn’t.”

Slot exhaled and looked away while Arteta, a few yards down, turned towards Martinelli before telling the latter to be proactive in defence, since most of Liverpool’s attacks were coming from his flank.

What followed was quieter, though no less tense.

Liverpool and Arsenal had more or less the same amount of the ball, with the former side pushing it side to side, probing without really breaking through.

Arsenal reacted by dropping a few yards and narrowing the space for Liverpool to work with.

Rice and Zubimendi stayed close, passing runners on without fuss while Izan drifted, sometimes deep, sometimes high, never in the same place twice, waiting for a break, but it never seemed like it was going to come since Arsenal weren’t in a hurry to win the ball back.

Fifteen minutes passed like that with little to no rush from both teams, especially Liverpool, who were a goal down and that rubbed the home fans the wrong way.

”Interesting phase here,” the analyst noted. ”Liverpool are seeing the ball, but Arsenal look comfortable with that.”

”Comfortable and patient,” Drury agreed.

”They are a goal ahead and haven’t looked like conceding once in this game.”

Afterwards, there were moments.

A half-chance when Wirtz tried to slide Salah through, only for Saliba to read it early and step in.

A corner that Van Dijk met cleanly, but straight at Raya.

A counter from Arsenal that fizzled out when Martinelli ran out of room and was shrugged to the grass by Szoboszlai, but nothing stuck in the memory from all the chances.

The crowd shifted between hope and irritation.

A groan here, a shout there.

Arsenal’s supporters, on the other hand, stayed loud, sensing that this stretch suited them.

”Liverpool needs a spark,” the analyst said. ”Something to force Arsenal into a mistake.”

”Or someone,” Drury replied, eyes following Izan as he jogged back into midfield. ”But I doubt he’d do something like that!”

Just before the half-hour mark, Arsenal began to turn the screw once more.

A simple switch of play dragged Liverpool across after Rice took a touch, looked up, and recycled it calmly.

Zubimendi offered himself, and so Izan checked toward the ball, pulled Gravenberch with him, then let it run.

The ball moved right where Timber received it near the touchline, body open with time to think.

”And here comes Timber,” Drury said, voice lifting slightly as the Arsenal right-back took his first touch forward.

The Liverpool setup did well this time, snapping into a shape that would squeeze the Arsenal right back should he still try to progress.

So Timber slowed his run just enough to draw the press, then stepped away from the ball and left it for Madueke without even looking.

Madueke took it in stride and went immediately, pushing the ball ahead of him with his right foot, head down, shoulders pumping as the space ahead kept unravelling itself.

And in the space was Kerkez, who stood ready.

He did not dive in.

He tracked him, matching his pace and angling his body toward the touchline, forcing Madueke to think instead of sprint.

”Good defending,” Drury noted. ”Kerkez refusing to be rushed.”

Madueke tried once to knock it past him, felt the resistance, and checked back again.

The crowd groaned, then lifted again as he slipped the ball inside rather than forcing it.

Izan was already there, arriving on the half-turn with Gravenberch tight behind him like a second skin.

The touch that followed felt almost careless.

Almost.

Izan nudged the ball forward, just enough to invite Gravenberch in, then rolled it clean through the Dutchman’s legs as the breath around the stadium hitched.

Gravenberch swung a leg back in frustration, catching Izan’s ankle.

There was a split second where it looked like he would go down, but he did not.

Izan stumbled, arms flaring instinctively, but his balance held.

He dragged the ball left with the outside of his boot, away from Wirtz, who had stepped in expecting the loose touch.

”Oh, he is not letting go,” Drury breathed. ”He should be on the turf.”

Izan straightened, turned his body toward his own half, shoulders relaxed, head lifting as if to recycle possession.

Liverpool bit, with Wirtz slowing down, MacAllister relaxing, and Van Dijk taking a step forward, but the pause lasted less than a heartbeat.

Then Izan exploded the other way.

He spun off his left foot and drove to the right, sudden and violent with the ball looking like it had been glued to his feet.

Shirts scrambled while the crowd surged with him, a wave of sound following his run.

He slipped the pass early, threading it out wide to Martinelli before the gap could close.

”Here they come again,” Drury said, voice climbing. ”This is Arsenal in full flow.”

Martinelli took one touch to set himself and looked up, but after seeing the view he didn’t like, he clipped the ball back toward the edge of the box, a measured return that invited something special.

The Liverpool backline reacted with that, moving forward ever so slightly as Izan met it on the move, and instead of striking, he scooped it.

A delicate, chip-like curl that arced just over the first defender and dipped into the heart of the area.

It was not aimed at goal, but at belief, one that somebody would get there, and Gyökeres did.

He took two powerful steps, planted, and rose above everyone.

Van Dijk jumped with him, but the Swede was already climbing, arms spread for balance, neck tense.

When his forehead met the ball, there was no doubt.

He hammered it down and across Alisson, the net snapping as it hit.

Anfield froze for a fraction of a second.

Then it erupted.

”Two!” Drury roared. ”Two for Arsenal at Anfield, and once again it is irresistible.”

Gyökeres landed, turned, and went straight for Izan.

He wrapped both arms around the youngster and dragged him toward the corner flag, laughing, shouting something lost in the noise while pointing at Izan.

Izan grinned, breathless, letting himself be pulled along as white and maroon flooded in around them.

”That is brutal,” the analyst said. ”Absolutely brutal. Liverpool are undone by patience and quality.”

Martinelli arrived next, thumping Gyökeres on the chest while Rice followed, clapping hard, nodding toward Izan.

The camera cut to the touchline where Arteta had both arms around two members of his staff, pulling them close in a brief, tight embrace.

He stepped away almost immediately, clapped his hands together, and applauded toward the pitch.

”That,” Drury said more softly now, ”is the mark of a team that knows exactly who it is.”

The celebration broke up as the referee ushered them back, citing that their celebration was taking too long.

Gyökeres gave Izan a final squeeze before jogging away, while Izan walked closer to the touchline, pointing at Odegaard, who was clapping and smiling with Arteta.

The ball was placed back at the centre while Liverpool gathered themselves, but Arsenal stood taller now and more assured, that just maybe, the job might be done with.