God Of football

Chapter 993: A Trend!

”We want more!!!!!!!!”

As the players broke out of their celebration huddle, the chant began, scattered at first until it became increasingly unified.

”We want more!”

A few joined in, and from there, it grew until almost the whole stadium, except the few thousand Olympiacos fans who were still in their daze, caught on.

While the Arsenal players jogged towards their half, Gyökeres turned and pointed up at the stands where it seemed all the noise had started before turning serious again, but not without glancing at the clock, which now read 00:46.

And on the broadcast, the commentator couldn’t help but laugh.

”They’re chanting for more, and we’ve only just ticked past the first minute.”

At the halfway line, El Kaabi stood over the ball again.

And for a split second, he just stared at it.

He had passed to start the game barely forty seconds ago, and now he was doing it again, except this time, the 0 on the opponent board had now turned into 1.

Shaking away his thoughts, he turned to look at the referee, who waited until the last of the players had settled before letting his whistle rip through the air once more and only then did El Khaabi nudge the ball back.

”So deadlock broke, and we didn’t have to wait that long. Now the question at the moment is how do Olympiacos react to what is looking more like a mountain of problems than a minor setback.”

The men in the gantry had done well to describe what Olympiacos were facing, but now the mountain of problems was on the move again.

Like how the first goal had come around, the front three closed in, and to the Olympiacos setup, it was trauma-inducing, because suddenly, once again, they were being strangled, making the away side feel like they were playing inside a red cage.

”They’re doing it again,” the commentator said, urgency creeping back in.

”Olympiacos have to find a way through this press again, but they’ve already failed the first time!”

They tried to, stitching scrambled passes and lucky runs together, but it lasted maybe ten seconds before a touch sent the ball running a yard too loosely, and it wasn’t ownerless for long as Ødegaard pounced.

He nicked it clean and immediately slid it into Izan, who had suddenly drifted inside that dangerous forty-yard corridor between midfield and defence, but the blitz run they expected didn’t come.

Izan just returned it on the first touch with a pass that cut through two grey shirts like they weren’t there, and Ødegaard didn’t hesitate.

He struck it low and hard toward the right corner as soon as the ball showed a clean route to goal, but his effort swerved a bit too much as it skimmed past the post on the goalkeeper’s left, sending the fans behind the goal groaning only for a second before the groans turned into applause and then cheers.

”So close!” the commentator exclaimed. ”That is inches away from two inside two minutes.”

Tzolakis, rising from his feet, exhaled sharply as the ball rolled loosely behind his goal.

He walked toward the ball boy, but not quickly.

He took his dear time, and when he took it from the kid, he held it a moment longer than necessary, scanning upfield.

He could already see the red line waiting on the halfway stripe and knew restarting meant stepping back into it, but what could he do when even the official was pointing at him to hurry?

After inwardly shaking his head, Tzolakis sent it long, and Olympiacos managed a touch this time after Dani Garcia, in a moment of brilliance, flicked the sharp ball from the keeper with a backheel to break the Arsenal press, but just as fast as it had broken, it recovered.

For a brief sequence, they strung three passes together, and that finally gave their fans something to applaud about after having been placed on the back foot for so long.

On the touchline, the Olympiacos coach stood rigid with his assistants clustered around him with tablets, gesturing, whispering adjustments that felt useless even as they said them.

”We could mark the spaces?”

”Drop deeper,” one suggested, but that got all eyes on him because where were they going to drop deeper to!

The stands?

But still, they didn’t linger too much on it because they were in a pinch, and it was really hard to think with a death sentence hanging over their heads.

A second later, the stadium noise spiked, and that got them to raise their heads from the sheets and tablets and what they saw made their intestines coil.

Izan had the ball again, gliding through the centre.

”Here’s Hernández,” the commentator said, voice sharpening. ”Taking on one... that’s one... two... and he’s gone for a third!”

The back line scrambled, retreating in a straight line, trying to hold shape, but the moment Izan stepped into the arc of the box, things felt set in stone.

”Is there a finish?” the voice in the gantry pushed as Izan drew his leg back.

The defenders stepped up together, bracing for the shot, but at the last second, he dragged the ball behind his standing leg, freezing them for half a heartbeat, then threaded a pass into the space they had just vacated and instantly, three grey arms shot into the air.

”Offside!”

But that didn’t stop Martinelli, who latched onto the ball, took one touch inside the box, and smashed it low into the bottom corner past Tzolakis’s rooted figure.

The net snapped.

The flag stayed down, and the Emirates detonated again.

”Yes, there is a finish. But it’s not Izan. It is Gabriel Martinelli!” the commentator roared.

”And it’s two! Two inside five minutes! Izan with the chance to put himself on the scoresheet, but it seems he’s not interested in that.”

Martinelli wheeled away, finger pointed straight at Izan before leaping into him.

Izan caught him clean, steadying both of them as red shirts piled in around them.

Behind them, Olympiacos players crowded the assistant referee, palms up, shouting.

One of them kept jabbing a finger toward the official on the line, while around the stadium, the Olympiacos fans made their feelings clear with the whistles.

”How isn’t that off?” they said, but as if to answer, the replay showed on jumbotrons while the broadcast cut to the replay for those at home.

The stadium and those at home watched keenly as the freeze frame appeared, and when it did, Martinelli’s shoulder was level.

Perfectly level.

”He’s on,” the co-commentator said firmly.

”He’s clearly on.”

The feed rolled again, showing the pass release and Izan’s timing immaculate.

”And so it stands. It’s two-nil,” the main commentator said, almost in disbelief. ”Five minutes gone, and this is already getting uncomfortable for Olympiacos.”

His partner came in quickly.

”And somehow, Hernández playing in that deeper midfield role feels even more unfair. He’s assisted both goals. From there.”

”This is becoming more unbecoming. Because if this is to follow what is becoming the trend in this game, what will happen at the end of the final whistle!”