God Of football

Chapter 1045: Man On A Higher Pedestal!

If Austria had hoped halftime might slow Spain down...

Those hopes disappeared almost immediately after the restart.

Barely four minutes into the second half, Lamine collected possession near the right touchline once again.

This time again, Lamine followed him and so did another defender.

Lamine welcomed both and dragged them toward the corner before rolling the ball backwards through the space that had already opened as a result of the duo’s decision to follow him, and Pedro Porro sprinted straight through it.

The latter reached it in stride before driving a low finish beyond Schlager to make it two-nil on the night for Spain, right as the commentary on the broadcast and the celebrations cued.

”This Spain side simply refuses to ease into halves. They’ve come out exactly as they ended the first. And Austria have been punished again.”

”They’re not even at full strength,” the co-commentator replied, ”but they are running away with this.”

As if it couldn’t get any more depressing, Austria, after the restart, once again ran the ball into a Spanish offside while eagerly seeking a response and from there, it looked like kids running after adults.

Austria pressed, chased and fought, but it just wasn’t enough.

By the hour mark, movement along Spain’s touchline drew louder cheers than anything happening on the pitch.

Izan had risen from the bench.

The excitement from that almost made the noise in the stadium reach a crescendo, and on the sides, Izan wasn’t even warming up properly.

It was mostly walking and stretching lightly, yet every step he took was followed by another swell of noise from the Spanish supporters.

The television cameras couldn’t resist.

One cut found a section of jubilant Spain fans while the next landed on several Austrian supporters wearing expressions that bordered on resignation.

”They know what could be coming,” Drury smiled.

”And judging by those faces...”

”...they’d rather he stayed seated.”

Before De la Fuente could even send him on, Spain struck again as Cucurella surged beyond halfway before slipping a measured pass inside.

There, Oyarzabal met it first time and guided his finish into the far corner to make it three for Spain and still no response from Austria.

”Surely,” Drury declared, ”that seals Spain’s passage into the Round of Sixteen.”

”There’ll be no way back from here.”

Only then did the fourth official raise his electronic board, and when he did, Lamine Yamal came off to applause as Izan Hernández Miura replaced him.

Oyarzabal departed moments later alongside him as Ferran Torres entered.

Another ovation greeted Izan as he settled on the right flank.

”He finally arrives,” said the co-commentator.

”And even with the score where it is, everyone still expects something.”

Austria certainly did.

Within minutes, Izan drifted toward the left wing and demanded the ball.

Laimer followed once more, still somehow relentless after being dragged the whole game by Yama, but this time too, he almost immediately regretted it.

One sharp touch carried Izan forward while another froze the defender.

He tried turning but couldn’t, and so he did the only thing he could do at that point.

Laimer reached instinctively for the waistband of Izan’s shorts just to stop himself being left behind entirely, and while a man desperately clung on, the crowd laughed.

”So much for easing himself into the game,” Drury chuckled.

Moments later, Izan received possession again, and this time, he shaped his body as though driving toward the byline.

Laimer committed, but that was the wrong choice as Izan exploded inside instead.

The ball slipped cleanly through Laimer’s legs before Izan nudged it beyond the covering defender with the outside of his boot.

The Spanish fans rose.

They had watched Izan so much that they knew when greatness was coming, and it looked almost certain when Izan used another touch to skip past a third player to nudge the ball into space and from that point on, he never looked up again.

His left foot whipped through the ball from outside the area, sending it spinning wildly into the air as Schlager launched himself, but he never reached it.

He could only watch as the ball went past him and buried itself inside the far corner to make it a fourth for Spain on the night.

”There it is!” Drury shouted as Izan, after scoring that wonder of a goal, just pumped his fist slightly while his mates converged on him.

”He hasn’t been on the pitch long...”

”...but now he’s on the scoresheet as well!”

”Goal number seven,” his partner added, ”and for now, the Golden Boot leader stands alone. What an entrance from the bench.”

After that, Austria retreated.

Almost every outfield player dropped inside thirty yards of their goal.

They hadn’t been able to touch even the ankles of the Spanish team, so damage limitation had become the objective, but even that proved impossible.

Late in the game, Izan drifted centrally before threading a perfectly weighted pass between two exhausted defenders.

Ferran Torres ran onto it and finished calmly beyond Schlager, flipping the 4 on the scoreboard into five, and this time, Drury almost sounded sympathetic.

”You suspect Austria never imagined it would become this. They competed bravely for an hour.”

”And then Spain reminded everyone exactly why they’re favourites.”

Moments later, the referee brought the contest to an end as the Spanish players embraced one another before applauding their travelling supporters.

Austria’s players stood scattered across the pitch, their World Cup journey over.

Some were in tears, most even because, despite them knowing how hard it was for them to make it through, it still hurt.

The cameras eventually settled on Izan as he exchanged shirts near the halfway line with Wanner, who’d come on only moments ago, a show of sportmanship as the commentary continued on the broadcast.

”Another goal,” Drury said, ”and seven for the tournament, meaning with that, Izan Hernández Miura becomes the highest-scoring teenager in World Cup history.”

”The record Pelé set in 1958 with six goals... has finally fallen.”

His co-commentator smiled as the image remained fixed on the young Spaniard.

”And remember...That’s from just two starts. Imagine the numbers if he’d played every minute like most of his competitors.”

”La Roja are through, but Spain’s next challenge changes everything.”

On the broadcast, a little graphic shifted into a banner before eventually covering the whole screen as Spain’s next game showed.

Spain vs Portugal.

At that, Cristiano Ronaldo’s image appeared opposite Izan’s.

”For all we’ve said about Izan...”

”...the next round brings one of the greatest footballers the game has ever seen.”

”If Spain want to keep marching toward this World Cup...”

”...they may have to overcome the man who, to most, still stands on a higher football pedestal than anyone else, except maybe the man from Rosario!”

The camera lingered one final moment on Izan before fading away as the latter made his way into the tunnel!

The Round of Sixteen action was next.

...

CRISTIANO RONALDO WILL RETURN FOR GOD OF FOOTBALL!

STAY TUNED!