God Of football

Chapter 1034: Men With Reputations!

The roar of Izan’s name was still echoing around the Akron when he bent down and placed the ball for the corner.

One of the Uruguay players tried to sneak closer, but before he could settle, the official on the sidelines waved him over.

After that, Izan barely spent a second over it.

The moment he heard his name, he glanced up shortly before he sent the ball towards the source of the voice.

"It’s Spain, taking it short here," the commentary came through as Lamine found himself on the receiving end of the ball.

The winger received, cushioned it back first time, and spun away again before anyone could close the angle, and Izan, on the other hand, was already moving into the space the ball had settled into.

In reaction to this, Uruguay’s Olivera stepped out to meet him, and a moment was all it lasted between the two.

Behind Olivera, Lamine exploded in the opposite direction and dragged a defender with him and through this, Olivera’s eyes couldn’t help but follow instinctively.

"Just a glance," he thought, but that was one of the easiest assists Izan had gotten from the opponents all night.

That slight hesitation in not trusting his teammates to cover helped Izan slip by.

By the time Olivera reacted, trying to grab Izan, the latter came across, stopping Olivera’s reach from going any further.

Suddenly Olivera was chasing rather than defending.

"The corner isn’t over yet," Drury warned.

"Spain still have numbers forward."

After getting space both behind and ahead, Izan lifted his head and took in the scene, specifically the far side where he saw a blur of red running diagonally.

And at that moment, he made his decision as he wrapped his foot around the ball.

The cross travelled over the clustered bodies in the box and kept travelling.

Past Araújo, past Giménez and past everyone.

Then Nico Williams appeared at the far post.

"IT’S NICOOOO WILLLIAAMS!" Drury cried as the Basque winger stretched.

Seeing the scenes unfolding, the crowd behind the goal couldn’t help but rise.

For a second it looked perfect, leaving only the touch from Nico to finish it off, but then the ball kept drifting.

Nico threw everything he had at it, gathering every muscle fibre in his legs to get there, but still, he arrived a fraction late and could only watch as the ball skidded beyond him and out for a goal kick.

At that, a loud groan filled the stadium, which was a valid reaction after they had already pictured the goal in their minds.

"Oh, Spain are knocking loudly now," Drury said.

"Again and again and again, but it seems they will have to wait a bit longer to see the ball in the back of the net. As it stands now, it is still level in this fixture!"

Moreau laughed.

"On another day this game is already two-nil."

"You think so?"

"I know so," the co-commentator said as the replay flashed across the giant screens.

"The chances are there. The football is there. Every attack feels like it’s one touch away from becoming a goal."

"Yet somehow," Drury replied, "we remain level."

Muslera wasn’t interested in lingering.

After an effort from the opponents that had come so close, the Uruguayan wasn’t interested in keeping the ball anywhere near his goal.

The goalkeeper immediately placed the ball and pointed everyone forward.

As he did so, his opponents in red shirts climbed higher and higher, squeezing the space, ready to hunt the second ball if Uruguay tried playing through the pressure.

Muslera took one look at the shape in front of him and decided he wanted no part of it.

Instead, he drove the ball long.

It climbed high into the Guadalajara night, hanging there for what felt like an age as players from both teams adjusted beneath it.

A second later, the ball finally began its descent near the halfway line.

Beneath it was Valverde, who had made space for himself and when the ball got closer, he exploded upward.

The Real Madrid midfielder rose above the crowd around him and met the ball with enough force that it barely seemed to lose speed as it was redirected into Spain’s half.

"Valverde gets to it!"

The second ball landed near Bentancur, who controlled it cleanly despite Pedri arriving late on his shoulder.

With a slight touch through the legs, Uruguay were moving.

Blue shirts surged forward as they recognised the possible climax waiting for them at the end of the move.

Núñez peeled away to the right.

Viñas occupied the centre-backs, and from behind, Valverde kept running.

Spain were retreating, making sure that they closed the gaps before the Uruguayans could even use them, but there was always going to be that one opening with how fast Spain were covering their opening.

Bentancur saw that opening and slipped the ball into Núñez.

The Al Hilal striker took it with his back to goal and immediately bounced it back into the path of the onrushing Valverde without even turning.

The return pass was perfect, and Valverde didn’t break stride.

The crowd rose, but the Spanish supporters did so out of concern.

The Uruguayans because they already knew exactly what was coming.

"Oh, this is dangerous," Moreau warned as Valverde reached the edge of the box and shifted the ball onto his right foot.

Every Spanish shirt around him seemed to tense simultaneously because there were some players whose reputation called for care of the highest order.

And Valverde, with the ball at his feet from distance, was one of them.

"VALVERDE!" Moreau, this time, yelled as the strike left his foot with terrifying purity.

The ball stayed low at first before beginning to bend toward the corner with surreal pace that made Raya abandon all planning and rely on instinct.

The Spanish goalkeeper launched himself full stretch across goal, fingertips straining toward a ball that seemed determined to outrun him.

For a moment it looked impossible, but then he got something on it.

It was the slightest touch, barely visible, but it was enough.

The ball clipped his fingertips and changed course just enough before smashing into the outside of the post with a crack that echoed around the Akron.

The entire stadium reacted at once, one half groaning and the other half already celebrating, but it was soon cut short because the danger wasn’t over.

The rebound shot back into the area, and immediately, Núñez was alive to it instantly, but so was Pedro Porro.

The Spaniard threw himself across the turf and reached it a split second before the striker could arrive, hooking it clear while sliding on his side and taking a chunk of grass with him.

It was only then that Spain finally breathed.

The Uruguayan supporters didn’t care that the ball hadn’t gone in.

Their section was bouncing anyway.

They had almost reminded everyone watching that Spain weren’t the only side capable of drawing blood and that was enough for them to live on for the following minutes.

"Oh, that is a magnificent response," Drury exclaimed as play slowed for the first time in nearly a minute.

"Spain have been asking questions at one end, and Uruguay have just thundered back with one of their own."

"And that’s the warning," Moreau replied.

"You can dominate possession against this team. You can pin them back. But if you leave even the smallest opening, they have players who can turn one transition into a genuine chance."