God Of football

Chapter 1058: What's Next!

The final instructions had barely left Roberto Martínez's mouth when the room began to move again.

"Lastly, keep the distances tight. I don't want you giving them too much time to think on the ball because that is going to work against us if they do."

Martínez looked around the room one last time, making sure every player was listening before continuing!

"And if anyone feels something, anything at all, you tell us. Don't hide it."

The players nodded sparsely as the manager ended his speech, then glanced at his watch a second later.

"Good. Now let's go out."

Chairs scraped against the floor as the players began gathering their things.

Martínez remained where he was for another moment, watching them with his arms folded.

They had played well in the first half, better than many had expected, perhaps.

Portugal had found ways through Spain's press, Ronaldo had scored already, and the midfield had managed to keep Rodri and Pedri from taking complete control.

There was still another forty-five minutes, but the feeling in the room was difficult to ignore.

This could be their day.

Martínez looked toward the dressing-room door, then back at his players.

Then he shook his head and let out a quiet breath.

"Maybe heaven helps us."

In the opposite dressing room, Izan had just made his way out when a shoulder bumped into him!

"That Mendes guy is annoying."

Izan, hearing that, blinked and looked over!

Lamine had appeared beside him, his shirt stenched with sweat from the first half's battle!

"You just noticed?" Izan said sarcastically, but Lamine didn't notice it!

"How could I not?" Lamine frowned.

"Every time I get the ball, he's there."

Izan smiled, shaking his head before looking ahead!

"Then stop giving him the fight he wants."

Lamine looked at him, annoyed by how Izan gets when it comes to matters like these.

"Stop acting like some old man froma novel and explain what you mean?"

"Just cut into the midfield when you get the ball and stop facing him head-on."

"And you think he wouldn't be expecting that too."

"It's not about him expecting it. It's about you getting ahead of whatever he is trying to get over you.

If you keep cutting inside, it renders him prepared for you to do that again, and that is when you lay it off or just cut back outside again towards the touchline."

Lamine listened as Izan pulled the armband snug against his arm and then kept talking.

"You're trying to beat him every time you get the ball. Don't. He's stronger than you, and right now he's matching you for pace. Make him choose between following you inside and protecting the flank."

Lamine nodded, before shaking his head, another annoyed look replacing the brooding one that had been on his face a few seconds ago.

"You don't have to repeat yourself."

"I'm glad I don't."

"I've already figured that out."

"Good for you."

The two joined the stream of players, both Portuguese and Spanish, filing toward the tunnel.

There, they waited for a minute before the official came back again, beckoning them forward.

By the time Izan and Lamine stepped outside, the sound outside the stadium had visibly changed!

There was much more than vigour in the chants because the fans realised what stage they were in at the moment!

Forty-five minutes stood between both teams and the quarter-finals, and everyone inside AT&T Stadium seemed to understand that the next half was what everything was banking on!

Their songs became more aggressive, and their jumps began shaking the stadium more and more.

Down on the pitch, the players crossed toward their respective halves, exchanging the occasional glance as they went.

Izan walked toward the centre circle and stopped over the ball that had been placed by the match official!

The stadium announcer's voice rolled through the speakers, welcoming the fans back to the second half, and what followed was another eruption from the crowd.

High above the pitch, Clive Tyldesley waited until the noise had settled enough for his microphone to pick him up.

"Well, we've had everything in the opening forty-five minutes."

Ally McCoist gave a short laugh.

"That's putting it mildly."

"Portugal have scored one courtesy of Ronaldo, and Izan has produced one of the goals of the tournament."

"And neither side has looked remotely comfortable."

Tyldesley glanced toward the players taking their positions.

"Both teams will want to play cautiously without becoming passive. A single goal can make all the difference at this stage of the game."

McCoist nodded in agreement.

"That's the key. They've got to keep playing. Both teams are too good to sit back against each other for forty-five minutes."'

"And Spain?"

"They need to get Izan into the game more. He's been dangerous whenever they've found him, but there have been long periods where they've played around him."

Tyldesley smiled.

"That sounds like a fairly dangerous problem to have."

"It is for Portugal, but they should just focus on their side of things and leave everything up to chance!'

Down the pitch, the referee checked his watch for the last time.

While he did, Izan glanced around for the last time.

Then the whistle sounded, and when it did, he quickly rolled the ball back to Dani Olmo and immediately sprinted into Portugal's half.

The second half had begun.

For several minutes, neither side gave the other enough room to settle until Portugal's first serious move arrived through the left.

"And now Portugal have won the ball back."

Nuno Mendes received it near the touchline and immediately moved inside before finding Vitinha.

The midfielder barely turned, but he could already feel the pressure hitting into his back.

So, instead, he opened his body and whipped a left-footed pass toward João Félix without taking a first touch.

Olmo, who had been looking to get the ball quickly, changed his objective and began sprinting back as João Félix took a touch, but very soon he paused because that touch was all the winger needed.

He knocked the ball beyond Pedro Porro and accelerated after it, slipping past the defender's reaching hand as the Portuguese supporters rose around the stadium.

Porro turned and chased, legs pumping in hopes of getting to Félix, who was moving like he had a diesel engine for a heart.

Eventually, Porro could only watch as the winger drove toward the byline before firing a vicious cross across the six-yard box.

Unai Simón came and so did Ronaldo.

Both men contested the ball, with Unai trying to pluck it out of the air while Ronaldo tried to get his head to it, but the delivery was too fast for either.

The ball flashed across the face of goal and continued toward the far side.

"Neither get to it, but the ball is still alive!" the commentary roared as the ball looked like it was going out, but Pedro Neto reached it before it crossed the line.

Before he could even spin around, Rodri immediately pointed backwards.

"Get back! Get back!"

The Spanish players standing idle immediately snapped out of their daze and began setting up the defence well, and by the time Pedro Neto spun, Marc Cucurella was already there.

The two had shared a dressing room at Chelsea only months earlier.

Now they were shoulder to shoulder, fighting for territory.

Cucurella, familiar with Pedro's antics, followed immediately after the latter feinted right, knowing the latter liked the byline more than anything in his life, but this time the Spaniard got the short end of the stick when Neto immediately chopped back toward the corner of the penalty area and created half a yard.

And before Cucurella could recover, the cross came low.

"Ball's in," Clive narrated on the broadcast, but it didn't get anywhere!

Laporte read it perfectly and stepped in expertly, clearing the ball before it could get to its intended target!

"Good defending from Laporte," McCoist judged as the ball travelled into midfield, where Pedri chased it down.

It was dropping directly toward João Neves, and Neves tried to control it.

It looked routine and most definitely was, but by some miracle, the ball struck his shin and bounced back instantly in the direction of the Spanish half.