God Of football

Chapter 164: Relentless Griezmann

”And Valencia are on the counter here. The Atlético men are trying to track back but it’s fruitless.” The commentator spoke.

Diego Simeone shouted from the touchline urging his men to get back but it wasn’t easy.

Izan on the other hand, threaded a perfectly weighted through ball to his sprinting teammate down the right flank before sprinting ahead.

The counterattack now had Atlético scrambling. Their defenders, still recovering from their own offensive foray, struggled to regain shape.

Izan, not content to sit back, continued his run into the box, anticipating the return pass. Fran Pérez who had the ball, saw a few Valencia bodied in the box and decided to cross.

The cross came in low and fast, slicing through Atlético’s defence but it was blocked. The ball went loose outside the box and Izan met it first-time with his left foot, a calculated strike aimed for the bottom corner.

The goalkeeper, diving full stretch, could only graze the ball.

The Valencia players were ready to mob Izan, but suddenly a foot was stuck out changing the trajectory of the ball.

The culprit was none other than veteran defender, Cesar Azpilicueta who had displayed his quick thinking by going behind Oblak.

The away fans screamed in delight but they were not out of the danger zone yet since the ball had gone out for a corner.

Izan stood momentarily, hands on his hips, a look of determination etched on his face. He jogged toward the corner to take the set piece, the home crowd roaring louder in anticipation.

The Mestalla held its breath as Izan placed the ball at the corner flag. With a quick glance toward the crowded penalty area, he raised his hand to signal his intent.

Seeing as everything was good, Izan decided to take the corner. With pinpoint precision, Izan curled the ball towards the near post with pace and venom.

Cenk, rising above the Atletico defence, met the ball with a thunderous header that seemed destined for the top corner. Oblak was rooted to the spot, his view obstructed by the sea of bodies in the box.

Just as the ball seemed certain to ripple the net, Atlético’s Barros launched himself into action. Positioned on the goal line, he executed a spectacular overhead clearance, the ball barely scraping past the underside of the crossbar as it soared back into play.

The Mestalla erupted in a mixture of groans and applause, acknowledging the sheer brilliance of Barros’ intervention.

Izan clenched his fists, already preparing for the next assault.

”Valencia has been the more threatening side, controlling 65% of possession and firing seven shots on target compared to Atlético’s three. Atlético’s defence is holding, but for how long? Valencia is knocking on the door, and a breakthrough seems inevitable.” The commentator said as Valencia started another attack.

As the match went on, the stadium roared with life as the clock ticked into the 68th minute. Atlético Madrid pressed relentlessly, searching for an opening against a Valencia side that had been attacking fiercely all evening.

The ball pinged back and forth in midfield, a chaotic rhythm of desperation and determination, until a misplaced pass from Valencia’s captain, Gaya sent the crowd into a collective gasp.

Javi Guerra tried to take control of the ball but Antoine Griezmann pounced. Like a predator sensing weakness, Griezmann intercepted the ball with precision, his footwork a mesmerizing blend of grace and urgency.

He spun away from his marker, his eyes scanning the pitch. Valencia having a taste of the same fast-break football they had been playing all evening scrambled to recover, but Griezmann was already surging forward, a scarlet blur slicing through the lines.

Every step carried weight, every second stretched thin. The away crowd’s roar morphed into a low, guttural hum, thick with anticipation.

Griezmann played a quick one-two with teammate, Alvaro Morata, the ball gliding seamlessly between them like a shared secret.

Near the edge of the box, he feinted left, sending a defender sprawling, and opened up his body. With his left leg, Griezmann sent a glorious effort towards goal.

The strike was clinical—low, hard, and unerring as it kissed the inside of the post before nestling into the back of the net behind the outstretched hands of Marmadashvili.

The commentator’s voice cracked with emotion as the net bulged for the second time that night.

”Antoine Griezmann again! He’s unstoppable tonight! A moment of magic from the Frenchman, and Atlético Madrid take the lead—2-1 against Valencia after a dominant performance by the latter.”

The replay rolled as the commentator dissected the brilliance.

”Look at this—he picks up the ball just outside the box, feints to shoot, sends two defenders sliding the wrong way, and then—bam! What a finish! Low and hard, right into the corner. No chance for the keeper.”

The energy in the stadium was electric, a cauldron of red and white jubilation echoing through the night sky.

”It’s goals like these that remind you why Griezmann is one of the best in the world. The composure, the precision, the sheer artistry.

Valencia will be kicking themselves; they’ve worked so hard tonight, but Griezmann’s quality has turned this game on its head.”

As the camera panned to Griezmann, his arms raised triumphantly towards the roaring Atlético fans, the commentator added, ”That’s his second of the night, and it’s a dagger to Valencia’s hopes. Can they find a way back, or is this Griezmann masterclass the final say?”

Valencia had been the dominant side but Atlético had struck when it mattered and were now in the lead.

The away section of the stadium erupted in a cacophony of cheers and groans.

Griezmann sprinted to the corner flag, arms outstretched, his face alight with triumph.

Behind him, the Valencia players stood frozen, shadows of men caught in the storm.

Izan stood among them, rooted to the spot. His hands rested on his hips, his head tilted back slightly.

His chest heaved, a smile on his face as if them being a goal down was exhilarating.

Amid the deafening roar of Atlético Madrid’s fans and the jubilant celebration of their players, Valencia’s head coach, Rubén Baraja, stood at the edge of the technical area, his expression a mix of urgency and determination.

The night was slipping away, but Baraja wasn’t one to give in to despair. His sharp eyes scanned the pitch before locking onto Izan.

”Izan!” he barked, his voice cutting through the chaos.

The young player jogged toward the touchline, his face flushed from the intensity of the game.

Behind him, the Atlético players clustered around Griezmann, their celebration a vivid tableau of triumph.

The red-and-white-clad fans were a wall of noise, chanting and singing in unison, but Baraja was oblivious to it all.

As Izan reached him, Baraja placed a firm hand on his shoulder, his voice low but commanding.

”Listen to me,” he began, his words rapid and purposeful, ”I need you to push higher up the pitch. Exploit the spaces behind their fullbacks—they’re leaving gaps when they press. Be brave, take them on. We’re not done yet.”

Izan nodded, his youthful face a mask of determination. Baraja’s eyes softened for a moment, recognizing the weight of the moment for the 16-year-old. ”You’ve got this, Izan. Trust yourself. Trust your instincts.”

The coach gave him a quick pat on the back before sending him off. As Izan turned to rejoin the fray, the cheers of the Atlético fans seemed to grow louder, but in his mind, they were drowned out by Baraja’s words.

This was his moment to respond, to rise, and to prove that Valencia still had a fight left in them.

After the restart Diego Simeone’s men retreated methodically, forming a defensive block that mirrored their disciplined, combative style.

The lines tightened, and the midfield pressed high enough to disrupt Valencia’s rhythm but not overcommit.

Griezmann, now part of the defensive effort, dropped deep, acting as both a passing outlet and an interceptor.

Valencia, however, refused to buckle under the pressure. They surged forward, driven by the fiery determination of their teenage prodigy, Izan.

Izan orchestrated their attack, collecting the ball in midfield and driving toward Atlético’s resolute wall.

His vision was unmatched; one moment he was threading a pass into the path of his striker, and the next, testing Jan Oblak with a curling shot from the edge of the box.

The veteran keeper was pulling out saves left and right.

Every Valencia surge seemed to go through Izan, his energy infectious to teammates and although it was repetitive, the Atlético players couldn’t do anything about it.

His quick interplay with the midfield trio allowed Valencia to maintain possession and search for gaps in Atlético’s armour.

As the game intensified, Atlético’s defensive unit bent but didn’t break. Blocks, clearances, and strategic fouls halted Valencia’s momentum, yet Izan kept probing.

His hunger to equalize was evident, rallying his team to push harder. Even against Simeone’s fortress, the youngster’s brilliance provided a spark of hope, proving why the footballing world was beginning to see him as one of the best in the world.