God Of football

Chapter 1054: Ainʼt No Catching Up!

At the whistle, the Portuguese players all slowed before they turned away from the Spanish box.

Pedro Neto slowed as he jogged back toward his own half, still shaking his head.

”How did that stay out?” he muttered before turning to face the Spanish half where the young Spanish defender was still getting slapped on the back by Laporte and Unai Simón after his desperate clearance.

It had taken every ounce of his timing to hook the ball away before it crossed the line.

All around the stadium, the Spanish supporters answered with loud applause, relief pouring out of them after what had looked a certain second goal!

”Spain have survived by the skin of their teeth,” Clive Tyldesley said, letting out a breath.

”Twice at that in just the span of a couple minutes!”

Ally McCoist nodded beside him.

”That first header from Ronaldo was going in.”

”And even after Simón got something on it, Portugal still got another bite at it, though it was deemed a foul!”

He shook his head slowly.

”Thatʼs brilliant defending from Cubarsí. Young players donʼt usually make decisions like that under this sort of pressure.”

As the play resumed, Portugal refused to slow down.

They made Spainʼs passes look amateurish, but in a split second, Pedri broke it all.

Taking the ball in his stride, he looked up and switched play, sending the ball towards Spainʼs right side of attack.

Lamine brought it under control and immediately turned upfield, only to once again find Mendes waiting.

The Portuguese full-back stayed low, matching every touch without diving in.

Lamine pulled moves out of his inventory in an attempt to skip past his marker, but Mendes mirrored him perfectly before extending one long leg and nicking the ball away with almost insulting ease as Portugal recycled possession once again.

And McCoist couldnʼt help smiling on the broadcast.

”Iʼll tell you what...Nuno Mendes is having one of those evenings.”

Tyldesley agreed immediately.

”Lamine Yamal has terrorised full-backs throughout this tournament, but he hasnʼt found much joy here.”

Portugal patiently worked the ball from side to side before eventually forcing Spain backwards once more.

It took Rodri throwing himself into a passing lane to break up another promising move.

Only then did Spain finally manage to settle.

From the touchline, De La Fuente looked calm, but it didnʼt take a genius to tell that the man was fuming with how red he had gotten.

His players were playing as if theyʼd never seen a ball in their lives, and worse of all, they werenʼt even communicating or passing well, something that Spain was known for.

For the first time in several minutes, Spain were able to breathe a few minutes later, and their best chance arrived almost immediately.

Baena curled an inviting cross toward the back post where Lamine had peeled away from Nuno just enough to attack it.

The winger climbed despite the pressure on his shoulder and managed to glance a header toward goal, but it drifted agonisingly wide of Diogo Costaʼs far post.

Lamine landed awkwardly before pushing himself back onto his feet with a frustrated sigh.

In the commentary gantry, Tyldesley glanced toward the stadium clock and then made his thoughts known on the broadcast.

”Just a few moments until the half-hour mark.”

”Portugal still lead Spain by a goal to nil.”

McCoist frowned as another Spanish attack fizzled out before it ever reached the penalty area.

”One thingʼs puzzling me, Clive.”

”What?”

”Theyʼve almost forgotten theyʼve got Izan.”

Tyldesley looked toward the centre of the pitch where the Spanish captain was making another run between Dias and Veiga, but no pass came.

”Theyʼre trying to play around Portugal,” McCoist continued, ”but they should be playing through him.”

”Heʼs barely been involved.”

”And thatʼs exactly how Portugal will want it.”

Almost as if the words had reached the pitch itself, Rodri finally turned away from pressure and found Izanʼs feet.

The first meaningful touch heʼd had in several minutes.

He stopped the ball beneath his boot and for the first time all evening...

...he didnʼt move.

Everything slowed as his eyes travelled across the Portuguese shape.

Bruno Fernandes.

[HEIGHTENED]

Vitinha.

[HEIGHTENED]

João Neves.

[HEIGHTENED]

Nuno Mendes.

[HEIGHTENED]

Even Rúben Dias carried the same faint blue word above him.

Heightened.

Stronger.

Sharper.

Faster.

No wonder every passing lane had disappeared the moment Spain crossed halfway.

Then as he glanced back... his eyes found Ronaldo.

The word hovering above the Portuguese captain wasnʼt the same.

It glowed brighter and in a more yellowish colour.

[AWAKENED]

Izan frowned, shaking his head internally.

”...And then thereʼs him,” he muttered and rolled the ball back toward Rodri before jogging away again.

So... heightened wasnʼt the highest state.

Awakened sat above it, considering it was sitting on top of Ronaldoʼs head.

His gaze lingered on Ronaldo for another second before pushing it to the back of his head, though it was easier said than done when you had players that could suddenly switch on and end your campaign in a few attacks.

Rodri, with nowhere else to go with all the pressure, knew that he had to think creatively.

The holding midfielder disguised his next pass brilliantly, shaping toward Baena before punching it through the middle instead, straight into Izan.

”There he is!” Tyldesley exclaimed almost excitedly as Izan, switched on like never before, let the ball run across his body with a single touch before laying it first time toward Lamine.

Then he exploded after it.

Lamine didnʼt even attempt to control it.

With all that was going on, the wingerʼs confidence was waning, but he did the least and simply redirected the pass into the space Izan had already attacked.

Almost instantly, Vitinha reacted, but it wasnʼt only him.

Joao Neves did too, and so did Nuno Mendes.

The Portuguese left-back stepped forward expecting to meet the ball comfortably.

Instead...Izan knocked it almost ridiculously far ahead, and all at once, gasps echoed around AT&T Stadium.

”...Too heavy,” someone shouted, but maybe for others.

For Izan, it wasnʼt.

The ball had barely left his boot before Izan launched after it.

Nuno Mendes accelerated, and for a whole of three strides they were level.

On the fourth... the gap opened.

On the fifth...it became obvious that it wasnʼt a fair contest, at least not for Nuno Mendes, one of the fastest players in football!

”Goodness me...” Tyldesleyʼs voice rose.

”Heʼs disappeared after the ball!”

Nuno was sprinting at full stretch.

His stride couldnʼt have been cleaner, and yet the distance kept growing, yard by yard, until even Nuno realised... he wasnʼt catching him.