[Berghuis—can he finish it?]
The ball skimd just inches wide of the post.
Groans echoed around the AFAS Stadion. Hands went to heads, both on the pitch and in the stands.
[How has that not gone in?] Mike exclaid, almost laughing in disbelief. [That’s two chances in five seconds!]
[And give credit to Nienhuis,] the co-comntator added. [He might’ve conceded fifteen, but that double save was sothing special]
Berghuis clapped his hands together in frustration, then turned back toward his teammates, nodding in encouragent.
[AZ Alkmaar are relentless,] Mike said. [Even this late in the ga, they’re not easing up]
Gertjan Verbeek stood on the touchline with his arms crossed, and a satisfied look on his face. He didn’t need another goal. He had already seen what he wanted—his team playing with hunger, urgency, and a ruthless edge.
[Less than three minutes to go,] the co-comntator noted. [Will AZ Alkmaar find number sixteen, or will SC Veendam escape with so semblance of rcy?]
SC Veendam desperately tried to regain so composure, knocking the ball around their defensive third.
But their legs were heavy, their minds clouded by exhaustion and the sheer weight of the scoreline. Every misplaced pass, every hesitant touch invited AZ Alkmaar to pounce.
[They’re hanging on by a thread,] Mike observed, shaking his head. [And with the way AZ Alkmaar are pressing, I don’t think that thread will last much longer]
And just like that, another mistake.
A careless back pass from Stienstra rolled weakly toward the penalty area. Adam Maher, alert as ever, read it instantly and was already sprinting forward.
[Oh, that’s a poor pass from Stienstra!] the co-comntator groaned. [Adam’s in here!]
Adam didn’t hesitate. He intercepted the ball just before the penalty spot, took a touch to steady himself, and opened up his body for the finish.
Nienhuis rushed off his line with his arms spread wide, hoping to narrow the angle.
[Can he put this away?] Mike’s voice climbed with excitent.
Adam curled his shot toward the far post. It was precise, well-placed—but Nienhuis, sohow, got a fingertip to it, deviating it from its intended path.
[Another big save! Nienhuis is keeping this from getting even worse!]
[He may have conceded fifteen, but you have to admire his spirit,] the co-comntator added. [He’s still giving everything]
The deflected shot spun away, but not far enough.
It landed at the feet of Benjamin, who had been trailing the play just outside the 18 yard box.
[And here’s Benjamin Rijkaard again!] Mike shouted. [Will he take this on?!]
Benjamin wasted no ti. He adjusted his stance, took one step forward, and rifled a first-ti shot through the crowded 18 yard box.
The ball zipped low, slicing past defenders and heading straight for the bottom corner.
Nienhuis, still recovering from his last save, could only watch helplessly.
GOOOAAAAALLLLLL!!~
The AFAS Stadion erupted as the ball kissed the inside of the net before rolling to a stop.
[Finally! Benjamin Rijkaard gets his fourth goal of the night!] Mike roared. [And what a way to do it! A stunning strike to make it sixteen!]
[Well, he’s deserved that, hasn’t he?] his partner added, his voice filled with admiration. [He’s been outstanding all night. It was only a matter of ti]
Benjamin barely reacted at first, standing in place as his teammates rushed toward him. The relief on his face was clear—the fourth goal had been coming.
The scoreboard flashed once more.
AZ Alkmaar 16 - 0 SC Veendam.
[This is history,] Mike said, almost in disbelief. [The biggest win in KNVB Beker history. We are witnessing sothing truly special]
On the sidelines, Gertjan Verbeek simply nodded, arms crossed, a satisfied smirk on his face.
The SC Veendam players, anwhile, were motionless. So had their hands on their knees, others crumbled down exhaustingly and looked up at the sky, as if searching for rcy from a higher power.
[And now,] the co-comntator chuckled, [I think they really just want the final whistle]
The referee, glancing at his watch, seed to agree. He took one last look at his assistant before raising the whistle to his lips.
Fweeee!~ Fweeeee!~ Fweeeeee!~
Full-ti in the AFAS Stadion for the second round of the KNVB Beker.
[That’s it! It’s over!] Mike announced. [AZ Alkmaar have demolished SC Veendam sixteen-nil! A record-breaking night, a performance for the ages!]
The ho fans stayed on their feet, clapping and chanting, soaking in the mont.
On the pitch, the AZ Alkmaar players exchanged hugs and high-fives, while the SC Veendam players trudged toward the tunnel, their faces drained of emotion.
[What a match,] the co-comntator said, letting out a long breath. [We knew AZ Alkmaar were the favorites, but no one expected this]
Mike nodded. [This is the kind of ga people will talk about for years. Sixteen goals. Pure dominance. And for players like Benjamin Rijkaard and Aron Jóhannsson? This will be a night they never forget]
As the celebrations continued on the pitch, the stadium announcer’s voice bood through the speakers, confirming what everyone already knew.
[And the Man of the Match, with four goals and an all-around sensational performance—Benjamin Rijkaard!]
A fresh wave of applause rippled through the AFAS Stadion, the ho fans showing their appreciation for the young winger’s outstanding display.
Benjamin, standing near the center circle, exhaled before jogging toward the match officials, shaking hands before receiving his award. His teammates patted his back, and so ruffled his hair as they passed by.
[Well, you can’t argue with that decision,] Mike said, watching the mont unfold. [Benjamin Rijkaard has been nothing short of spectacular tonight]
[Not just the goals,] the co-comntator added. [His movent, his passing, his awareness—he ran the show from the wing and also the midfield. He’s played like a seasoned pro out there]
Mike nodded, the admiration clear in his voice. [It’s one thing to score four goals, but it’s another to control the entire tempo of a ga like he did in the second half at that. Every ti AZ Alkmaar moved forward, he was at the heart of it]
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