Chapter 80: Second Half Chaos
"Are we really letting them back into this?" Yves muttered as AEK pressed forward.
Stone stood beside him on the touchline, both men watching as three blue shirts surrounded Plašil near the halfway line. The Czech midfielder spun left and right, desperately seeking escape routes that seemed to vanish before he could exploit them.
AEK’s formation had transformed entirely since the interval. Where five defenders had once protected their penalty area, now only three remained. The additional players hunted Monaco’s possession like wolves, coordinated and ruthless in ways absent during the first forty-five minutes.
Plašil’s escape came from quick thinking rather than skill. His pass found Bernardi ten yards away, the Italian midfielder already pivoting before the ball arrived. But Katsouranis was closing in fast, his boots thundering against the turf as he approached from behind.
The Greek’s challenge was late and dangerous. His studs raked down Bernardi’s Achilles, sending the Monaco player sprawling across the wet grass. Referee Urs Meier’s whistle pierced the evening air immediately, his hand reaching for the yellow card, the second caution for aggressive play.
Bernardi rolled on the turf, clutching his ankle as medical staff sprinted from the sideline. The impact had been bone-jarring, the challenge that could end careers if the timing went wrong by even inches.
"Get up," Rodriguez commanded in Spanish, extending his hand to help his teammate. Bernardi gingerly tested his weight before nodding that he could continue. Professional football demanded such courage, requiring players to endure pain that would sideline ordinary people.
Monaco’s free-kick was positioned thirty-five yards from the goal—too far for a direct attempt but close enough to pose a threat. Evra stood over the ball, his routine precise as always: three steps back, a deep breath, and eyes scanning for movement in the penalty area.
Adebayor ran toward the near post, dragging Amponsah with him through sheer pace. Givet overlapped down the right touchline, his captain’s armband visible as he advanced into attacking territory. Rothen drifted wide left, creating space that AEK’s compact defense had not accounted for.
But Evra’s technique abandoned him at the crucial moment. His approach was too fast, and his weight distribution was off as his left foot swung through the ball. Instead of connecting with the center, his boot struck underneath, launching it into a trajectory that defied physics.
The cross sailed fifteen feet above every player in the penalty area, continuing its upward arc before disappearing into the crowd behind the goal. Spectators in the twentieth row ducked for cover as the ball crashed into empty seats with a hollow thud.