Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King

The ball rolled out for a corner kick. Benjamin jogged toward the flag, but the referee had already stopped play. Both benches were active. Players were warming up on the sidelines.

Substitution time.

Steve McClaren had seen enough. His team was hanging on by a thread. He needed fresh legs and new ideas.

He called Wisgerhof over first. The midfielder looked exhausted. His shirt was soaked through with sweat. His legs were heavy from chasing Benjamin around for twenty minutes.

"Good work, lad," McClaren said, patting him on the shoulder. "Get some rest."

Wisgerhof nodded and jogged toward the bench. In his place came Fer, the young Dutch midfielder. Fresh legs. Fresh energy.

McClaren wasn't done. He looked down his bench and called for another change.

Ola John was struggling on the left wing. Every time he got the ball, Johansson was there to take it away. The fullback had read his game perfectly.

"Ola, come off," McClaren shouted. "Well played."

The young forward looked disappointed but obeyed. Brama took his place, a more defensive option to help deal with AZ Alkmaar's attacking waves.

Two changes for Twente. Both defensive minded.

Gertjan Verbeek watched from the other touchline. His arms were crossed. His mind was working.

He could sense his team was close to something special. But they needed that final push. That extra bit of quality.

He looked down his bench and made his decision.

"Elm! You're coming off," he called out.

The midfielder had worked hard but hadn't quite clicked in the final third. Gertjan Verbeek needed someone with more pace. More directness.

Beerens jumped up from the bench, already pulling off his warm-up jacket. The winger was quick and tricky. Perfect for stretching Twente's tired defense.

"Go wide right," Gertjan Verbeek told him. "Berghuis, you move inside. Support Altidore."

The tactical switch to a 4-4-2 diamond was smart. Berghuis was better in tight spaces. Beerens had the pace to beat tired fullbacks.

Both teams were ready. The crowd sensed the importance of these changes.

The corner kick had been forgotten. This was bigger than one set piece.

The referee waved play on. Mihaylov rolled the ball out to Douglas, who immediately looked for the fresh legs of Fer in midfield.

But Fer's first touch was loose. The ball bounced off his boot and rolled toward Maher.

The AZ Alkmaar playmaker pounced on it like a cat. His first touch was perfect. His second was even better.

He slipped the ball wide to Beerens, who was making his first run down the right wing.

The new substitute's pace was electric. Willems tried to match him stride for stride, but Beerens was too quick.

He got to the byline and whipped in a cross.

Low and hard across the six-yard box.

Altidore was there, but so was Douglas. The defender got his body in the way, blocking the striker's shot.

The ball spun loose toward the penalty spot.

Benjamin was waiting.

He'd drifted in from the left wing, reading the play perfectly.

His first touch took the ball away from two defenders. His second set him up for the shot.

Benjamin pulled back his left foot.

Fer slid in desperately, trying to block it.

Too late.

The shot was clean and true. It flew through the crowded penalty area like a bullet.

Mihaylov dived to his right, his gloves stretched out.

He couldn't reach it.

The ball crashed into the side netting.

GOOOOOAALLLLLLL!!!

The crowd exploded. AZ Alkmaar players ran toward Benjamin, their arms raised in celebration.

[GOAL! Benjamin Rijkaard again! It's 3-3!] Peter Walsh screamed over the noise. [What a comeback!]

The scoreboard changed. Twente 3, AZ Alkmaar 3.

Game level.

Benjamin wheeled away toward the corner flag, his shirt pulled over his head. His teammates mobbed him. Altidore lifted him clean off the ground. Beerens, who had provided the assist on his first touch, ruffled his hair.

On the touchline, Gertjan Verbeek punched the air and shouted to his players.

[More! We're not done yet!]

Steve McClaren looked stunned. His two-goal lead had vanished in twenty-five minutes. He called his captain over and spoke urgently.

"Stay calm. Keep it tight. Don't panic."

But panic was exactly what Twente were doing.

The restart was quick. Chadli tapped the ball to Fer, who immediately played it back to Mihaylov.

The keeper looked nervous now. His confidence was shaken.

He kicked the ball long, aiming for the halfway line.

But the kick was weak. Viergever won the header easily, nodding it down to Martens.

The left-back didn't waste time. He could see Beerens making a run down the right wing.

The pass was long and accurate.

Beerens controlled it with his chest and immediately looked up. Willems was backpedaling, trying to stay goal side.

The winger had pace to burn. He knocked the ball past the defender and chased after it.

Willems tried to grab his shirt, but Beerens was too quick.

Into the penalty area now.

The crowd rose as one.

Beerens looked up and saw Altidore making a run to the near post. Benjamin was arriving late at the back post.

Perfect options.

But Beerens decided to go alone.

He cut the ball onto his left foot and shot across goal.

The ball flew toward the far corner.

Mihaylov threw himself across his line, his body stretching like elastic.

His fingertips touched the ball.

Just enough to push it wide of the post.

Corner kick.

[So close to taking the lead!] Michael Harrison shouted. [AZ Alkmaar are sensing blood now!]

The momentum had completely shifted. AZ Alkmaar were playing like a team possessed. Every pass was crisp. Every movement had purpose.

Twente looked rattled. Their defense was all over the place. Players were pointing fingers at each other.

Martens jogged over to take the corner. The AZ Alkmaar players were already organizing themselves in the penalty box.

But this time, Gertjan Verbeek had a different idea.

He called Benjamin over to the touchline.

"Take it short to Maher," he said quietly. "Then get in the box. They won't expect it."

Benjamin nodded and jogged over to Martens.

"Short corner," he whispered.

The defender understood immediately.

The referee blew his whistle. Martens tapped the ball to Benjamin, who was standing just outside the penalty area.

Benjamin's first touch was perfect. He looked up and saw Maher making a run toward him.

The pass was simple. A five-yard roll along the grass.

Maher collected it and immediately looked for options.

Benjamin had already started his run into the penalty area. He was unmarked. Completely free.

Maher didn't hesitate. He chipped the ball over the heads of three defenders.

It dropped perfectly into Benjamin's path.

The young winger controlled it with his chest, letting it fall to his feet.

He was eight yards from goal. Mihaylov was rushing out to narrow the angle.

Time slowed down.

Benjamin could see everything. The keeper's position. The defenders recovering. The goal waiting behind them.

He didn't need to think.

His left foot met the ball cleanly.

A side-footed finish into the bottom corner.

Simple. Clinical. Perfect.

The net bulged.

The crowd went wild.

Benjamin had done it again.

[GOAL! BENJAMIN RIJKAARD COMPLETES HIS HAT-TRICK!] Peter Walsh's voice cracked with emotion. [4-3 TO AZ ALKMAAR!]

The comeback was complete.

From 3-1 down to 4-3 up in thirty minutes.

And Benjamin Rijkaard had scored them all.