God Of football Chapter 1055: Only The Opening Act!

Seeing the situation that was unfolding ahead, Rúben Dias abandoned the penalty area immediately.

"I’ve got him!" he thought as he charged across to intercept the ball that didn’t have an owner at the moment.

The ball kept moving sharply, and at that, Dias smiled.

Perfect.

He’d arrive first.

But then...Izan reached it anyway.

Without breaking stride, he planted his left foot onto the top of the ball, dragging it backwards just enough to kill its momentum.

Dias lunged but then, using the inside of his right boot, Izan nudged the ball into the space Dias had just vacated.

The Portuguese defender’s tackle sliced through nothing but air and in the next instant, the entire stadium rose as one.

"Oh!"

Tyldesley almost shouted.

"He sat him down!" he roared as Dias twisted desperately, trying to recover, but Izan was already gone.

Only Renato Veiga and Diogo Costa remained between him and the goal.

Costa narrowed the angle while Veiga covered the cutback.

João Neves recovered toward the edge of the area while, from his position, Cancelo tucked inside, looking to block any passing lanes.

Everything pointed toward one outcome.

A shot.

Costa prepared, Veiga planted himself, and Neves braced.

Then...

Izan did something none of them expected.

Instead of striking through the ball...

...he slipped his left foot underneath it and before long, the ball floated.

Just enough.

Enough to clear Costa.

Enough to clear Veiga and enough to drop beneath the crossbar.

The stadium collectively forgot to breathe as the lobbed ball fell towards goal.

Costa spun as the ball descended, closer, closer and more closer.

Then by some sheer interference—

CLANG!

The ball bounced straight off the crossbar.

The rebound shot high back into the air, and at that every player in the vicinity stopped.

Where would it fall?

Costa turned once more, keeping his eyes on the ball, same as Dias, while Veiga backed toward his line.

But their delay caused their demise!

Tyldesley’s voice, which had almost been muted for a while, cracked.

"He’s there again!"

Izan, with strides like a gazelle, launched himself sideways.

His body rose almost horizontally above the six-yard box, and in that short bit, every eye found him as his left leg folded and then his right whipped over his head.

Before the Portuguese players could react, the bicycle kick connected perfectly.

BOOM.

The strike screamed past Costa before anyone had time to react, and in the next instant, the net bulged violently and bulging with it, was the Spanish crowd in the AT&T Stadium.

"GOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLL!"

The Spanish supporters exploded into life all at once, their celebrations crashing over one another until the noise shook the soul of the stadium.

Portugal’s end, moments earlier bouncing with belief, fell into stunned silence and through it all, only one man seemed entirely unmoved.

Izan landed on his shoulder, rolled once across the turf and pushed himself back onto his feet before anyone else had even reacted.

Behind him, Rúben Dias still stood rooted near the penalty spot.

His eyes drifted back toward the edge of the area where Izan had been a moment ago.

He could still picture the chipped effort kissing the crossbar.

When...

How had he...

Dias looked toward the six-yard box again and found Izan was already jogging away.

Even Diogo Costa couldn’t hide the disbelief on his face.

The goalkeeper remained half-kneeling inside his goal, looking first at the ball resting against the net before lifting his eyes toward Izan.

Up in the gantry, it was as silent as a grave.

Neither of the two commentators had quite understood what they had just seen.

Below them, half a team stood frozen, wondering what had just unfolded.

When the noise in the stadium felt less like cheering...

...and more like a stadium trying to tear itself apart, only then did Clive Tyldesley finally find his voice.

"...I..."

He stopped what he’d started to say as a short laugh of disbelief escaped him.

"...I’m... I’m sorry... but...what have we just watched?"

Even Ally McCoist didn’t answer immediately.

Sitting in the gantry, his hands were still locked behind his head with eyes fixed on the replay already beginning to appear on the giant screen.

"I....I genuinely don’t know."

"OH, COME OFF IT!"

The words burst out before Clive could stop himself, and he laughed again, almost apologetically, because at the moment, laughing was the only thing he could do to keep his thoughts from breaking down.

"How..."...how has he even thought of that?"

McCoist finally lowered his hands.

"I’ve been around football for over forty years, I’ve played it, and I’ve watched thousands of matches."

"I’ve been lucky enough to witness some unbelievable footballers."

He looked back down toward the pitch.

"But it gets to a point when you wonder, ’what am I even watching’!"

Down the pitch, near the corner flag, the Spanish supporters were almost falling over the advertising boards.

"Izan!"

"Izan!"

"Izan!"

The chant swallowed everything else as Izan eventually slowed his run.

He turned toward them, looking at the thousands of faces staring back.

Then slowly lifted both hands and brought them down.

Easy.

Calm.

Settle.

There’s still football left and the gesture somehow made the celebrations even louder.

While he did so, Lamine Yamal almost tackled him from behind, wrapping both arms around his shoulders.

Pedri arrived a second later, grabbing the captain around the neck while Olmo reached them laughing so hard he had to stop twice before speaking.

But amidst all that, Izan never faltered, keeping his eyes on the fans the whole time.

Across the technical area, Roberto Martínez remained perfectly still.

His assistants looked toward him, but the manager just stood still.

Only after a moment did he quietly breathe out through his nose.

"...Now I understand."

"Why every defender in Europe loses sleep before playing against him."

A few yards away, Cristiano Ronaldo stood inside the centre circle.

His teammates slowly regrouped around him, yet his attention never left the Spaniard walking back from the corner flag and almost imperceptibly...he smiled.

Because greatness recognised greatness.

As Izan passed him on the way back toward halfway, Ronaldo spoke quietly.

"..You had to go and do that, didn’t you!"

Izan glanced sideways.

"It’s on your lap now!"

That earned the faintest chuckle as neither man looked back again.

Above them, the giant scoreboard glowed across the Texas sky.

PORTUGAL 1-1 SPAIN

No one inside AT&T Stadium believed they had seen the best of it anymore.

Not after Ronaldo’s goal and certainly not after Izan’s stroke of whatever you called that!

Because somewhere, in the back of every mind, the same thought had quietly taken hold.

If this was only the opening act...

What on earth would the rest of the night look like?