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.

With evident relief, Chiotis retrieved the goal kick, shaking his head at Monaco’s missed opportunities while pointing to where the ball had landed. The Greek goalkeeper knew such gifts would not last if his team continued their aggressive approach.

AEK’s pressing intensified immediately after Monaco’s squandered chance. Petkov and Rusev closed in on Alonso as he received the ball, their coordinated effort forcing the Spaniard into a rushed pass that lacked his usual precision.

The ball rolled weakly toward Squillaci, but Liberopoulos anticipated its trajectory perfectly. The Greek striker exploded into action, covering ten yards in three strides to seize possession outside Monaco’s penalty area.

His first touch was exquisite—the ball glued to his right foot as he turned away from Squillaci’s desperate challenge. Rodriguez slid in to provide cover, but Liberopoulos had already spotted Lakis advancing unmarked down the right flank.

He struck the pass with perfect weight, rolling it into Lakis’s path as he approached the edge of the penalty area. Without breaking stride, Lakis connected with the ball using his right foot while it was still in motion. The ensuing cross was delivered with precision, curling toward the six-yard box, where players converged.

Petkov timed his run impeccably, arriving just as the ball reached its peak height. The Bulgarian midfielder leaped athletically, knees driving upward as his neck muscles prepared to power through the header. His positioning was flawless, three yards ahead of any Monaco defender.

The contact was clean and devastating. Petkov’s forehead met the ball squarely, directing it downward with such authority that Roma had no chance. The Italian goalkeeper hadn’t even begun his dive when the ball struck the turf and bounced into the roof of the net.

4-1.

AEK’s celebration erupted with raw emotion. Players sprinted toward the corner flag as their traveling supporters created a sudden roar that shook the stadium’s foundations. Petkov removed his shirt, spinning it above his head while teammates surrounded him in genuine joy.

"Concentration!" Yves shouted to his players, aware that momentum shifts could erase leads faster than individual brilliance could create them.

But AEK sensed blood now. Their formation compressed further, with six players hunting the ball whenever Monaco attempted to restart their patient possession. This tactical shift created chaos that neither team could control effectively.

In the fifty-first minute, disaster nearly struck due to another moment of carelessness. Givet attempted to play out from defense, but his pass to Plašil lacked conviction. The ball rolled slowly across dangerous territory, a warning sign to every player on the pitch.

Rusev’s reaction was instantaneous. The Bulgarian midfielder sprinted fifteen yards before anyone else had moved, his first touch taking him past Plašil’s feeble challenge. Suddenly, he was racing toward the goal, with only Roma standing between him and an equalizer.

Twenty-two yards from the goal, Rusev prepared for a shot that could change everything. His right foot drew back and connected with the ball’s sweet spot, unleashing a strike of terrifying power toward the top corner, where Roma scrambled frantically.

The ball hurtled at devastating speed, rising sharply toward the junction of the post and crossbar. Its trajectory was perfect—the shot left goalkeepers helpless as it sought the corner.

But Roma’s instincts were exceptional. His dive was spectacular, his body stretching horizontally as his fingertips reached desperately for the ball. The distance seemed impossible, and physics suggested he couldn’t cover the ground needed.

Contact was minimal but crucial. Roma’s fingertips grazed the ball just enough to alter its path by mere centimeters. Instead of nestling in the corner, the shot cannoned off the crossbar with a metallic clang that echoed throughout the stadium.

The rebound spun wickedly downward toward the goal line, threatening to cross. Squillaci reacted fastest, throwing himself into the danger zone with complete disregard for his safety. His desperate header cleared the ball to safety as it hovered over the line.

Roma picked himself up slowly, grass stains marking his yellow jersey as he dusted off his gloves. The save had been instinctive rather than calculated. His reflexes honed through years of professional training, making the difference between salvation and disaster.

"Too close," Rodriguez muttered in Italian, helping his goalkeeper organize the defensive line with sharp commands. The narrow escape served as a warning about AEK’s renewed threat.

But the reprieve lasted only eighty-seven seconds. AEK’s next attack began down their left flank, with Kyriakos overlapping purposefully to create a numerical advantage against Monaco’s stretched defense.

The Greek fullback’s cross aimed for the penalty area, but Givet reacted well, sliding across the turf to block the delivery with his outstretched leg. The ball ricocheted off his shin at an awkward angle, spinning backward toward the edge of the area.

Katsouranis arrived unmarked, timing perfect as the ball bounced once before settling onto his favored right foot. The Greek midfielder’s first touch was exquisite, cushioning the ball just enough to set up his shot.

His technique was textbook perfect. With his body over the ball, he connected with its center, driving it low and hard toward Roma’s bottom left corner. The strike was venomous, traveling along the ground at a wicked pace that left minimal reaction time.

Roma’s dive was athletic but futile. His fingertips brushed the ball without affecting its trajectory, leaving him helpless as it nestled in the corner of the net with devastating precision.

4-2.

This time, AEK’s celebration was pointed and aggressive. Katsouranis sprinted toward Monaco’s supporters, arms spread wide, his face transformed by triumph. The away section erupted, believing that an impossible comeback might be achievable.

Yves called for immediate calm from the touchline, his gestures emphasizing patience over panic. The mathematical advantage remained comfortable, but the psychological momentum had shifted dramatically toward the visitors.

Monaco’s response came through the quality that had carried them this far. In the fifty-sixth minute, D’Alessandro collected possession in the center circle, his head immediately scanning for attacking options with methodical precision.

He spotted Rothen drifting inside from the left wing. The French winger’s movement created space that AEK’s aggressive pressing had inadvertently vacated. The pass was weighted perfectly, and D’Alessandro’s instep found its target with surgical accuracy.

Rothen’s first touch was sublime. His right foot killed the ball before accelerating past Amponsah’s weak challenge. The Greek defender’s positioning was all wrong, with his weight on his heels rather than his toes as the winger approached.

From eighteen yards out, Rothen shaped for his shot with textbook technique. His left foot was planted firmly as his right swung through the ball, connecting with perfect timing that sent it curling away from Chiotis’s desperate dive.

The goalkeeper’s positioning was correct, but the placement found the only spot his reach couldn’t reach. The ball bent around his fingertips with mathematical precision before nestling in the bottom corner, technique conquering desperation.

5-2.

Monaco’s relief was palpable in their celebration. Players embraced near the penalty area, understanding that control had been reestablished through individual brilliance within a collective framework. The crisis had passed, and professional standards were restored.