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The teams erged from the tunnel with renewed energy after receiving their respective team talks. Despite both teams being levelled, the expectations were entirely different for both sides. Bosz expected his side to win, believing that with the form they have shown this year, winning wasn’t a possibility but had beco an expectation.
Schalke, on the other hand, was having another year of struggle, seemingly unable to find their form from 2017 when they placed second. Last year, they ended the season with a disappointing 14th finish, barely 5 points over the relegation zone. This year has been another rollercoaster caused by the pandemic and unstable performances.
Relegation was no longer a possibility, but a top 10 finish was out of the question, so they had to show their fans so hope for the next season. This season could be forgiven due to circumstances around the world, but they needed to show they still had the glory of the past. The club needed hope for the future, but the paint was already written on the wall, and the players were desperately trying to write the hope.
[46]
With that in mind, the ho team kicked off the second half with a sense of urgency, pushing up from the beginning. McKennie imdiately looked to impose himself, his first touch a raking cross-field pass that found Caligiuri in space down the right. The veteran’s touch was heavy, allowing Wendell to close the gap, and the Barzialian ca sliding in with a ruthless swiftness, showing no hint of regard for the German winger.
The challenge was agricultural at best—Wendell’s studs connecting with Caligiuri’s shin rather than the ball. The German went down theatrically, clutching his leg as if he’d been shot by a sniper in the upper tier.
-"That’s a reducer if I’ve ever seen one!" Stewart Robson exclaid, his voice carrying a hint of admiration for the Brazilian’s no-nonsense approach. "Wendell’s letting everyone know he’s ready to stand on business in this second half."
"Not sure what Bosz told him in the locker room, but even he looks baffled at his fullback’s actions," Rae comnted as the cara panned over to the coach, who was massaging his bald head in bewildernt. "If asked, he will deny any involvent in that action, but he will be satisfied that his defenders set the tone early."
While the two were talking, Referee Siebert had already reached for his pocket, showing the Brazilian the yellow card. Wendell accepted his booking with a shrug, jogging back into position as if it were a matter of course.
[48]
Caligiuri dusted himself off and stepped up to take the resulting free-kick, so 35 yards from goal. The angle was acute, but the German liked his chances from the dead-ball as he adjusted the ball position on the turf. He took three asured steps back, eyeing up the crowded penalty area where bodies jostled for position.
Monts later, he was given the go-ahead by the referee after sorting out the tussle in the box. His delivery was whipped in with venom, curling away from Hradecky’s goal before dipping dangerously toward the far post. Kabak, buoyed by his first-half header, made another commanding leap, but this ti Tapsoba was ready for him.
The Burkina Faso international wrapped his arms around the Turk, both players tumbling to the turf in a heap of tangled limbs. "Penalty!" half the Schalke players scread in unison, hands raised toward the heavens.
Referee Siebert was having none of it, waving away their appeals with dismissive authority. In the comntary box, Robson was already shaking his head. "Both players had their hands all over each other. Siebert’s right to let that one go—if he gives penalties for that sort of wrestling, we’d be here until midnight."
[50]
Right around the 50th minute mark, Rakim collected the ball from Wendell just past the fairway line. Bozdogan Schalkes, right winger, was imdiately on him, trying to pressure Rakim into making a mistake. However, the sudden closeness caused Rakim, who had been turning inward, to lay off a pass to change his mind.
Instead of finding Havertz, who was running into space, dragging a man with him, he hooked the ball past the wing. Passing him on the other side, they fought with their arms, but with his core strength and his flexibility, he managed to wiggle past him. "Oh, oh, Steward, this might turn into a problem as he sees daylight ahead of him," Rae exclaid as the winger seed to activate all the fast-twitch muscles in his body to speed away from the Schalke winger.
He quickly gained speed with the ball flicking between both his feet as he charged into the final third. McKennie was first to close him down, coming in from the middle channel. He lunged in with a slide tackle, but Rakim saw it coming, flicking the ball from his right to his left, sidestepping the midfielder as he hugged the touch line.
"He’s flying now!" Robson shouted as Rakim surged past McKennie. "Just look at that footwork—this lad’s dancing through tackles like they’re made of smoke!"
With space now opening in front of him, Rakim tore down the left channel, his boots practically skimming the grass, shoulders rolling rhythmically as he entered the final third. The Leverkusen bench was on their feet, voices rising with each yard he gained. Kenny, Schalke’s right-back, was next to try his luck, stepping up looking to guide the winger to the corner flag.
However, just as they were about two ters apart, Rakim’s left foot stepped over the ball, looking as if he would charge across the full back who was facing him side on. Kenny had no choice but to open up his body to turn just in case the cut across was real. Rakim utilised the opening to cut back to the touch line as his trailing right foot flicked the ball forward for his left foot to latch onto as he charged past the right back.
Just as he cut inwards looking to break into the box, Kabak ca steaming across to provide cover. As the distance nears, Rakim performs a step-over, confusing the defender. Still, he decided to throw himself in a last-ditch effort to stop him, but the winger perford a crisp Revers elsatico, escaping to the byline by a hair’s breadth.
Now, inside the box, he scanned for an option but found all his teammates tightly marked. Deciding to go all the way, he cut back onto his right foot, looking to curl one into the far corner past the outrushing Nubel. He nudged the ball lightly to his right and took aim, but before his foot could wrap around the ball, Kenny ca sliding in from behind with a desperate lunge, his outstretched leg catching Rakim’s ankle just as the winger was about to pull the trigger.
The contact sent the Leverkusen man tumbling to the turf, rolling on the ground as he protectively tucked his body. "PENALTY!" Derek Rae’s voice bood across the empty stadium. "He’s caught him! Kenny caught him red-handed!"
The referee didn’t hesitate. Felix Siebert’s whistle pierced the air as he pointed decisively to the spot, his arm outstretched like a Roman emperor delivering judgnt. The Schalke players imdiately surrounded him, their protests growing more animated by the second, but Siebert’s mind was made up. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a yellow card as he beckoned Kenny over.
"That’s a clear penalty," Stewart Robson confird, his voice pulling from his experience of a thousand fouls in his playing days. "Kenny had no choice but to bring him down, but when you’re beaten that comprehensively, you have to accept the consequences."
The cara caught Peter Bosz on the touchline, arms raised in anger, barely held back by his assistant manager. He had been ready to storm over to the fourth official, but Siebert had been decisive to act.
[52]
Rakim dusted himself off after the dical staff had left the pitch. They had quickly checked over him, concluding that, aside from a light knock, he was fine. Doing a couple of stretches, he felt his ankles quickly regaining sensation as he walked toward the spot. The team’s penalty taker was Havertz, but a few players took their own penalties, and he was one of them.
Adjusting the ball on the spot, he calmly took five asured steps backwards until the back of his heels touched the edge of the box. Nübel bounced on his line like a caged tiger, trying every psychological trick in the goalkeeper’s handbook. He spread his arms wide, making himself appear larger, then crouched low, slapping his gloves together, trying to unnerve.
"This is pressure," Rae murmured into his microphone as silence descended, only waiting for the referee’s whistle. "Not how he had imagined it going, but he still has a chance to put your team ahead."
Siebert’s whistle cut through the tension a second later, and Rakim began his run-up. Taking three steps to his left, he perford a curved run-up, starting slow. His gaze remained locked on the keeper, and with three steps to go, he suddenly sped up, doing a sudden stutter step at the end.
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To Be Continued...
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