Alvarado's clearance wasn't neat. It swirled and dipped through the night sky, more hopeful than precise.
Skrtel let it bounce.
Big mistake.
Benjamin was on his bike before anyone reacted. He slipped in behind, let the ball drop over his shoulder, and poked it ahead with his toe.
[He's in here.]
[He's got a step on Skrtel.]
Skrtel recovered quick. One long stride. Then two. He slid—desperate.
Too late.
Benjamin chopped it left, into the 18 yard box. The angle was tight, but he still went for it. Quick release. Low and hard.
Reina didn't dive.
He stuck out a leg—reflex.
The ball clattered off his boot and skidded across the six-yard box.
Altidore lunged.
Missed it by a stud.
[Ohhh!]
[That's massive. Huge chance.]
The groans from the away bench were audible. Adam Maher spun away in frustration. Martens threw his head back.
Benjamin dropped to his knees, fists clenched. He'd done everything right. Just no finish.
