Chapter 155: Volume 2, - 155: Pickfort’s Gloves

Chapter 155: Volume 2, Chapter 155: Pickfort’s Gloves

The sharp, shrill blast of the referee’s whistle cut through the grey Merseyside afternoon, and the match surged into immediate motion. From the leather-and-foam comfort of the away bench, Rayan pulled his training jacket tighter across his chest, his eyes locked on the manicured green rectangle before him.

The match did not begin with a feeling of exploratory caution. Everton’s press was sharp, physical, and immediate, snapping into heavy tackles that echoed off the lower tiers of the Main Stand.

"Step!" Jordan Pickfort roared from his penalty box, his voice carrying like a foghorn over the din of the terraces. "Get out! Hold the line!"

Sporting absorbed the initial wave with calm authority.

Up in the commentary position, the lead broadcaster leaned towards his microphone. "And we are underway at Goodison Park. A stiff breeze coming off the Mersey this afternoon, and

Everton straight into their defensive shape, trying to deny Sporting any early rhythm."

Daniel Braga collected a loose ball deep in his own half, spun away from an advancing midfielder, and found Hidemasa Morino.

"Geni! Go!" Morino shouted.

Catano accelerated down the right touchline as Morino swept the ball into his path.

"Morino finds Catano on the right. There’s room for him here!" the commentator noted live.

Geni Catano pushed the ball beyond his marker.

"Catano driving forward, Gyoker’s making the run!" the commentator called.

The defender recovered, forcing Geni wide, but the winger checked back, dropping his shoulder and driving a low, stinging shot towards the near post that Pickfort scrambled down to smother.

"Good recovery from Everton, but look at the space Sporting created. That movement from Gyoker pulled a centre-half away and gave Catano the opportunity to test the keeper early," the co-commentator analysed.

Sporting kept pressing through their midfield. In the fourteenth minute, Pedro Gonsalves dropped deep, spun away from his marker, and slipped a disguised through-ball wide to Francisco Trincano cutting across from the left.

Trincano took the ball across his body. "Pedro! Go!"

Gonsalves accelerated between Everton’s centre-backs. Trincano stabbed the return pass through the gap.

"GONSALVES IS IN!"

Pedro collected it inside the area, with Pickfort already advancing. Gonsalves opened his body for a curling side-footed finish, but he caught it fractionally too clean, sending the ball skimming a yard over the crossbar.

"Agh, Pedro wants that back," Ricardo Esgaia muttered beside Rayan, shaking his head.

"He’ll get another," Rayan replied, leaning forward with his elbows propped on his knees, his focus absolute.

Minutes later, Geni Catano worked space down the right again, clipping an inviting, driven cross toward the penalty spot.

"Gyoker’s up!"

Viktor Gyoker wrestled his way past James Tarkoski, rising high to meet the cross with a powerful close-range header that forced Pickfort into a brilliant, reactive one-handed reflex save over the crossbar.

"Pickfort denies Gyoker! Stunning stop from the England number one!" the commentator called out. "That’s the delivery Sporting wanted. He pins the centre-half, attacks the six-yard space, but Pickfort matches it."

"Unlucky, Viktor! Keep that pressure!" Rayan muttered under his breath, half-rising from the bench before dropping back down.

Everton responded with raw power as the half progressed. Amadou Onano started winning the second balls in midfield, disrupting Sporting’s passing lanes.

"SECOND!" Abdoulaye Ducoure shouted.

Onano got his shoulder in front of Braga and hooked the bouncing ball towards the centre circle. "Dom! Hold it!"

Dominic Calvert-Lewis stepped across Eduardo Quaresmo, cushioning the pass against his chest before feeding Ducoure breaking through the central channel in the twenty-second minute. Ducoure let fly with a swerving, venomous strike from twenty-five yards out.

"DUCOURE! HE’S HIT THAT!"

Antonio Adal launched himself towards the bottom corner, flying through the air to palm the bouncing ball wide of the post.

"WHAT A SAVE FROM ADAL!" the broadcast echoed. "Excellent goalkeeping. Ducoure catches it well, but Adal reads the trajectory early and gets a strong hand behind it. Everton have started finding much more space around Sporting’s midfield."

"Away! Diamande, get it out!" Adal yelled as the ensuing corner kick swung into a crowded six-yard box.

"SECOND BALL!" Morino shouted, turning towards the loose ball as Diamande climbed above Calvert-Lewis and headed the corner beyond the penalty spot.

As the match pushed past the half-hour mark, Pedro Gonsalves found another opening, getting clean through against Pickfort once more.

"Gonsalves is through! He’s got Pickfort to beat!"

Pedro took another touch, opening his body towards the far corner. "SHOOT!" Rayan yelled from the bench.

He struck it low. Pickfort dropped to his right and gathered the ball cleanly.

"Oh, Pedro will be disappointed with that!" the commentator exclaimed. "He had the angle, but there wasn’t enough power on the finish. Pickfort stayed patient and made himself difficult to beat."

As the first half entered stoppage time, disaster struck for the visitors. Everton sent another ball looping into Sporting’s penalty area.

"AWAY!" Adal shouted.

Quaresmo stepped across Calvert-Lewis, turning his body towards the delivery. The ball bounced up abruptly and caught his trailing arm as he moved to block it. A whistle sounded.

"Hang on! The referee’s pointing to the spot!" the commentator called sharply. "He’s given a penalty to Everton!"

"That’s harsh!" Rayan snapped, half-rising from his seat.

"Sit down," one of the coaches told him without looking back.

"But it bounced straight into him!"

"Rayan."

He dropped back onto the bench, still staring angrily at the referee. Quaresmo spun towards the official, arms thrown wide.

"What? My arm was right there!"

"Step away! Let the ref talk!" Braga yelled, dragging his teammates back as Everton players swarmed the official.

"Let’s see what happened," the co-commentator analysed over the replay. "The ball catches Quaresmo’s arm inside the box. The referee had a clear view of it. Sporting aren’t happy with the decision, but Calvert-Lewis has the chance to put Everton ahead right before halftime."

Pickfort stood near his penalty area with his hands on his hips, watching the commotion from a distance. Inside the Sporting goalmouth, Antonio Adal was bouncing sharply on his toes, slapping his gloves together in a furious rhythm.

Dominic Calvert-Lewis picked up the ball, walked deliberately to the penalty spot, and pressed it firmly into the damp turf during the second minute of stoppage time (45+2’). He took three slow steps backward, breathing heavily through his nose.

The stadium noise reached a deafening crescendo, a wall of partisan roaring vibrating right through the substitutes’ bench.

Calvert-Lewis began his run-up, a smooth, deliberate approach and struck the ball low towards the corner on Adal’s right. The goalkeeper guessed correctly, diving full-stretch towards the post, but the shot flew beyond his fingertips and into the side-netting.

"GOAL EVERTON! Calvert-Lewis converts from the spot right at the death of the first half!" the broadcast roared. "A textbook penalty under pressure, giving the hosts the lead!"

"And that’s the danger," his partner added instantly. "Sporting played some wonderful football through Braga and Gonsalves, but you switch off for a second in the box and you pay the price."

Everton 1–0 Sporting.

On the pitch, Calvert-Lewis wheeled away toward the Gwladys Street End, arms spread wide as blue shirts mobbed him near the corner flag. Adal slammed his fist against the pitch in raw frustration, pulling himself up and kicking the goalpost in disgust.

Sporting dragged themselves back to the centre circle for the restart. There was just enough time for one short sequence before the whistle. Braga tried an ambitious chipped pass forward, but Everton easily intercepted, booting it straight into touch.

The half-time whistle blew.

"Half-time at Goodison Park. Everton one, Sporting nil," the lead commentator recapped as the players trudged off. "Sporting created the better openings through Gonsalves and

Gyoker, but defensive lapses have cost them, and Everton take the lead into the break."

Rayan stood up with the rest of the substitutes, his mouth tight with irritation. He had imagined his first matchday memory at Goodison might involve entering the pitch and changing the game.

Instead, as he turned toward the tunnel, his eyes caught the massive stadium scoreboard glowing above the stands:

EVERTON 1 — 0 SPORTING

Without a word, Rayan fell in behind the senior players, walking slowly down the concrete steps into the subterranean chill of the away dressing room.