Football singularity-Chapter 478 Knock Out Punch

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[SECOND HALF – 82:22| Stadion Widzewa Łódź | Time: 90:00 +4| England 1 – 3 Germany]

[90+1]

The equaliser detonated across the pitch like a thunderclap, sending England's bench into delirium and plunging the German side into a momentary haze. A stunned silence fell over the German supporters while the English fans roared louder than ever, their chants echoing around the walls of Stadion Widzewa Łódź. The players looked to the sideline, gasping for guidance, their legs weary, and lungs scorched.

But the match didn't pause for breath. If anything, it grew more frenzied. England pushed forward again straight from kick-off, emboldened by Saka's leveller, while Germany tried to wrestle back control through quick touches and tactical discipline. The final minutes of added time resembled warfare more than football, as no one could afford to give away the ball easily.

Players on both sides collapsed into last-ditch tackles, boots scraped studs against calves, and sleeves clung to drenched arms. Rice and Engelhardt traded hard fouls, Jamal Musiala was floored and back up within seconds, and even the referee was hoarse from shouting. He blew his whistle more during added time than through the entire match as he handed out quite a few yellow cards.

It did not discourage the players, though, as chaos became the law now. With every clearance and counter, every whistle and slip, the stadium swelled into a storm. Fans continued shouting, cheering and booing like gladiators straight out of Roman times. But amid the madness, as the final minute of added time ticked as Noah wrestled the ball free from Saka down the left flank before sending it down the line to Rakim.

[90+4]

He took control of the ball just a couple of yards before the centre line, doing his best to stay upright despite Declan Rice's best attempt to nip at his heels. He flicked the ball inwards to Angelo for a quick one-two as he rounded Rice from the outside, perfectly receiving the ball despite his tiered gasps. His light green eyes seemed to glow, resembling a hungry tiger who would lose sight of anything and everything once it looked in on its prey.

A faint, almost invisible golden path seemed to illuminate his way forward, teasing him to grasp it. Common sense told him that going down the wing would be more efficient, but his body subconsciously followed the winding golden path. Cutting inward with a deft chop of his right foot was just in time to dodge a risky slide tackle from Rice.

Rakim stumbled as Rice managed to clip his stud but used his hand to push himself up as he dragged the ball behind him with the sole of his boot before springing up with a flick that sent it rolling into a pocket of space near the halfway circle. Jude came at him with a burst of energy, eyes wide, but Rakim, fighting off exhaustion, kept his composure. With barely a breath to spare, he rolled the ball sideways using a lunging inside drag, then reversed into a La Croqueta that glided past Jude's outstretched leg.

The German crowd screamed as Rakim had gotten past the halfway line and still carried the ball. He couldn't hear anyone shout, as all that was on his mind was following after the golden fog that continued to move as the play developed. His instincts told him that it was his most likely chance at scoring, and he trusted it.

He spotted Musiala at the side of his vision, and he knew he could beat him, but he would be too tired afterwards. A green figure popped at the edge of his vision in the direction the golden trail travelled. Not hesitating, he acted with his left foot, sending a crisp 4-meter pass to Jamie Leweling in a pocket of space.

The winger barely had time to control the ball when Rakim once again called for it a few yards ahead. Forced to improvise under Musiala's and Foden's charge, he sent a bouncing pass his way. Rakim at the edge of the other side of the centre circle, with his back towards the goal and Ben Chilwell at his back, deftly didn't stop the bouncing ball.

His left foot lightly flicked the ball up and to the side, causing Ben to react at what he perceived as a loss of control. He was quickly left stupefied as Rakim's left foot once again flicked the ball, this time higher, doing enough to clear the tall defender as he rounded him on his right. Pushing his tired legs to chase after the falling ball, he stretched out his right foot, pulling it to his chest just before Conor Bradley could interfere.

He felt the air being knocked out of his being as he chested the ball down, but he continued to move forward. The ball kissed the turf and rolled slightly ahead of him, but Rakim, despite the burn in his lungs and the ache deep in his calves, lunged forward like a beast unchained. Conor Bradley closed the space, shoulder low and cleats hungry, but Rakim dipped his right knee and rolled the ball under Bradley's challenge with an improvised V-drag behind his standing foot. It was unorthodox and barely controlled, but it worked, leaving the defender twisting into empty space.

His legs throbbed, and his arms swung wider now, as though begging for oxygen. But this wants a time to stop, not when he was so close to the goal that he could practically taste victory.

A white shirt of Teden Mengi clipped his hip with a body charge, and another arm came across his cheek, smacking his face. He barely noticed, though. With the ball still glued to his foot, he burst between them, lowering his centre of gravity as he somehow slipped through.

One of the defender's boots stepped on the lace of his cleat, and Rakim stumbled hard, his knee scraping the ground, but the ball didn't leave his orbit. With the elegance of a dancer, he spun to his feet using his forearm and inner thigh, then performed a tired but effective body feint to send the recovering Declan Rice the wrong way again. He pushed forward, now 25 yards out. Paul Garner was yelling something on commentary, but even the noise of the crowd seemed to blur behind the thrum of his heartbeat.

Reece James was charging back with one last desperate slide tackle, but with Rakim's heightened, he spotted it almost the send the right-back touched the ground. Executing a weary but instinctual heel chop to his left and James slid past like a comet. The ball popped up awkwardly as Rakim's boot caught more turf than leather, and before he could reset, Chilwell charged through the back of him.

The ground gave way, and he was suddenly airborne, followed by gravity and his other 5 senses being reactivated the moment he crashed to the ground. The whistle blew almost immediately, giving the stadium a chance to exhale and take a much-needed breath.

"RAKIM REX! OH, MY WORD!" Eddie Hall practically exploded over the sound of seventy thousand gasps. "What… have… we just witnessed?! That was not football—that was sorcery on Red Bull!"

"Unbelievable," Paul Garner croaked, almost out of breath himself. "He's gone through six—no, seven England players! On his own! And I swear he got kicked, elbowed, stepped on, and still wouldn't go down until the very end! That's a free kick in prime territory!"

The camera panned to a shot of the pitch where bodies in white were left scattered across the grass like fallen dominoes, heads down, hands on knees. Reece James lay flat on his back, palms over his face. Chilwell stood with arms raised, protesting the whistle, but even he knew deep down—he'd chopped down a bird in full flight.

"You couldn't script this," Eddie continued. "A one-man stampede through the heart of England's midfield and backline! The boy is stomping his name with authority, announcing his name across his entire generation. And he's just ripped the script in half, with no intention of taking things to extra time!"

"And look at him now," Paul added, voice low and reverent. "He's not celebrating. He's not even smiling."

The camera shifted again, zooming to showcase the floodlit pitch below where Rakim was back on his feet thanks to the help of a few of his teammates. Chilwell was quickly sent off for his tackle, offering no reason for him to complain. Not that it was even on his mind as he picked up the ball, placing it down ready to execute the set-piece.

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To Be Continued...