But just as Tessli stepped out, Perrotta suddenly shifted his body to the side and made a shooting motion.
A violent long shot!
Damn!
A long shot from a big central forward is absolutely reliable!
Tessli instantly put his hands behind his back and spread his legs, expanding his blocking area.
But Perrotta suddenly poked the ball with his right foot, and the ball flew past Tessli in a flash.
Fake shot!
Tessli reacted.
Damn!
Zhang Fei’s started doing embroidery!
This...
Tessli reached out and grabbed Perrotta’s jersey.
But Perrotta’s height and weight, plus he was already charging forward.
If Lu Yang charging up is a land tank,
then Perrotta charging up is a land aircraft carrier!
Tessli was directly carried off his feet and slammed heavily to the ground.
The main referee followed closely and indicated that this was not a foul!
Perrotta successfully drove the ball into the penalty area!
But the Premier League’s number-one left-back, the Premier League’s number-one speed Ashley Gordon had already caught up with Perrotta.
No matter how fast Perrotta was, he couldn’t be faster than Gordon.
Zzzzz!
Gordon slid in for a tackle, fully confident he’d get the ball!
But inspiration struck Perrotta; he just happened to pull the ball back a step earlier, stopping it right on the spot.
Gordon perfectly slid right across in front of Perrotta; he flicked his sleeve, yet couldn’t take away even a wisp of cloud.
Bang!
Perrotta snatched a shot with his left foot!
Marduk hurled himself to save!
Neville flew in with a kick; the two of them, one in front and one behind, formed two defensive lines, almost watertight.
But the next second, the ball rolled past beneath the two of them in succession.
Low drive!
White spray surged up.
Six white figures in England’s backfield stood or lunged.
Yet none of them could stop that single blue figure.
One man, one city—what’s the harm if the whole world is your enemy?
Blade across his horse, ringed by ambush on all sides—what can they do to me?
"Roar!" Perrotta threw back his head and howled at the sky, arms slightly spread, fists clenched tight.
The Wolf King has returned!
"GOAL!"
"Perrotta! Perrotta with a brace!"
"Perrotta is unstoppable!"
"He dribbled past three men, and under the chase and blockade of six defenders, he waltzed in like no one was there!"
"He singlehandedly ripped apart England’s entire back line! He’s explosively strong!"
"Today’s Perrotta is showing people what it means to be the world’s number-one pillar-style central forward!"
"For Italy, he has returned to his peak in a dream, he’s made a comeback from the abyss!"
"There are still just over ten minutes left; Italy Team still have a chance!"
"Perrotta!"
"Perrotta!"
Tens of thousands in the stadium went crazy; they couldn’t suppress the excitement in their hearts.
They seemed to finally see the reason why back then Serie A could sweep the world and be called the Little World Cup.
Praxedes, Perrotta!
They’re both old now.
But even in old age they can still produce such a scene of the same mold; this is hard for the new fans to accept.
They had thought Gutierrez was already the upper limit of Divine Strikers.
They had thought Izalelt was the strongest of all!
But anyone who’s watched Italy Team’s last two matches is probably going to put a big question mark over all their previous judgments.
They can’t believe what they might have missed.
In that era where a hundred flowers bloomed, was everyone really a god?
Perrotta didn’t waste much time; after a brief celebration he returned to his own half—they needed to save time.
But as he ran past Lu Yang, Perrotta couldn’t help giving Lu Yang a thumbs up.
"Nice pass?" Lu Yang asked.
"More than that!" Perrotta said. "You let me be myself again!"
The next ten minutes.
England Team turtled up even more, leaving only Mancini up front because of his speed.
And they really did seize several counterattacking chances.
Rashim also made very aggressive runs into the box and got three shooting opportunities.
But all three shots were wildly off the mark.
The most outrageous was when Mancini swept the ball across the Italy goal, and Rashim, facing an empty net, side-footed... and sent it over!
In that moment, Rashim’s joyful football had reached full perfection.
The image of him clutching his head in regret is destined to become a classic.
In the eighty-ninth minute of the match.
Ancelotti fired a long shot and won a corner.
Morici took the corner.
Lu Yang leapt high at the near post; White had to jump with him to contest the header.
But Morici’s delivery was very high, and neither of them got their head to it.
The next second.
A tower rose straight up from the ground!
Lu Yang had tied up White, the only one who could wrestle with Perrotta, freeing Perrotta completely.
The Wolf King soared and smashed a header!
The next second...
Italy players all threw their hands up!
Everyone was wildly slapping their own arms!
"Handball! He handled it!"
"Handball! Penalty!"
"Handball!"
Perrotta’s header had plenty of power, but on its way it was blocked out by Tessli’s outstretched arm.
Beep!
A whistle blast, and the main referee firmly pointed to the penalty spot.
Italy have won a do-or-die penalty!