For a moment, neither looked like an eighteen-year-old or a forty-one-year-old.
They were simply two players fighting for the same ball.
Izan, once in the air, felt the strain immediately as Ronaldo's shoulder pressed into him.
His body seemed to rise with an effort that should no longer have existed, and to that, Izan gritted his teeth and inched higher.
He climbed higher and higher, until his forehead met the ball.
"IZAN!" Tyldesley's voice tore through the broadcast watching the header turn vicious.
It drove downward toward the goal, leaving Costa almost no time to react.
The Spanish supporters prayed keenly, just wishing that the ball would end up in the back of the net.
Then...
THUD.
The ball smashed against the crossbar, and it flew back into the air as Costa watched it from his airborne form.
The entire Spanish section seemed to inhale at once as the rebound dropped outside the immediate crowd of bodies.
