Richard frowned as he watched Larsson's performance unfold.
Something was off.
It wasn't just that Larsson failed to contest the duel—he outright backed away. Normally fearless in one-on-one battles, the Swede had pulled out of the challenge, allowing Liverpool to break down the flank unchecked. Within seconds, the ball was in the net. Robbie Fowler had equalized.
Richard's mind raced. That wasn't like Larsson at all.
Then he saw it—the slight limp in his stride, the way he grimaced after turning. The pieces fell into place with a sinking weight in Richard's chest.
On commentary, they were already dissecting the situation.
"Liverpool's wide play has been dangerous all night. They're relying on individual brilliance to draw defenders and open space. Meanwhile, Larsson looks far from his usual self. He's not engaging in aerial battles, not tracking back with urgency. His movement's sluggish—he looks unwell. Weak. Like he's running through mud."
PHWEEEEEEE!
