Chapter 31: Vs Fiorentina (1)
The Via del Mare roared louder than ever, as if the whole city had gathered to breathe in unison. The stadium lights flickered and glowed across the perfectly trimmed grass, casting long shadows behind the players as they took their places. It wasn’t just illumination, it was stage lighting for a battle of wills. The chants pouring from the terraces crashed over the field like a hurricane, alive with passion, hope, and a fierce taste of defiance.
This wasn’t just a match, not tonight. This was Lecce versus Fiorentina. David versus Goliath. Red and yellow shirts defending more than just a scoreboard. Pride, unity, belief, all of it hung in the balance.
Lecce lined up in their 3-5-2 formation. A structure Alex Walker had drilled into them over the past weeks with religious intensity. The players knew it by heart now. The way the back three needed to slide, the wingbacks to pinch in, the double pivot to communicate. Fiorentina came in with their fluid 4-3-3 diamond. It looked elegant on paper, smooth and slick, but Alex had studied it for hours, watching every recent match until his eyes blurred. He knew where the cracks would be. He just needed his players to believe they could exploit them.
The tension in the air was almost physical. You could feel it pressing against your chest, right next to your heartbeat. Eyes darted, players shifted on their feet, and Alex stood silently on the edge of his technical area, arms crossed, watching everything. This was it. A night charged with destiny.
The referee blew his whistle. The battle began.
Ylber Ramadani barked orders from midfield almost immediately. His voice sharp and commanding, slicing through the noise like a blade. He knew what this meant. Everyone did.
On the left, Gallo stepped up quickly. He read the body language of Fiorentina’s right winger and anticipated the incoming pass. It came in, low and sharp, but Gallo was already there. He slid in and won it cleanly. The sound of boot against ball echoed across the pitch like a gunshot.
["That’s brilliant anticipation from Gallo,"] the commentator said. ["He’s read that like an open book."]
In one swift motion, Gallo was on his feet. His eyes locked onto Patrick Dorgu on the far side. Without hesitation, he snapped a diagonal ball through the midfield third. It skipped along the turf with pace and precision. Under pressure, through traffic, it found Dorgu’s cleat with perfect timing.
One touch to kill it. The next to drive forward.
Dorgu didn’t hesitate. That explosive burst of speed, his signature move, kicked in like a match had been lit under his boots. He stormed down the left flank like a lightning bolt, defenders chasing helplessly in his wake.