Chapter 46: Vs Inter Milan (2)
The San Siro was uncharacteristically silent after Lecce’s second goal.
It wasn’t the silence of disappointment or the lull that came from boredom. No, this was different. This was the hush of a stunned colossus, a stadium full of giants and believers who had just been punched in the mouth by someone they never saw coming. The away fans celebrated in a corner of the stadium like lunatics, waving their yellow and red scarves and leaping into one another’s arms. But for the rest of San Siro, it was as if someone had pressed pause.
Alex Walker didn’t wave, didn’t scream, didn’t even glance at the camera that had lingered on his face for three full seconds. He stood with his arms crossed on the edge of the technical area, mouth in a tight line, eyes tracking the shape of his team as they fell back into the new structure.
Lecce had gone defensive. And not just your regular low block. They had retreated into something brutal, something bold, something that looked almost impossible to break down unless you had a sledgehammer and ninety minutes of time.
A 6‑2‑2 shape.
Not even a flat five, or a flexible three center back system like before. This was something else. Two tight lines of midfielders clogging every lane. Two strikers up top, not dropping deep but staying high, always looking for a moment to pounce. Full backs who had tucked inside as auxiliary center backs. It wasn’t beautiful, but it was smart. Cynical. Sharp. Like someone had carved it out of solid steel.
["Look at this formation," the commentator said. "Lecce have completely shifted the balance. Inter’s creativity is smothered. The champions look lost here."]
And they were. For the next twenty minutes after the second goal, Inter Milan looked nothing like the team that had gone undefeated all season. Their attacking flair was dulled. Their transitions were sluggish. They passed sideways. They passed backwards. And every time Barella or Calhanoglu or Lautaro tried to thread a ball through the middle, they found a wall of yellow and red jerseys waiting, shifting as one, pressing the moment the ball entered the danger zone.
It wasn’t pretty. But it was working.
But this was still Inter. A team full of internationals, full of players who didn’t know how to panic. Champions don’t collapse easily, and Inter weren’t going to go down without testing every crack in Lecce’s armor.
In the 18th minute, something finally clicked. Martinez dropped deeper, received a bouncing pass, and spun away from Baschirotto in one smooth motion. The space on the left opened up, and he drove toward the penalty area with frightening speed. Baschirotto tried to recover, sliding in late, but Martinez was already past him.