Chapter 47: Vs Inter Milan (3)
The noise inside the San Siro was deafening, rolling in thick, thunderous waves that pulsed with every Inter Milan attack. The stadium was a living beast now, a storm made of concrete and voices. Ever since Inter clawed one goal back, something had changed. There was a shift in the atmosphere, subtle at first, like a gust of wind that you could feel but not see. But now, it was unmistakable. The crowd had caught the scent of momentum. Blood, even. And Inter’s players, sensing it too, began to move with an urgency and sharpness that made even Lecce’s most composed defenders clench their jaws and brace for impact.
Alex Walker stood right at the edge of his technical area, his coat zipped up to the neck, hands buried deep in his pockets. The camera caught his face in a close-up, but the emotion wasn’t there. His expression was flat, almost bored, but that was only the surface. Inside, his mind was buzzing with tension, thoughts swirling around like smoke from a fire. They were still in the lead. Just barely. But he could feel the pitch tilting beneath his feet. The game was shifting. Slowly. Gradually. But undeniably. The weight of Inter’s presence was growing, and it was getting harder and harder for Lecce to breathe.
In the 33rd minute, it almost unraveled.
A throw-in. Something simple. Something harmless.
But that was the danger of facing a team like Inter. Even the mundane could be a weapon. Federico Dimarco took the ball on the sideline and zipped a pass inside to Barella. One touch was all it took. One perfect touch to dance past Berisha, and suddenly Lecce’s midfield looked scattered.
The gap opened.
Barella didn’t hesitate. He chipped a delicate ball over the top, and Lecce’s defensive line was caught in that terrible, in-between space. Thuram, lurking between the center backs, made his move. He controlled the ball on his chest, let it drop, and then snapped a low shot toward the near post.
It was fast. Precise. And almost deadly.
But Wladimiro Falcone was ready. Lecce’s keeper dove sharply to his right, almost impossibly quick for his size, and got his palm to the ball. A strong, confident save. The kind that goalkeepers dream about.
["Falcone again! Lecce’s keeper is standing tall like a fortress!"]
["You get the feeling Inter are turning the screws here. Lecce are just about holding on!"]