Chapter 51: Vs Inter Milan (7)
Lecce’s third goal sent shockwaves through the San Siro. The equalizer had shattered the illusion of safety, breaking the dam of expectations and composure. Suddenly, both teams were throwing men forward, no longer hiding behind calculated strategies or compact defensive lines. The pitch turned into a bruising battlefield, every inch fought for like it was sacred ground. The once measured and cautious play of the first half had been abandoned. What replaced it was raw hunger, a wild desire to snatch all three points and walk away with the glory.
The crowd responded in kind, the atmosphere swelling to a fever pitch. It was no longer just noise. It was something primal, almost alive, like the stadium itself had been possessed by the game’s madness. Fans roared, whistles pierced the air, and a wind of pure tension swept through the stands. Several major chances unfolded in a chaotic storm as the game spiraled into an all-out campaign of desperation, brilliance, and near misses.
Inter were the first to make a statement after the equalizer. In the 64th minute, Skriniar, who had been quiet for most of the match, picked out Dimarco with a sweeping long ball down the left flank. Dimarco didn’t hesitate. He turned, ghosted past Gallo with a burst of pace, then squared a sharp pass across the box. Martinez was waiting. He stepped into the ball with a perfect half-volley, the kind of strike that usually ends in the back of the net.
But Falcone had other plans.
The Lecce keeper reacted like a man possessed. He hurled himself to his left, sticking out a strong hand just in time. The ball skidded off his palm and curled away from goal.
The crowd gasped in unison as the net rippled slightly behind the post.
["And again, Falcone!"] the commentator roared, nearly losing his voice. ["He’s just unbelievable tonight! Martinez thought he had that in the bag, but Falcone, Lecce’s guardian between the posts, said no with a full stop!"]
Barely a minute later, Inter came again, hungrier and even more dangerous. This time it was from a corner. The ball curled viciously toward the near post. Barella rose, not to shoot, but to flick the ball backwards across the six-yard box, catching Lecce off-guard. Dimarco came crashing in, his foot swinging for another half-volley. It was hit well, low and dangerous.
But Gallo was there just in time. He lunged with everything he had, stretching his leg to deflect the shot wide.
["Barely away!"] the commentator called, almost laughing from the sheer tension. ["Lecce’s defense are digging in like soldiers in a trench. But Inter, they’re turning the screws here. You can feel it. This pressure, it’s building, and it might just break something soon!"]
Inter weren’t finished. Not even close.