Chapter 80: Vs Atalanta (1)
The first whistle had not even fully faded into the Lecce sky before chaos unfolded across the pitch, in a way that made the entire stadium hold its breath for a moment that felt like it might last forever.
Barely a minute had ticked off the clock, and already Lecce, dressed in their blood-red home kits, were on the front foot, as if they had been waiting all week just for this exact moment, under these exact lights.
It all started with Krstovic pressing Atalanta’s centre-back like a man possessed, like a wolf that had caught the scent of fear and was not going to let go until it got what it came for.
His pressure forced a sloppy clearance that bounced awkwardly and was recovered by Blin in midfield, who looked up with determination burning in his eyes as he scanned the options in front of him.
From there, the ball was shuffled right to Guilbert, who was already moving into space with sharpness in every step, and he cut it centrally to Luca Ferretti.
Ferretti, with his hair slightly tousled and head constantly on a swivel, turned with one touch like a street footballer playing on concrete, and then clipped a cheeky outside-of-the-boot pass out wide to Gallo.
The young left-back was playing as a makeshift winger today, pushed high up the pitch in Alex Walker’s latest tactical experiment that had raised eyebrows among fans during the week.
Gallo did not hesitate for even a second. His first touch was a cross, low and zipping across the grass with venom that made defenders flinch as it sliced through the box.
["That is early, that is dangerous from Lecce, they are coming out swinging!"] shouted the commentator, his voice laced with surprise and a hint of disbelief that was clear to everyone watching.
Helgason, who was loitering at the top-right corner of the penalty area, reacted quickly, like he had been waiting for that exact ball all morning. He slid in, flicking the ball with the outside of his boot, and it ricocheted upward off a defender’s shin like a rogue firework, spinning into the air, awkward and uncontrolled.
And then, Krstovic was there, like a predator stalking its prey in the wild under the hot sun.