Chapter 81: Vs Atalanta (2)
The stadium had barely calmed after Banda’s goal when Atalanta seized control of the game with an almost manic urgency that felt like a summer storm rolling in off the Adriatic. They weren’t rattled by Lecce’s opener. If anything, it provoked them, like a heavyweight boxer waking up after taking a sharp jab to the chin, shaking the cobwebs from their head, rolling their shoulders, and stepping forward to return fire.
Alex could see it from the touchline at Stadio Via del Mare, arms folded across his chest, cap low on his forehead, eyes scanning the field with predatory focus. The humid air was thick, vibrating with the distant hum of the Lecce supporters, their chants still echoing in the corners after Banda’s goal, but now muffled by the growing tension on the pitch. Gasperini’s men pressed with a cold, ruthless synchronization, suffocating Lecce’s midfield, squeezing the spaces until every touch from a yellow shirt felt heavy, every pass under pressure, every clearance desperate.
It wasn’t long before the chances began to roll in, each one a wave building higher and faster, slamming against Lecce’s defensive line, pulling them deeper and deeper toward their own goal.
In the 17th minute, Ederson picked up the ball near the center circle, his gaze shifting quickly, weighing his options, before he decided to carry it himself, pushing forward with strides that cut through the midfield like a blade. Ramadani tried to step across, but Ederson brushed past him like he wasn’t there, the Lecce midfielder’s attempt at a shoulder barge absorbed without even slowing Ederson’s momentum.
A quick, precise pass found Charles De Ketelaere drifting between the lines, moving like smoke curling up through cracks in a wall, unnoticed until it was too late. His first touch settled the ball, his head lifted, and in the same breath, he lobbed a delicate, clever ball over the top toward Lookman.
Lookman took it down with a soft, controlled touch, letting it bounce once on the dry grass before pulling back his leg to strike low and hard toward the bottom corner, eyes locked on the far post.
Falcone read it like a book.
He exploded off his line, diving full stretch to his right, fingertips grazing the ball, just enough to send it skidding past the post, the Lecce fans behind the goal holding their breath before erupting in grateful applause.
["OHHHHHH, WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT FROM WLADIMIRO FALCONE! THAT IS ABSOLUTELY MAGNIFICENT GOALKEEPING! If you want to show your kids what world-class reflexes look like, just show them that save, because Lookman thought he had scored, Atalanta thought they were level, but Falcone said NO!"]
Alex clapped once, firmly, the sharp sound cracking through the humid air.
"Stay tight! Don’t drop too deep!" he shouted, voice calm but iron beneath the surface.