Chapter 84: Vs Atalanta (5)
The roar inside the Via del Mare was deafening, almost primal, the sound of thousands of voices rising as one, surging, falling, then surging again like the waves that crashed against the Puglia coast not far from the stadium. The scoreboard glowed 2-2, harsh and bright in the warm night, and with just over thirty minutes remaining, the match had become a chaotic symphony of heavy breaths, crunching tackles, and the relentless pounding of feet on grass.
Neither Lecce nor Atalanta seemed interested in playing it safe anymore. There were no thoughts of caution, no thoughts of retreat. They were trading punches now, blow for blow, and everyone in the stadium could feel it deep in their bones, the weight of every pass, every clearance, every run into space.
["Thissss one... this match... it’s gone completely off the rails, folks! It’s chaos, it’s drama, it’s raw, it’s beautiful, and right now it is anyone’s game!"]
The first warning shot of the coming storm fell to Atalanta. Of course it did. It was Lookman again, he was everywhere, a phantom cutting through Lecce’s backline with the confidence of a man who could smell blood in the air. De Ketelaere, always scanning, always finding that impossible angle, spotted Lookman’s diagonal run behind Baschirotto and pinged a precise ball that skipped over the grass like a stone over water.
Lookman brought it down with a touch so clean it was almost disrespectful, cut inside on his right, eyes narrowing as he picked his spot, and let fly from the edge of the box with venom and hope combined. The shot was low, hard, destined for the far bottom corner.
Falcone flung himself across the goal, arms outstretched, fingertips straining, and with a loud smack of glove on leather, he parried it wide, the rebound skidding out into chaos before Pongracic arrived to clear it with a desperate lunge, sending the ball high and far.
["FALLLCOOONNNNEEE! OH MY WORD, THAT IS WORLD CLASS GOALKEEPING FROM THE LECCE NUMBER ONE, STRETCHING EVERY INCH OF HIMSELF TO KEEP THAT OUT! THAT WAS DESTINED, DESTINED FOR THE BACK OF THE NET, AND HE SAID NO!"]
The Via del Mare roared in approval, the sound rolling like thunder.
Lecce responded immediately. The clearance found its way to Luca Ferretti, the teenager with a heart too big for his frame, who took the ball under control and with a quick drop of the shoulder, danced past one, then two Atalanta midfielders, leaving them grasping at air as he surged forward. His eyes lifted, spotting Banda peeling away from his marker, and with a clever, disguised pass, Ferretti slid the ball through into space.
Banda didn’t hesitate. He took a single touch to steady himself and then shot low and hard, trying to sneak it past Carnesecchi before the keeper could set himself. But Carnesecchi was quick off his line, closing the angle, throwing himself forward with a knee out, and the ball ricocheted away, safe, cleared by Scalvini before Krstovic could pounce.
["IT’S END TO END NOW! THIS IS PURE SERIE A THEATRE! BANDA WITH THE BREAKAWAY, THE CROWD ON THEIR FEET, AND CARNESSECCHI WITH A HUGE, HUGE SAVE TO DENY HIM!"]