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!"]