I Coach Football With A System
Chapter 66: Vs AC Milan (7)

Chapter 66: Vs AC Milan (7)

After Lecce pulled one goal back, everything became a lot harder for them. Milan didn’t want to play anymore. Not really. They just wanted to survive. They weren’t interested in possession, or passing, or building anything from the back. All they wanted to do was stall, waste time, and hold onto their slim lead. It was shameless. And it was effective.

The ball would go out of play, and they’d take an extra thirty seconds to throw it in. Players stayed down longer after tackles. Maignan started taking goal kicks like he had arthritis in both knees. It wasn’t beautiful, but it was what desperate teams did when they had something to lose.

Lecce, meanwhile, were chasing ghosts. They had the ball. They moved it. But Milan had dropped into a deep block, and that meant there was barely any room to breathe. The passing triangles were tight, the openings microscopic. Every time they probed forward, they’d get pushed back. It was like playing chess with a wall.

But in the ninetieth minute, something snapped.

It started with Berisha. Milan were wasting time again, trying to pass the ball around lazily near the halfway line. But Berisha pounced, pressing hard, getting a toe in and stealing it clean. He fired a short pass to Helgasson, who was already moving.

Helgasson didn’t stop to think. He nudged the ball forward, danced past one defender, then slipped it through another’s legs. The bench shot to their feet. He kept going, charging up the flank like a man possessed. One defender came at him, he turned. Another closed in, he spun again and kept moving. His legs pumped, his chest heaved, and the roar of the Lecce fans filled the air.

Dorgu appeared on the overlap, and Helgasson flicked the ball behind him with the outside of his boot. Dorgu didn’t need a second invitation. He took one touch, got his head up, and whipped a low cross into the box.

It wasn’t clean. Pavlovic lunged and got a toe on it. The ball popped awkwardly upward, spiraling into the night sky.

And then Banda struck.

He was at the near post, twisted sideways, body contorted into something only adrenaline could allow. His left foot lashed out, met the ball with power and chaos. The strike wasn’t clean either. But it didn’t need to be.

The ball cannoned into the net.

And the world exploded.

["GOALL! GOALL! GOAL FOR LECCE!! BANDA FOR LECCE!!! BANDA HAS DONE IT! HE HAS COMPLETED THE COMEBACK!! 2-2 AND IT’S GAME ON, SO LATE IN THE GAME!"]

["Lecce are really showing that they’re not one to be trifled with! They showed it last week against Inter Milan when they walked into the San Siro, as the underdogs facing a pack of big, bad wolves! As the geek kid in the midst of the school bullies! And they fought and they left with a result! Now here today, in the same monumental landmark, when hope seemed lost, when they tethered at the abyss of despair! When there was supposed to be no way! They defied logic and they created this moment! Goal!! Goal for Lecce! Goal for football!!]

Banda’s celebration was pure joy. Arms outstretched, face lit up like a child who just won the lottery. He sprinted, leapt, spun, screamed. Behind him, the Lecce bench emptied. Alex Walker jumped into the air, his fists hammering the sky. Staff members tackled Banda in hugs. The bench turned into a mosh pit of adrenaline and sweat.

The scoreboard flashed: 2–2.

Six minutes to play.

Alex clapped his hands hard. Once. Twice. Then pointed forward. No words. Just a message: Go.

The players felt it. They were alive now. Hungry.

But Milan weren’t done either.

Seconds after the restart, they broke. A long ball found Rafael Leao charging down the left. The crowd gasped. He raced forward and squared it to Morata in the box. Morata took a touch and fired. Bodies flying everywhere. Falcone stretched full-length and got a fingertip to it.

["Leao nearly turns it around! What a reaction save from Falcone! That is absolutely outrageous!"]

["He keeps Lecce alive again! Milan looked stunned, absolutely stunned, but they’re right back at it with everything they’ve got!"]

But Lecce came back too. They had no fear anymore.

Krstovic and Banda combined beautifully at the edge of the box. Berisha fed them both with a slick layoff. Krstovic didn’t wait. He bent his shot around the last defender, toward the far post.

It missed by inches.

["So close! So, so close! That one was drifting just wide of Maignan’s fingertips! You can feel it coming, can’t you? You can feel the miracle building!"]

Then came Luca Ferretti.

The teenager took the ball in the middle of the park. Reijnders pressed him, fast and hard. But Luca dipped his shoulder and rolled past him like he wasn’t even there. He surged forward, eyes up, and slipped a pass wide to Banda.

Banda met the ball near the edge of the final third. Fikayo Tomori stood in front of him. Banda’s legs flashed. A stepover. Another. He didn’t cut in. He slipped it sideways to Dorgu on the overlap.

Dorgu took it in stride. His first touch was perfect. He stepped into the box.

Then came the contact.

It wasn’t strong. Not enough to break a bone. Not even enough to trip him properly. But it was there. A brush. A clip. Dorgu didn’t need anyone to tell him what do at that moment. In fact, he’d be an idiot if he didn’t know what to do.

And so Dorgu fell. And he made sure to scream so as to get the referee’s attention and make him know how ’serious’ the challenge was.

"Aaargh! My leg! Fuck! It hurts!"

He rolled on the ground, clutching his ankle. The referee didn’t even hesitate.

Whistle.

Finger pointed.

Penalty.

["Ohhh what’s that?! What has Pavlovic done?! What on earth has the young center back done?! So late in the game, probably the final seconds, and he just may have handed Lecce the win with that challenge!"]

Dorgu took his time on the floor, before ’bravely’ standing after feeling his ankle.

Dorgu stepped away from the box, slightly limping due to the ’serious’ challenge. It one of those moments that define careers. His heart pounded; chest rising and falling fast. Around him, the pitch snapped to silence. The world shrank to that spot.

Alex grabbed his clipboard like it was a lifeline. His knuckles were white. His heart was louder than the crowd.

Krstovic stepped forward.

No one else even looked at the ball.

The crowd fell quiet. The stadium held its breath. This was it.

Krstovic placed the ball. Took five steps back.

Alex whispered to himself.

Go win it. Prove yourself.

["Nikola Krstovic versus Mike Maignan. A battle that will no doubt decide the fate of this thrilling encounter. One kick. One moment. One goal or one save. One hero and one villain. Just one more. One more and the game is decided!"]

["Krstovic. For the thousands of Lecce fans who made the trip down to Milan. Krstovic. For the kids behind their television screens, biting their nails and praying for a miracle. Krstovic, standing at the peak of an incredible underdog story. Krstovic, for his nervous teammates outside the box. Krstovic, carrying the hopes and dreams of a city on his back! Krstovic, for himself! For his family! For everything he’s worked for! Nikola Krstovic! Of Lecce! For Lecce! Krstoviccccc!!!!"]

A/N: 3/3