The hallway lights flickered slightly as the Lecce squad trudged back into the locker room. Their boots echoed against the hard tiles, heavy and dragging, like the weight of the first half had settled not only in their legs but deep into their bones. No one said anything. They didn't need to. The silence between them said it all.
It wasn't the silence of a team that had been dominated or embarrassed. It was the silence of frustration, of a story rewritten in real time. They had gone two goals up at the San Siro. Against Inter Milan. And somehow, they had let it slip.
That was the worst part. Not that they had conceded. But that they had been so close to something special. And then let it vanish.
