Mid-May 2010
The halftime break, though brief, had allowed a fragile tendril of hope to take root within our weary team. Coach Herrera's pointed words, coupled with the sheer frustration of being outplayed in the first half, had ignited a renewed sense of urgency. We emerged for the second half with a palpable shift in our approach, a collective determination to claw our way back into the contest. We pressed higher up the pitch, denying Ángel Correa the space to dictate play, and our passes in midfield, orchestrated by a more assertive Nicolás Fernández, gained a sharper, more incisive edge.
Ten minutes into the second half, our perseverance finally yielded a breakthrough. Nicolás, with his usual pinpoint accuracy, curled a dangerous corner kick into the heart of the penalty area. I managed to shake off the tight marking of my defender with a sudden burst of movement, leaping to meet the ball at its highest point. The connection was solid, the header powerful, and the ball soared past the outstretched fingers of Ángel's goalkeeper, nestling into the back of the net. The roar that erupted from our team and the encouraging shouts from the sidelines were a potent shot of adrenaline, momentarily eclipsing the lingering fatigue that still clung to my limbs. 2-1.
The goal acted as a catalyst, injecting a fresh wave of belief into our play. We surged forward with renewed vigor, sensing a tangible shift in the momentum of the match. Alexis, his eyes burning with fierce determination, became an even more electrifying presence on the left wing, his quicksilver feet and intricate dribbling leaving a trail of bewildered defenders in his wake. He was a constant menace, his every touch of the ball carrying the threat of a game-changing moment.
That moment arrived in the 65th minute, a testament to Alexis's individual brilliance. He collected the ball wide on the left flank, his eyes immediately sizing up the two defenders standing between him and the goal. With a mesmerizing combination of lightning-fast footwork and deceptive changes of pace, he danced past both of them, leaving them stumbling in his wake. He then cut sharply inside, his body feinting one way before unleashing a powerful, curling shot with his right foot that nestled perfectly just inside the far post. The eruption of cheers from our team was deafening, a collective release of pent-up frustration and a surge of renewed hope. 2-2. We were back on level terms.
Fueled by the comeback, a surge of confidence coursed through me, momentarily pushing back the weariness that had plagued me throughout the match. I felt a renewed sense of responsibility, a burning desire to lead the team forward and capitalize on this newfound momentum. In the 85th minute, the opportunity arose. Nicolás, with his exceptional vision, played a short, incisive pass to my feet just outside the penalty area. I took a touch to settle the ball, my eyes quickly assessing the positioning of the defenders. Sensing a slight hesitation in their defensive line, I unleashed a powerful, dipping shot with my right foot. The ball seemed to hang in the air for a fraction of a second before screaming past the outstretched fingers of Ángel's goalkeeper and nestling into the back of the net. 3-2.
A wave of elation washed over me. I pumped my fist in the air, a surge of adrenaline and, I must admit, a fleeting moment of arrogance momentarily eclipsing the earlier fatigue and pressure. "Vamos!" I roared, the cheers of my teammates echoing in my ears.
However, our lead, as precious and hard-fought as it was, proved to be agonizingly short-lived. Less than two minutes later, Ángel Correa, clearly stung by our dramatic comeback and determined to wrest back control of the game, produced a moment of pure, unadulterated magic, a flash of individual brilliance that silenced our celebrations. Picking up the ball deep in midfield, he embarked on a mesmerizing solo run, weaving past three tired defenders with an uncanny display of close control and breathtaking agility, his body feinting one way while his feet danced the other. He then unleashed a low, powerful shot that beat our outstretched goalkeeper at his near post. 3-3. The air was instantly sucked out of our jubilant celebrations, replaced by a renewed sense of tension and a creeping feeling of inevitability.
The final whistle blew at the end of regulation time, the score locked at a dramatic 3-3. The coaches, sensing the heightened stakes and the palpable desire for a winner, decided to play two additional periods of extra time. The fatigue that had been a dull ache throughout the second half now felt like a heavy weight strapped to everyone's legs, but the sheer intensity of the match and the burning desire to emerge victorious kept us pushing, fueled by adrenaline and sheer willpower.
In the second period of extra time, with both teams visibly exhausted, their movements labored and their passes less precise, Ángel Correa delivered the decisive, final blow. Mateo "El Rápido" Zárate, surprisingly finding himself in a good attacking position after a rare defensive lapse from our tired midfield, laid off a short pass to Ángel just inside the box. With a deft first touch that belied his fatigue, Ángel controlled the ball, his eyes coolly assessing the situation. He then unleashed a powerful, rising shot that beat our outstretched goalkeeper at the near post. 4-3. His hat-trick, coupled with his earlier assist to Zárate, had sealed the victory for his team in the dying moments of the extra period.
As the final whistle blew for the second and final time, a wave of crushing disappointment washed over our exhausted team. We had fought back with every ounce of our remaining energy, displaying a resilience and determination that had surprised even ourselves. But in the end, the undeniable brilliance of Ángel Correa had proved to be the decisive factor. The elation of my earlier goal and our brief lead now felt like a distant, almost dreamlike memory, overshadowed by the bitter taste of defeat. La frustración y la decepción dentro de mí comenzaron a hervir, amenazando con desbordarse. Unas palabras duras fueron intercambiadas con Ángel, la adrenalina del partido y la tensión subyacente encontrando una breve y acalorada salida. Antes de que Alexis o cualquier otro pudiera intervenir, un conato de enfrentamiento se produjo entre nosotros.
De repente, los silbatos agudos de los entrenadores Herrera y Benítez cortaron el aire. Sus voces, usualmente firmes, ahora estaban cargadas de una palpable ira. "¡Altamirano! ¡Correa! ¡Basta! ¡Ahora!"
Nos llamaron a los tres – Ángel, Alexis (que había intentado separarnos) y a mí – a la banda, sus rostros sombríos. La reprimenda que siguió fue rápida e implacable. Hablaron de disciplina, de espíritu de equipo y de la inaceptabilidad de nuestra conducta. La consecuencia fue clara: una semana de suspensión de todas las actividades del equipo.
[Fin del Capítulo 12]