In the 88th minute, with the score locked at 0-0, the piazza went silent. A Bologna winger broke free, the ball a blur at his feet. He crossed it—a perfect, arching rainbow. Marco gripped his knees. Silvio held his breath.
Silvio stood up, his joints creaking, and patted Marco on the shoulder. "The bread was tough, and the steel didn't break. I suppose that's enough of a story for one night." Bolonia vs Cremonese en Vivo
"A draw," Marco muttered, a small, begrudging smile forming. "Neither of us loses today." In the 88th minute, with the score locked
"You play like you bake, Marco," Silvio teased, his eyes glued to the flickering television screen rigged up in the square. "Too much yeast, no substance. Cremonese will rise today." Marco gripped his knees
The ball met a striker’s head, but instead of the net, it rattled the crossbar with a sound that seemed to echo in the village square itself. The rebound fell to a Cremonese defender who cleared it with a desperate, lunging kick. The final whistle shrieked. 0-0.
The sun dipped behind the jagged peaks of the Italian horizon, casting long, amber shadows over a small village nestled between the loyalties of Bologna and Cremona. In the local piazza, the air didn’t smell of the usual espresso and dust; it smelled of anticipation.
Marco laughed, a deep sound that rumbled in his chest. "We are the Rossoblù . We have the weight of history. You are just a guest in this league, Silvio. Enjoy the view while it lasts."