"Valencia still have the ball, but they are treating it like glass—passing, lingering, resetting without much edge to it."
And it was just as Peter Drury described it.
It wasn't a lack of ideas; it was a room full of ghosts.
No one wanted to be the one caught in Izan's shadow again.
Then Piatelli snapped.
He stepped into a lazy backpass meant for Gaya, stuck out a boot, and spun in one fluid motion.
His body jerked forward, dragging the ball under his sole before snapping his head toward the halfway line and then switching the ball to Fran Perez, who had replaced Rafa Mir before.,
"¡Vamos, hostia!" he roared.
"That's the face of a player who's not here to play second fiddle to anyone. Not even Izan," Tyldesley said, voice tight with adrenaline.
"Piatelli isn't letting this night belong to just one boy."
Piatelli waved violently, both arms swinging like he was tearing pages from a playbook.
Shift.
Get up.
Follow.
