The whistle blew, and the noise of the crowd was replaced by the frantic chatter of the team.
We stumbled back into the dressing room, exhausted but exhilarated.
The scoreboard read 2-2. Extra time was coming.
Coach Cristian Chivu stood in front of us, his face a mixture of pride and intensity.
He wasn't yelling, wasn't throwing water bottles. He was just looking at each of us, his gaze unwavering.
"Look at me," he said, his voice surprisingly calm.
"Seventy minutes in, we were down two-nil. Two. Nothing. And you fought back. You played with heart, with passion, with a kind of courage that can't be taught. We're not tired," he declared, his voice rising a little. "We're not finished! We've got thirty minutes left to play the game of our lives. Go out there and remind them who we are!"
The speech was short, but it ignited a fire in us. We huddled together, patting each other on the back, our tired faces alight with determination.
