I looked at my teammates, their faces a mask of exhaustion and despair.
Fiorentina, a tough, scrappy team, was now playing with a new kind of confidence. They were moving with a fluid, determined rhythm, their symbols a constant, humming presence in my mind.
But then, I saw it. A single, beautiful symbol above the head of one of my teammates, Alessandro Bastoni.
A foot, a ball, and a powerful, almost violent, "booom!" Long Shot.
He was going to try to score from long range. It was a desperate move, a Hail Mary, but it was a chance.
I shouted at him, my voice hoarse. "Bastoni! Go for it! I'm open!"
I was lying. I wasn't open, but I was going to make a run. I was going to draw two defenders to me, and I was going to give him a clear shot.
He looked at me, a flicker of surprise and a new kind of determination in his eyes.
