The best soccer commercial you could possibly imagine

I watched a lot of football as a kid. My first football memory is the 2006 World Cup final. Italy vs. France. My brother and I were sitting in the kitchen, in the semi-darkness, staring at the tiny wall-mounted TV.

I was for France. He was for Italy. Zidane, Materazzi, Pirlo… I remember that match with particular warmth.

I also remember 2008 – the Champions League final between Manchester United and Chelsea. Terry’s miss. That’s when I fell in love with Manchester United – and they’ve remained in my heart ever since. Although, frankly, I mostly only watch them in European competitions… but that doesn’t happen often, if you know what I mean :)

Despite the sympathies I mentioned above, I’ve always found it interesting to root for the underdog. For someone who goes into battle knowing the odds are slimmer, but has more character. Where victory is won through sweat and blood, on every inch of the pitch. And such a victory is more delicious than any victory for the favorites.

I don’t watch football much these days, but I try not to miss knockout matches involving “big clubs” like Barcelona or Inter. I didn’t miss last week’s match between them (3-3), and I didn’t miss this week’s (4-3).

Today, Inter amazed me with their balls. Thuram, half-dead, fought like a horse until the very end. Barella seemed to be on his last breath, but he kept running, clinging, fighting—and you could see how hard it was for him.

This match is more powerful than any movie. Because there’s no script. You don’t know how it’s going to end. Who will be the hero—the gardener or the sister’s husband? (Sorry, I couldn’t think of anything better.)

You only know the actors, you know the directors—but you don’t know how the heroes will behave.

2-0 at halftime—well, that’s it. Before the match, they said: the best attack against the best defense. How can they come back from two goals down with a defense like that? But Barcelona equalized within six minutes.

In the 87th minute, Barcelona took the lead. It seemed they were done—they had no strength left. And then came Acerbi.

37 years old. Never a single goal in European competition in his entire career. And then he scores as if he’d always been a center forward. I scream. I squeal. I’m a teenager in the kitchen again: my brother next to me, the dim light, the small screen—and big drama.

And then extra time. And Frattesi. The guy who might leave in the summer due to lack of playing time scores the goal that changed everything. Barça tried to do something at the end, but the film was already over, the chance was gone.

Real goosebumps. Real heroes. And a well-deserved ending.

Forza Inter!