Inter: For the Ages: La Pazza too much for Barca to handle

Words: Giulia Sala

Images: Giulia Sala

Just enough time to recover from the emotions of the first leg of the Champions League semi-final, and here I am once again, telling you about another extraordinary match.

One of those nights that, I’m sure of it, confirmed that Inter deserve a place in the final. And so do all of us Interisti who, like me, genuinely risked a heart attack at San Siro last night.

We had left things at a 3-3 draw in Barcelona, with everything to be decided back home at San Siro.

Once again, despite the brilliant performance on the blugrana soil, most predictions still favoured Barcelona.

Fair enough—they’re a great side. But Simone Inzaghi’s Inter (now nicknamed “the demon of Piacenza”) should never be underestimated.

©Giulia Sala/ Terrace Edition. Inter vs Barcelona.

The hunger for revenge after Istanbul is too strong. You could see it straight away, especially in the attitude of our captain Lautaro, who, despite being injured, did everything he could to recover and lead us to victory.

My day didn’t start off great: the night before, anxiety kept me awake and I ended up binge-watching the whole first season of One Piece. But one thought kept hammering away in my head: would my Inter make it to the final?

Work, a quick lunch, then a visit to my parents. A hug for my dad, who hasn’t been doing too well lately. He supports Inter too, mostly because I do. I’m the only real football fan in the family, so while for many it’s “from father to son,” for us, it’s “from daughter to father.”

6:00pm—off to San Siro with my friend Stefano. An hour and a half of travel, cold beers, light chat to distract ourselves from the wait.

We arrive in Milan. No rain. We meet friends, more beers, then up into the Curva Nord.

Pit stop at the bar, final greetings, and we head in. The stadium is packed, the atmosphere is electric. This time, the Curva decided not to stage the usual 20-minute silence protest (against ticket prices and travel difficulties). So I expect San Siro to be roaring from the very first minute.

“Ogni Volta” by Vasco Rossi starts playing. The lights go down, phone torches light up. I think: Bloody Hell! San Siro at night is fucking beautiful. My heart’s racing. The lights come back on, line-ups are announced, and then… the Champions League anthem. It’s on.

Kick-off. The entire stadium sings. The energy is wild. I can tell straight away the lads are up for it. Ten minutes in and I’ve already lost a tone in my voice. We clap, we shout, we whistle, the flags never stop waving.

21’ – Lautaro scores from an assist by the “Vate” Dumfries: the first roar shakes the ground. The captain is here, and he’s letting everyone know it.

43’ – Lautaro wins a penalty. Calhanoglu steps up, ice-cold. San Siro falls into surreal silence. Some stare at the goal, others can’t bear to look. The whistle blows, and boom—an explosion of noise. Everything shakes again.

Pure magic.

Half-time. I feel ten years older after 47 minutes. I head down to the bar. Chaos. I run into friends, fellow away travellers, season ticket holders like me. This is the stadium, this is the love that binds us.

Second half begins. The first ten minutes are calm, then at 54’ Garcia scores: 1-2. We don’t stop singing.

At 57’ my heart stops beating when Sommer pulls off his first monster save but the relief is short at 59’, Dani Olmo equalises.

Shit, here we go again, just like in Barcelona. But with La Pazza (the Crazy One), that’s how it goes: it’s always suffering, but nothing’s lost yet.

68’—Yamal goes down at the edge of the box. Nerves. I think, No, that’s not a penalty. But we wait like it’s a life-or-death sentence. Just a free kick. I breathe again.

The minutes pass. They attack, we hold. Sommer saves again—he seems possessed by the spirit of Julio Cesar.

Then the chill: 86’, Raphinha scores. One of those moments where your heart breaks. If you’re a real fan, you know exactly what I mean—when despair, sadness, and anger try to take over. But we don’t give up.

I keep singing because I’d seen that same fighting spirit on the pitch. So I think, OK, we’re gonna equalise … and boom: an unbelievable Acerbi in the 93rd gives us hope with a goal worthy of a seasoned striker. I swear I thought I’d die right there in “secondo anello” the second tier.

Extra time. It’s pouring. I’ve lost my voice, my hands are wrecked. I don’t want penalties.

99’—the miracle comes from Davide Frattesi, the right man at the right moment, the super sub who always makes the difference. I’m flying, in a trance, but I know there’s still a long way to go.

The spirit of the “acchiappasogni” guides Sommer once more to make a save of a lifetime, again on Yamal. My mind flashes back to 2010.

I watch the pitch. I watch the clock. And then, finally: the final whistle.

We’re going to Munich. The Curva Nord explodes. I burst into tears. 120 minutes of pure tension melt away. Hugs, joy, hope.

Thank you, Pazza Inter, for giving me a night like this—from the 11 starters to those who came off the bench and gave everything for the shirt. Thanks to Simone Inzaghi, who once again proved his intelligence and brilliance.

Football, to me, is the most beautiful sport there is—the only one that’s ever made me feel this way, not just with my team, but with so many great matches.

I hope I’ve managed to share my love in these words, and taken you with me into what was a Champions League semi-final I know will go down in history.

And now—full steam ahead to Munich.

Giulia is on Instagram: @giuly_182

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