Thursday, February 22nd. The San Siro. Eight o'clock.
The stadium was full. Eighty thousand people. Every seat occupied. Every tier packed. The noise before kick-off was not the noise of a crowd expecting victory. It was the noise of a crowd demanding it. The difference was the difference between hope and desperation, and the San Siro, on this February evening, was desperate.
The ultras in the Curva Sud had been in the stadium since five o'clock. Three hours before kick-off. Their banners were hung from the railings, the messages written in Italian and in English, because the English was for the cameras and the cameras were for the world. "WE ARE MILAN. WE DO NOT DIE." Another: "REMONTADA." Another, simpler: "7-0."
Seven-nil. The scoreline they needed. The scoreline that had never been achieved by any team against any opponent of Palace's quality in any European competition in the history of the sport.
