I watched this game not as a fan, but as a philosopher of the game. In a quiet stadium under moonlight, Wolterredonda and Avai danced through tension—not with noise, but with poetry. A 1-1 draw isn’t failure; it’s a silent symphony of resilience. I saw how one goal cost them everything—and gave them nothing but wonder. This was halftime poetry written in real time: disciplined structure, rebellious heart.