One of the stewards standing beside the pitch watched the scenes unfold and wondered when the stadium was finally going to settle.
But despite the question, he knew it wasn't going to.
The noise kept moving through the stands, changing shape every few seconds as if nobody had quite decided whether to celebrate, panic, laugh, or scream.
Spanish supporters were still singing.
The Portuguese fans were still trying to lift their team.
Players were scattered across the field, some walking back toward their positions, others gesturing toward the referee.
At the same time, the benches remained alive with people who had forgotten they were supposed to stay seated.
The steward shook his head at the carnage and then turned back to face the fans who looked like they could step onto the pitch any time soon.
Then something cold struck his shoulder.
He looked down, and a small bead of water rested against the fabric of his jacket.
