The Inter players were a single, living organism of pure joy, a rolling maul of hugs, tears, and triumphant screams in the middle of the Stadio Olimpico.
Alessandro Bastoni, the man who had traveled from hell to heaven in the space of thirty minutes, was being held aloft on the shoulders of his teammates, tears of pure, unadulterated redemption streaming down his face.
The commentator, his voice now just a hoarse, happy whisper, was trying to find the words. "They have done it! The kings of the comeback have conquered Rome! Inter Milan are the champions of the Coppa Italia! From the brink of despair, they have snatched glory! Football, you beautiful, cruel, magnificent beast! You have given us another masterpiece!"
On the other side of the pitch, the Roma players lay on the grass, utterly broken.
The home crowd, who had been a deafening wall of noise all night, began to slowly, silently file out, leaving behind a stadium that now belonged entirely to Inter.
