Minute 85.
The tempo slowed, but not because Palmeiras wanted it to.
São Caetano had dropped deeper, retreating into a low block that smothered space between the lines. Their midfielders weren't even pressing anymore—they were shadowing, jockeying, delaying. Everything about their body language said one thing:
We're taking the 1–0.
Palmeiras adjusted. Rafael stopped rushing the ball forward. He started scanning wider. Waiting for the fullbacks to step higher, for someone—anyone—to make a diagonal cut that meant something.
Thiago rotated further inside, almost playing as a second striker now. He caught eyes with Rafael, then nodded once.
On the next pass, Rafael shaped as if to go wide again, but at the last second, disguised a ball toward the inside left channel.
Thiago read it early. He moved first.
The ball met him in stride.
One touch pulled it away from the defender. A second dropped his shoulder and froze the man. He stepped inside, into the box, angles narrowing, and drove his right foot through the ball.
It was low. Fast.
But not clean.
It clipped the foot of the trailing center back and spun awkwardly toward the near post.
The keeper dove—panicked—but got a hand to it.
The deflection pushed it just wide of the post.
Corner.
The stadium stood all at once.
The ball was retrieved fast, the set-up immediate. Palmeiras had no time to play it short.
The corner curled into a dangerous area, around the penalty spot.
A scramble. A head met the ball, but weakly.
Cleared again.
São Caetano launched the counter like they'd been waiting for it all match.
Their number 8 broke free, chesting the ball down and sending a long diagonal into space for their striker. The crowd's pulse shifted—panic rippled forward.
The striker pushed into open grass, two defenders chasing.
He shaped to shoot just as the center back closed.
A wild swing.
The ball flew well over the bar.
Palmeiras were lucky.
That should've ended it.
Minute 88.
Palmeiras weren't pushing now—they were attacking. Every player moved two seconds faster, not always smarter, but with conviction. Their lines were tighter, their touches sharper.
Rafael was dictating from deep again, telling everyone where to stand like he was rearranging chess pieces mid-game.
Thiago was no longer hugging the touchline.
He floated in the pocket between the right-sided center back and the fullback—an area neither wanted to own.
Rafael saw it.
He zipped a pass low through midfield traffic. Thiago stepped into it cleanly, pressed from behind. One flick behind his standing leg beat the first marker. The second defender slid in late.
Thiago twisted his hips and took the hit, riding through contact and staying upright.
He didn't panic.
Eyes up. The box crowded.
Nando was open on the far side.
Thiago squared it across the top of the penalty area.
Nando stepped into it, angled his shot—inside of the foot.
Too slow.
The keeper read it. Got down quickly. Another save.
Another sigh from the crowd.
Minute 89.
Palmeiras threw everything forward.
The fullbacks now played as wingers.
Rafael barely left the halfway line.
Even the center backs stepped to intercept halfway inside the opposition half.
São Caetano looked like they were just trying to survive. But they weren't unraveling.
Not yet.
Thiago moved into the half-space again, dragging two defenders as Nando switched to the center.
The pass came to him again—too high to control on the ground.
He leapt, trapped it with his chest, and dropped it down quickly.
The bounce was awkward, the pressure immediate.
He turned with his body shielding the ball, defender hanging on his back.
There was no room for a shot.
So he faked one, pulled the ball sideways, and drew in another marker.
He didn't need the goal.
He just needed the collapse.
And it worked.
The defense bent just enough for Rafael to drift unseen into the gap behind.
Thiago flicked the ball behind him.
Rafael took it in stride.
Shot—
Blocked.
Not cleanly.
The ball rebounded across the six-yard box.
Nando lunged.
Missed.
A toe away from connection.
The keeper dived and smothered it.
Minute 90.
The fourth official raised the board.
+4 MINUTES
The crowd roared again. One final gasp of belief.
Palmeiras restarted instantly.
No speeches.
No time.
90+1.
Rafael floated the ball into the box again.
Too deep.
The São Caetano keeper rose, caught it easily, and dropped to the ground with all the drama of a telenovela death scene.
Boos thundered.
He lay there for a full fifteen seconds before standing.
No card.
Just wasted time.
90+2.
Palmeiras stole it back near midfield.
The left back pushed up. Thiago was still central, now acting like a hybrid 10.
The team no longer played patterns.
They played instincts.
The ball came to him near the top of the box. He faked left, spun right, cut inside—and was tackled again.
Fair.
Ball loose.
Rafael picked it up.
Passed wide.
Nando took a long touch, cut back, looked up—
Crossed into the box.
Thiago jumped.
Didn't reach it.
Header from the striker—over the bar.
90+3.
São Caetano's final sub came on, chewing another 30 seconds.
Coach Eneas didn't even look at the clock.
He yelled, "Pressure high! Final play!"
The ball came back into play. Palmeiras stole it almost immediately.
Rafael, again, the anchor.
He passed into the middle, then followed.
This time the movement worked.
The defender stepped to intercept and left space behind.
Rafael laid it off wide.
Thiago burst into the gap.
One touch.
Two.
He was free on the edge of the box.
The goal felt closer than ever.
He adjusted his stride.
Lined it up.
Lifted his head.
And struck—
Right foot.
Low.
With purpose.
The shot drove hard toward the far post.
The keeper dived full stretch—