The Westfalenstadion was a different beast when viewed from the stands. From the pitch, it was a wall of noise, a blur of color, an abstract concept of passion and loyalty.
But from the executive box, high above the halfway line, it was a living, breathing organism, a complex and beautiful tapestry of individual hopes and dreams, all woven together into a single, collective entity.
For Mateo Alvarez, who had only ever experienced the stadium from the center of the storm, this new perspective was a revelation.
He sat with his injured ankle propped up on a chair, a helpless spectator of the drama that was unfolding below.
The familiar pre-match buzz, the sense of nervous anticipation, the roar of the crowd as the teams walked out, it was all so different from this vantage point.
He was a part of it, yet he was separate from it. He was a fan, a supporter, a member of the Yellow Wall. And for the first time, he truly understood what that meant.
