Santa Fe suffers in the first leg of the final with a draw at El Campín; Medellín takes a good haul home.

Long faces, hands on heads, hearts fluttering or wracked, throats wrenched, a few tears welling up, a few laments, a few rages, a few fears. That's how Santa Fe's fans ended up in the stands when the first final against Medellín ended , with that 0-0 score that fueled DIM's dreams and laid bare the Cardinals' anguish. But there's one more game left, on Sunday at the Atanasio Girardot, so anything can happen, especially when the players are wounded, not dead, lions.

At the start of the match in Santa Fe, they weren't just lions, they were hunting dogs, fierce and rabid dogs that bit and barked and cornered, "no way through here," they roared when Medellín tried to attack with their touch game, and when those lion dogs recovered the ball, they shouted to each other, "let's go for the goal," and off they went, clearing the way, preparing for the goal to come quickly, but it never came.

The Cardinals' fans began the match with the enthusiasm typical of a final and then turned into the inevitable anguish so typical of a final, especially in Santa Fe. In other words, they began to suffer what one must suffer when wearing that jersey. Because although Santa Fe was well-positioned and looked secure and solid, DIM gradually gained confidence, gradually closing in, with ferocious pressure. Berrío became the most uncomfortable player for Santa Fe. They couldn't grab or bite him. He was the first to test goalkeeper Mosquera Marmolejo. DIM was like a team of lion hunters, and they seemed well-trained for their hunt.

Thirty minutes in, Santa Fe finally showed it had the firepower, that it hadn't used it all up by the time the national anthems were played. Rodallega, finally free, sniffed out a scoring opportunity and unleashed a half-turn shot that knocked goalkeeper Aguerre to the ground. It didn't go in, but with that shot, Santa Fe found courage, both on the field and in the stands. It was a shot that could have shooed away the nerves that had been lingering throughout the stadium for several nights.

At 35 minutes, the first lion fell. Ewil Murillo was injured and Edwar López came on as a substitute . There were plenty of fans who grabbed their heads and cursed, not for López, but for the bad luck that was beginning to befall the team. Medellín began to play the ball, but in such a harmless way that it gave Santa Fe time to regroup. There was so much time left that no one thought about what was going to happen.

Before the first half ended, the stadium froze when Londoño, tired of being a spectator, unleashed a violent shot that sent Marmolejo flying. Marmolejo couldn't even reach it with four hands; he had a look at the ball, but he's so good that if someone says he saved it with his eyes, we'll believe them. What a scare the Cardinals had. But not as much as the one they experienced in the 47th minute; that was a real scare, when León almost scored. How paradoxical it would have been if, with that last name, he had scored against Santa Fe in the final, but he shot over, even though he had the goal alone. Only this time it wasn't Mosquera's look that saved them; it had to be the invisible hand of some Santa Fe soul, one of those who didn't miss their date with the final.

The first half ended in a heart-stopping fashion, and to say heart-stopping is no exaggeration. Just ask the fans who were there clutching their hearts so they wouldn't let it slip away when Rodallega launched that free kick that some intruding leg deflected.

In a final, the 15-minute break helps everyone. The fans regained some of the life they'd lost in the first 45 minutes. They felt rejuvenated to cheer on their players. But the start of the second half didn't look good for the Cardinals, not when, just two minutes in, Berrío hit the post, a post that can already be blessed at El Campín, a post that deserved the applause of the fans , who couldn't understand how they had been saved, although Mosquera had his share of heroism, because he touched the ball.

Rodallega was tasked with restoring the fans' spirits after that miraculous play. The forward fired a half-volley in the box and nearly scored the first, the only, goal. The ball was burning hot, as if it could set the net alight. But it wasn't. Santa Fe came alive, the horn sounded, the crowd sang with one voice, the flags waved, and then, on a corner kick, Olivera took advantage of the scent of gunpowder left by Hugo and rose as if ejected, as if to climb to heaven, and headed it high. Olivera clutched his face at the same time as coach Bava and all the fans. Afterward, DIM could have won and crushed the Cardinals' hopes, but Mosquera, as almost always, prevented it.

Time began to take its toll, withdrawing from the first final, even though the Santa Fe team begged for a few more seconds. The goal in this match was like a political promise: it never came. Santa Fe must take its courage and the echo of its fans' cheers back to Medellín, to see if they can win the star there, on the road, where they're very good.