Seven goals, one family subplot: Juventus 4-3 Inter
Seven goals in the Derby d’Italia? That hardly ever happens. Yet on September 13, 2025, at the Allianz Stadium, Juventus and Inter played a breathless 4-3, and the storyline didn’t stop at the scoreboard. Inter named Marcus Thuram in the XI, and the night came with a twist that’s rare even for one of Italy’s most heated fixtures: a brother on the other side, the family name already woven into the fabric of this rivalry through their father’s history in Turin.
This wasn’t just another league date for the French forward. Since arriving in Milan in 2023, he’s thrived on the big stage—linking with Lautaro Martínez, embracing the expectations that come with an Inter shirt, and proving he could shape matches at the top of Serie A. Add the prospect of facing his younger brother in Juventus colors and the emotional temperature rises. The setting made it obvious: a primetime Derby d’Italia, packed stands, and the sort of noise that makes every duel feel personal.
The family angle is impossible to ignore. Their father, Lilian, spent formative years at Juventus and lifted trophies in black and white. Now the surname is back at the center of Italy’s great divide—only split down the middle. Juventus fans see a legacy extended. Inter’s curva sees a chance to flip the narrative, turning a former Juve icon’s lineage into their own match-winner. That tension sat in the air long before kick-off.
The 4-3 scoreline tells you the game wasn’t cagey. Under Simone Inzaghi, Inter are usually compact and ruthless in transition. Against a more proactive Juventus, the contest stretched. Thiago Motta’s model demands aggressive restarts, quick vertical plays, and midfielders stepping into the half-spaces. That created a game of punches and counterpunches—two teams willing to accept risk to land the bigger blow. In a fixture that often lives in the details—one mistake, one set piece—this one unspooled into a track meet.
For Thuram, these nights are about more than goals. He’s become a focal point who can receive wide left, spin inside, and draw defenders into awkward spots. His battles with Juventus’s central defenders were physical, and the runs behind kept the back line honest. He thrives when Inter’s wing-backs hit early angles and Barella or Çalhanoğlu thread those between-the-lines passes. Even in a game that slipped from Inter’s control, his movement was a problem Juventus had to solve repeatedly.
Here’s the human side that never makes the tactical chalkboard: playing against your brother can sharpen the senses. We’ve seen versions of it before—Jerome and Kevin-Prince Boateng at the 2010 World Cup, Granit and Taulant Xhaka facing off at Euro 2016, the Inzaghi brothers meeting in Serie A. It adds an edge you can’t train. You’re trying to contain emotions while also proving a point. Most professionals downplay it, but the stakes show in the duels, in the second effort after a 50-50, in that extra sprint to the near post.
The chaos on the night says something about both clubs right now. Juventus look happier to live higher up the pitch, pushing full-backs on and trusting their press to set the tone. They were willing to trade space behind for chances in front—brave, but rewarding when the final ball clicks. Inter, usually serial problem-solvers without the ball, had moments when their rest defense was cut open. When your wing-backs are high and your midfield presses forward, losing the ball can become lethal. The 4-3 isn’t just a thriller; it’s a reminder that even top sides pay for half-seconds of disorder.
There were also the little battles that tell a bigger story. Inter’s left channel—Thuram’s neighborhood—was alive with inside-out runs designed to pin Juventus’s right side. Škriniar isn’t there anymore, but the principle remains: Inter create overloads, then ask the striker to finish the sequence. Juventus, for their part, tried to crowd the half-space, cut the angle into Martínez’s feet, and force Inter to circulate sideways. The tug-of-war never stopped; the scoreline shows both sides had success and failure in turn.
Walk around the stadium concourses and you heard it: this felt like a statement night. For Juventus, an early-season surge under a coach who asks them to front-foot games, even against the champions-elect types. For Inter, a jolt of reality that you can’t drift in a match like this and expect the badge to save you. Title races are not settled in September, but they’re shaped. The tape from a 4-3 in Turin will be watched, rewatched, and clipped into training ground drills for weeks.
And the Thuram family? Bragging rights swing black and white—for now. Anyone who’s grown up with a sibling knows how this works: the next time defines the conversation. When the return fixture lands at San Siro, the noise flips, the pressure flips, and so does the narrative. Inside families like this, there’s respect, even admiration. But on matchday, there’s also a scoreboard. Someone gets the message first when the phones come back on.
It’s worth zooming out for a second. The Derby d’Italia has decades of spite and theater behind it, from boardroom feuds to title-deciding nights to VAR storms that won’t die. Adding a brother-versus-brother chapter gives it a modern face, a story new fans can grab onto without knowing every twist of Calciopoli or the old duels of Vieri and Trezeguet. Parents who once watched Lilian in a Juventus back line now watch his sons wrestle for inches higher up the pitch. Football loves a full circle; Turin and Milan will argue over its meaning.
What happens next is predictable and not: predictable in that coaches will insist on control—shrink the chaos, clean up the transitions, manage the lines between midfield and defense. Not, in that rivalries like this refuse to be tamed. Inter will tighten the screws on set pieces and second balls. Juventus will try to bottle the good parts of this open game without leaving the back door ajar. And in future meetings, both will make sure the first 15 minutes don’t become a brawl they can’t escape.
For Marcus Thuram, the checklist is simple: recover fast, keep the form that made him a focal point in Serie A, and separate the family story from the job. He’s built his reputation on intelligent movement and an unselfish read of what the game needs—stretch it, hold it, or finish it. The emotion of a Derby d’Italia is the fuel, not the plan. He’ll know there’s another chance waiting down the line, another night when the family chat goes quiet and the stadium takes over.
Why this Derby d’Italia felt different—and what it means
The 4-3 isn’t a new rule for the rivalry; it’s an exception that tells on both teams. It hints at Juventus leaning harder into proactive football and trusting their legs and ideas. It hints at Inter needing a sharper grip when the tempo spikes and the spaces open. It also gives the league a storyline it can sell beyond the usual tactics talk: two brothers, one iconic fixture, and a father who wore the shirt of the opponent. You don’t need a list of honors to feel what that means in a stadium like the Allianz.
Strip it back and you get four simple takeaways:
- Juventus showed they can win a wild game, not just a managed one.
- Inter were dangerous as ever going forward, but their rest defense wobbled under pressure.
- The Thuram subplot added a human edge that heightened every duel.
- The rematch at San Siro now carries double the heat—points and pride on the line.
September doesn’t hand out medals, but nights like this shape teams—and families. The Derby d’Italia has always been about identity and nerve. This time, it also sounded like a dinner table conversation that spilled onto the pitch and lit up the league.