Harbinger Of Glory

Half an hour later, Dawson took the mic again.

The session had wound down gradually, and the intensity was dropping off, leaving the players loose and the fans still engaged.

When the staff member handed Dawson the microphone for the second time that afternoon, the stands gave him their attention without being asked.

”I’ll keep it short,” he said.

”You’ve been brilliant today, genuinely. And what you’ve seen out here this afternoon, we’re going to take that into this league, and we’re going to make it count.”

”That’s a promise, and thank you all for coming.”

The applause came back up, warm and full, and before it had peaked, Fletcher had already picked up a ball and launched it into the stands and that triggered the rest of the players to do the same.

Balls went up into the east end, the west end, one sailing wide and landing two rows above where it was aimed, with the launcher holding his hands up in apology.

Broadhead put some real height on his and watched it land in the upper tier to a cheer from up there.

Jake didn’t so much kick his as he punted it with the energy of a man who had been waiting to do exactly this, and it disappeared somewhere into the north end.

Leo picked up a ball and walked toward the stands rather than launching it.

A few fans at the front leaned over, phones out, and he signed what was put in front of him without rushing, working along the row, and then a kid of about eight or nine extended his hand, and Leo looked at what he was pointing at, which was the green bib still draped over Leo’s shoulders.

Leo looked at the kid, then at the bib, then back at the kid before smiling and then handing it over.

”Here,” he said as the kid took it and looked at it like it was something he needed a moment with.

When he picked his head up, Leo was already turning back toward the pitch with the rest of his teammates.

Up in the stands, Mike Dawson had clenched the armrest of his seat in excitement.

He watched the players making their way toward the tunnel, a small smile on his face.

He was trying to do something very good with the team, but trying to do something and seeing what you are trying to do, in effect, albeit small, was still exciting.

A moment later, he leaned back and then turned to his assistant beside him.

”I want you to get in touch with some of the top sides,” he said.

”Premier League, maybe one or two from outside. I want proper pre-season games. I need to see how we hold up when it actually means something.”

His assistant nodded and made a note.

Danson looked back at the emptying pitch once more before standing and then making his way out, followed by his assistant.

By the time the players came through to the parking lot, almost an hour later, the team bus was idling, and Dawson was standing near the front of it, watching them filter out.

”Good session today, guy,” he said, clapping his hand once as the players approached.

”Genuinely. Well done.”

There was a general murmur of acknowledgement from the group, and then from somewhere near the back of the cluster, Reyes exhaled with the weight of a man who had been holding something in.

”Mister, I really need to go,” he said, already moving.

”If I get late for my shoot, I am really going to have problems.”

”Mi scusi,” he said as he pushed through his mates.

”Problems that involve mulla that I do not want to pay,” he continued.

Leo turned to look at him, having briefly forgotten, in the course of everything that had gone on in training, that this was how it seemed the man operated.

”What shoot?” Dawson said.

”A shoot. A campaign. It is important. And you gonna see it on the uh, the tele.”

”You mean your third-grade shoots?” Dawson said simply with a shake of his head, and that made Reyes stop walking.

”It is not third grade,” he said, turning around with the expression of someone making a legal objection.

”It is a very serious campaign with a very serious brand, and I would appreciate it if you did not diminish it.”

”Go,” Dawson said, waving a hand.

”I’m going. I’m going, but it is not third grade. Remember that!”

The laughter had already started by this point, spreading through the group, and Reyes looked around at all of them with the dignified expression of a man who felt he was above this and knew it.

He walked to his Corvette, which was parked at a slight angle that suggested he had arrived in a hurry, and got in without looking back.

The engine turned over, and soon he was gone.

Dawson watched the car leave, shook his head once and turned back to the remaining players.

”Right,” he said. ”Let’s also leave.”

Leo was one of the first on, found a seat near the middle, and leaned his head back as the rest of the squad filtered in around him, and some ten minutes later, the bus pulled out of the lot.

Eventually, the team got back to the complex, where the players immediately split off after Dawson said that everything was going to be communicated to them through the group chat.

Jake’s GLE was already reversing out of the spot by the time Leo raised a hand at the window.

”Might pass by your Aunts for some food later,” Jake said through Ezra’s side of the window, only for the latter to grab his face and shove it towards the wheel.

”Drive, dude,” Ezra muttered while Leo watched Jake turn meek.

He laughed afterwards, watching the car go and then turned to find Carlo standing beside a car that had absolutely no business being in a Wigan complex parking lot.