Harbinger Of Glory

The home side knocked and knocked until eventually, the pressure told.

Elmas drove toward the edge of the area, nudged the ball past Bastoni and felt the defender clip him a fraction too late, and immediately the whistle went.

The referee approached the scene, showing Bastoni a yellow card in the process, while the North Macedonians pointed towards the penalty spot, but the referee shook his head and pointed in the area just outside the box.

The North Macedonians weren’t happy with that, but they all backed off.

A moment later, Enis Bardhi placed the ball carefully before taking a few measured steps back while in front of him, Italy’s wall shuffled into place.

Donnarumma crouched behind it, eyes fixed on the midfielder as he arranged his wall, but he was forced to focus when the referee’s whistle came.

Without waiting for any more preparation, Enis moved towards the ball.

His run-up was slow, but his strike wasn’t.

The ball climbed over the wall before dropping viciously toward the top corner.

In goal, Donnarumma sprang across, stretching every inch of his frame, and managed the faintest touch with his fingertips, but that did little to stop the effort as the ball kissed the inside of the post before rippling the net.

The celebration was instant, as the North Macedonians sprang to their feet, erupting while on the pitch. Enis Bardhi tore off towards his bench, with some of his mates running towards him and the other running after him.

”He’s done it!” the commentator shouted over the noise.

”Enis Bardhi brings North Macedonia level, and for Italy, the memories they were hoping to leave behind have come flooding back.”

Standing on the touchline, Spalletti looked unfazed, but most knew it was probably just a front.

The equaliser jolted Italy into life as Spalletti began to make his changes in an attempt to win the game back.

After those changes happened, the ball finally began moving like he’d meant for it to be all this while.

The blue shirts poured forward in search of a winner, but every promising attack broke down before the final touch arrived.

Then, with only minutes remaining, disaster almost struck again.

A loose pass in midfield turned into a quick break for North Macedonia.

One pass split the Italian back line and sent North Macedonia’s striker clean through, with the Italian defenders forced to turn and chase desperately, but it looked futile.

Miovski knocked the ball forward, all while keeping it almost tethered to his feet as he came up against the Italian stopper.

For a second, it looked like he would run the ball around the former, but he stopped midway, leaned into the kick and wrapped his legs around the ball, a striker’s finish.

The ball looked destined for the back of the net, but at the last, Donnarumma reacted instantly.

He raced from his line, planted himself and spread his frame as wide as he could until somehow the shot crashed into him and spun harmlessly wide of the post.

Only then did Italy breathe again.

Moments later, the referee brought an end to the game, both sides forced to share the spoils.

It wasn’t a defeat, but for the Italians it hardly felt like anything worth celebrating.

As the North Macedonian players celebrated the point with their supporters, the Italians stood in silence, each wearing the same expression of a team that knew it should have left with more.

Leo came out of the dugout after the final whistle with Carlo on his left and Udogie on his right, all three of them in their puffer jackets, having not removed them at any point in the evening.

They walked slowly along the touchline with Carlo and Udogie, exchanging a quiet ”Good game” with a couple of North Macedonian players who passed in the opposite direction.

One of them smiled, thanked him in English and carried on toward the celebrations.

A few yards farther on, Leo reached Tonali, who was still standing with his gaze fixed on the pitch.

He gave him a light pat on the shoulder as he went by.

”Come on,” he said quietly.

Tonali nodded once, more to himself than to Leo, and finally started walking.

Behind them, the Italian supporters remained in their corner of the stadium.

There were a few scattered rounds of applause as the players looked over, answered with raised hands from those on the pitch, but the mood was a subdued one.

They needed to win. They knew that much, but they hadn’t done enough and had let it slip by.

Leo, on the other hand, slipped his hands into his pockets as they continued toward the tunnel, saying nothing for a while.

.....

By the time Italy’s charter had left Skopje, the post-match analysis was already in full swing, spreading across television studios, newspaper websites and radio programmes with the speed that only football news seemed capable of generating.

Some questioned the performance, while others questioned the selections, but most questioned Luciano Spalletti.

And the headlines didn’t take long to sharpen.

Revolution Without Results.

New Coach, Same Italy.

The morning runs through Rome, praised only days earlier as a symbol of a fresh beginning, had suddenly become ammunition.

One television pundit shrugged at the camera.

”So they ran sixteen kilometres,” he said. ”Are we training for a marathon and I didn’t know?”

Another went further.

”Spalletti arrived talking about changing the culture, changing the mentality, changing everything. That’s fine. Managers are supposed to inspire people. But revolutions don’t begin with a draw against the team you should be winning against.”

Even the newspapers that had welcomed his appointment were noticeably less patient.

One editorial questioned whether the new manager had tried to reinvent too much too quickly, arguing that Italy needed certainty before philosophy.

Inside the national team camp, however, the noise stayed outside.

Phones buzzed, and notifications piled up, but few of the players bothered looking.

There wasn’t much point.

The headlines would keep changing but the table wouldn’t.

And in less than three days, Italy had another qualifier waiting for them, with far less patience left to spend.