Harbinger Of Glory

The programme returned from its break beneath a fresh graphic stretched across the studio screens.

ITALIA VS UCRAINA

QUALIFICAZIONI EURO 2024!

Following that, the cameras in the studios drifted back to the host, who smiled toward them.

”Bentornati.(Welcome back)”

He rested both forearms on the desk before leaning forward.

”We’ve spent most of tonight talking about a lot of things with a country, but it’s time we move on to the pending situation for tonight.”

He looked between the two former internationals seated beside him.

”But enough theory.”

A small smile crossed his face.

”In about a couple of hours, we might finally get another answer, so I want to hear your unbridled thoughts!”

Behind them, the graphics changed as a photograph of the San Siro appeared, floodlights glowing against the Milan night.

”Italy. Ukraine.”

”The Giuseppe Meazza, all the cues for a game that could be a very good watch.”

”So...” the host continued.

”Where do we begin?”

The first pundit answered before anyone else had the chance.

”We begin with the draw.”

”The result wasn’t acceptable.”

”No.”

”The performance wasn’t acceptable either,” he said, leaning forward a bit.

”And even though it seems that everything is being blamed on the manager, let’s be honest about something: his players ignored him.”

The host tilted his head.

”Those are some very strong words.”

”They’re accurate.”

”Well, care to clarify?” the host asked, gesturing while the pundits shrugged, as if they couldn’t care less about the tone of what he had to say.

”Everyone watched Italy.”

”They spent four days preparing to play one way. We saw Spalletti talking a bit about his plans, and we also saw a few clips of how the team was playing.”

”Honestly, it was a fresh change of pace, but then the match started, and half the team immediately fell back into habits they’ve had for years.”

”That’s not the fault of the coach,” he said as he spread his arms.

”That’s players deciding they know better.”

”So you’re blaming the experienced players.”

”I’m blaming those who decided to play their own way, and now the coach is facing the brunt of it. I was even surprised Spalletti decided not to talk about that!”

The second pundit nodded.

”I actually agree.”

”But...”

He smiled.

”...I think we’re missing another conversation.”

”Oh?”

”My thoughts are some of the players who never got on, and for that, I think that the coach is partially to blame!”

The host looked across.

”Go on.”

”Federico Chiesa, Marco Verratti and a lot more names didn’t even get a whiff of the game.”

”Personally, I was waiting to see if one of the best Italian talents in recent years, Carlo Regutti, could make an impression, but even he didn’t. He’s been one of the best wingers in the Premier League at the moment, considering he’s playing on loan for a team that is hitting well above their weight.”

”I watched nearly every match they’ve played this season.”

”He deserved minutes.”

The host nodded thoughtfully.

”A lot of people have been saying that.”

”And there’s another player I want to talk about who, frankly, most fans of the Italian scene don’t really know about!”

The second pundit continued without hesitation.

”Leo Calderon.”

That earned a small reaction from the audience in the studio, a more subdued and curious one.

The host raised an eyebrow.

”Isn’t that the kid who plays for this same Wigan side?”

The pundit nodded.

”Exactly.”

”I’ve spent the last month watching him because people kept mentioning his name.”

”At first I thought it was another internet exaggeration, but my goodness it wasn’t.”

The host smiled.

”Your findings?”

”The kid is good. He’s only 18, but he doesn’t act like it,” the pundit continued, leaning back a bit.

”He’s smart, he’s technically gifted, and he moves like he’s untouchable, and with what I have seen, he might as well be.”

”He plays as a defensive/central midfielder for Wigan, but he, at the moment, has 3 goals and 2 assists in 3 games for Wigan in the Premier League. AS A DEEP ROLE-PLAYING PLAYER!!”

”That’s really impressive,” the host said with a furrowed brow.

”I know, but the numbers aren’t even enough for why I’d play him.”

He pointed lightly toward the camera.

”The way he controls matches...is something that could be invaluable to the team.”

”He has the passing range. He has very good decisions, and he is patient.”

”He reminds me...”

He hesitated for just a second.

”...of Andrea Pirlo but with a very good heart.”

The host laughed a bit at the last comment, while shaking his head.

”You realise you’ve just made every headline tomorrow.”

”I know.”

”I also know what I watched, and I know it is something very different. You’ll understand when you actually sit down and watch him.”

In the next second, the host looked down toward the monitor built into the desk where something had just appeared.

He was halfway through the list when he stopped reading and looked up.

”Oh,” he said as a smile spread slowly across his face.

”Well...”

”...it seems Luciano Spalletti agrees with you.”

In the next second, all eyes drifted towards the studio screen that now had Italy’s starting eleven on it.

It was one name after another, but the names weren’t the usual, save for a few exceptions.

Donnarumma.

Nicolo Zaniolo.

Bastoni.

Dimarco.

Raspadori

Then...

Leo Calderon.

The studio treaded quietly while watching the list, and the second pundit couldn’t help smiling.

”I wasn’t expecting him to go that far,” he muttered to himself as he looked at Leo’s name sitting right at the base of the midfield and ahead of the defence in Italy’s 4-1-4-1 setup.

Inside Italy’s dressing room at San Siro, it was relatively quiet, a stark contrast to what it had been a few days ago in Skopje.

Not because there was nothing to say but because there was too much.

It felt much more tense than an episode of those dating reality shows.

Leo, subject to some unfriendly stares, sat in front of his locker with one half of his boots resting across his knee.

The white Skechers caught the fluorescent lights each time he threaded another lace through another eyelet, and at the moment, it felt like it was one of the only things he could do to avoid those stares.

A second later, a heavy sigh went around the room, and just as it seemed like something unpleasant could happen, a knock landed lightly against the open door.

All attention drifted towards the door, and through it, Marco stepped in.

”Leo,” he said as he met Leo’s gaze after the latter had picked his head up.

Seeing Leo’s curious gaze, he tilted his head toward the corridor before beckoning Leo to follow him.

Leo stood immediately, and as he walked across the room, he could still almost feel the eyes following him.

Once they stepped out of the dressing room, the pace of their walk slowed while Marco folded his arms.

”How are you?”

Leo thought for a second before looking at Marco like he’d been hurt.

”Honestly?”

Marco nodded.

”I feel like half the room thinks I’m Luciano Spalletti’s long-lost son.”

Marco laughed.

”And the other half?”

Leo smiled.

”They’re probably hoping someone two-foots me right after kickoff.”

Marco laughed harder this time.

”You’re settling in nicely.”

Hearing that, Leo shrugged.

”I’m just reading the room.”

”Don’t worry. Nobody is going to kill you in your sleep, at least not yet.”

”That isn’t really helping.”

”Come on.”

”There’s someone you should properly meet. Someone who thinks you are part of a necessary ”shock” to the side.”

Leo’s brows furrowed a bit as Marco began walking away.

A few minutes later, they stopped, and ahead of them, Spalletti had just finished speaking with the waiting reporters.

The manager thanked them politely before turning and finding Leo standing with Marco.

”There you are,” he said as Marco nodded once.

”I’ll leave you two.”

He disappeared back down the corridor as Spalletti started walking.

Leo matched his pace and for a while neither seemed particularly interested in where they were going.

”I’ve known your name longer than you think,” Spalletti said.

”I watched your academy matches. All of them, and when I say all, I mean all. It was hard to find the tapes at Carrington, but I have my ways.”

”Then Wigan.”

”And I’ve probably seen more of your football than you realise.”

Leo smiled.

”I hope it wasn’t the bad games.”

”There weren’t many,” Spalletti replied as a silence settled comfortably between them.

Then Spalletti spoke again.

”I wasn’t convinced you’d choose Italy, especially with all your options.”

Leo looked across.

”I thought Spain would come.”

”Or England.”

”They would’ve suited your football.”

Leo answered immediately.

”They never asked.”

Spalletti smiled.

”But if they had?”

Leo barely needed a second.

”I’d still be here.”

”Why?”

Leo looked ahead.

”Because difficult things are usually worth doing. I don’t really enjoy easy.”

”My family’s mainly Spanish.”

”I grew up in England, and I learned football there.”

”Up until a few months ago, I didn’t even know I was Italian, but after knowing, I feel closer to that knowledge more than ever.”

”If Italy needs rebuilding...”

”...I’d rather help rebuild it than inherit something already finished.”

Spalletti studied him quietly, then nodded.

”It’s very good to hear where your mind’s at.”

They reached the tunnel entrance where the noise from the stadium rolled towards them like distant thunder.

Spalletti stopped walking.

”I started you for a few reasons.....”

”One was because I believe you can make this team play the football I want.”

”And the other was because I think the team needs something to start letting them feel uncomfortable.”

Leo nodded once, understanding what Marco meant by the necessary shock.

”I won’t waste it.”

Spalletti’s expression softened into the smallest smile.

”I hope not.”