Harbinger Of Glory

The noise inside the Meazza went up a level when the Italian players came out of the tunnel.

On the pitch, the English squad, which was already into their warm-up, glanced over with mild curiosity, the atmosphere reflecting their thoughts as they watched the home side spread on the pitch.

Kyle Walker watched the Italian end of the stadium and shook his head slightly.

”With how the crowd is reacting, you’d think they’d won the World Cup or something,” he said, to nobody in particular but that didn’t matter as that got laughs out of the players beside him.

Marcus Rashford also laughed but as he did, his eyes moved across the Italian players spreading out toward the far end of the pitch, finding a very familiar face.

”Huh. His name sounded Spanish though,” he said, half to himself.

”Who?” Kane had appeared beside him, shocking Rashford a bit.

”Damn, make me aware first,” Marcus said and nodded in Leo’s direction without pointing.

Kane looked across, and his expression shifted from neutral to recognition, like someone encountering a piece of information they already knew.

”Ah, Leo,” he said.

”You know him,” Marcus said, but Kane shook his head.

”Not personally. I think he has a deal with the same brand as me. That’s where I saw his picture. You know, Skechers and all that!”

”Is he actually that good?” Kane suddenly asked after finishing.

”I mean, I haven’t really seen him play, but you might have since you’re still in the Prem and all that!”

At that, Marcus considered it while Kane spoke again.

”I’ve seen the numbers.”

”No, the numbers are just a front at this point.” Marcus watched Leo for another moment.

”I played against him. FA Cup semi-final, at Wembley. He was almost unplayable that day. It gets to a point when you feel that the goals he scored and the assists don’t actually do him justice!”

Kane nodded slowly.

”Someone would have sorted him out by now, you’d think. Clattered into him, put him off his rhythm.”

Marcus laughed.

”If that were the case, he’d have been out a long time ago.”

While the two spoke, across the pitch, Leo let his eyes wander over the England squad as they went through their warm-up.

They paused briefly on Marcus Rashford, who happened to look up at the same moment after saying something to Kane.

The Manchester United player gave a small nod immediately he found Leo, who returned it just as casually before turning back to Carlo, neither man needing nothing more.

When he did, Leo found Carlo was shaking his head at something coming out of the tunnel.

Leo followed his gaze and found Foden.

”That lazy bum,” Carlo said, affectionately and with genuine feeling.

Before the two could say anything, one of the coaches clapped from the side and both of them found their positions again.

Eventually, the warm-ups came to an end, and both squads disappeared into the tunnel, though neither side really acknowledged the other.

A few exchanged quick words with opponents they knew from club football, while the others just kept on.

There was respect between the two teams, but for the next ninety minutes, though, it would count for very little.

...

High above the halfway line, Vittoria settled into her seat inside the executive box.

Years of public events had taught her how to appear perfectly composed when she wasn’t, and she put that lesson to good use now.

To her right sat her father, and beside him was her mother.

Sienna leaned forward between them, pretending to study the players below with complete innocence.

”So...” she said lightly.

”Which one’s Leo?”

Without taking her eyes off the pitch, Vittoria lifted a finger and pointed.

”There.”

Sienna followed it, nodding while doing so.

On the pitch, Leo was making his way across the field with Carlo and Kean, talking quietly before the three disappeared down the tunnel.

”Hmm...”

A smile tugged at the corner of Sienna’s mouth.

”I see,” she said with a teasing tone that Vittoria caught immediately.

”What?”

”Nothing.”

”Mum...”

”I’m just saying...” she replied with an amused shrug. ”...you’ve got good taste just like me.”

Vittoria fought the urge to smile while across from them, Aldo remained silent.

His attention never really left the pitch.

.....

The final fifteen minutes that separated the kick-off and then warm-ups slipped by surprisingly quickly as stewards started to take their places.

High above, the floodlights shone a little brighter against the darkening Milan sky.

Then, at last, movement returned inside the tunnel.

The referee’s team emerged first and right behind them, walking side by side, were the Italian and English sides, walking into the Meazza night, and the stadium responded instantly.

More than seventy thousand voices rose together, filling the stadium with a roar that rolled from one stand to the next, pulling weight that hadn’t been there previously into the stadium.

Down on the touchline, the television cameras found the captains as the broadcast finally came on air.

”Good evening from Milan, and welcome to the iconic Giuseppe Meazza,” the commentator began.

”Tonight, two of international football’s great heavyweights meet once again. It’s Italy against England in what promises to be one of the standout fixtures of this European qualifying campaign.”

Beside him, the co-commentator looked down at the players gathering just below the centre circle before they turned to face the crowd.

”It feels bigger than a qualifier, doesn’t it?”

”It does,” came the reply.

”England arrive unbeaten and sitting comfortably at the top of the group, but Italy know exactly what a victory tonight would do. Not just for the table, but for belief, momentum... and perhaps a little pride as well.”

Down the pitch, the broadcast camera swept across both starting elevens before settling briefly on the Italian players standing shoulder to shoulder.

”These nations rarely need much encouragement to produce memorable football,” the commentator continued.

”History has seen to that.”

”And tonight,” the co-commentator added, ”another Chapter is waiting to be written here at the Meazza.”