Harbinger Of Glory

Manchester United were ready for the game, and it showed.

Their preparations were all dedicated towards the game, and by the morning of said game, the grounds staff were already on the pitch before seven.

The floodlights were still on above the stadium as a small group moved across the grass, checking every section of the playing surface.

One man stopped near the penalty area, crouched, and pressed his fingers into the turf.

He stood again and then turned, calling one of the workers over!

”That one,” he said and pointed toward a worn patch just outside the box.

”Fix it.”

One of the groundsmen nodded and headed over.

”Anything else?” the latter figure said when he got near the area.

”Check the goalmouths again.”

Another nod followed before work soon began once more, and that was how it was going to be for the rest of the day.

There would be no excuses tonight.

Old Trafford had a game to host, and everything beneath it had to be ready.

Outside the stadium, Manchester was already beginning to feel the weight of the evening that was looming ahead.

The city moved as it normally did, but there was something different in the way people carried themselves.

Conversations about the match had found their way into cafés and shops.

Scarves appeared around necks hours before they were needed.

Red shirts, some old, some recent, became more common with every passing minute.

For some, it was excitement, and for others it was nerves.

There was plenty riding on the result, and nobody needed reminding of it.

By mid-afternoon, supporters had begun making their way toward Old Trafford.

They came from different directions, some alone and others in groups, with old shirts appearing beside brand-new ones.

Children walked between parents wearing jerseys that were almost as big as they were, and the singing started well before most of them reached the turnstiles.

”Glory, glory Man United.”

The chant carried through the streets, getting louder and louder like a domino effect of sound, spreading by the passing second as it followed the supporters toward the stadium.

A few miles away, the Wigan bus was making its way through the traffic.

Inside, most of the players were keeping to themselves.

Carlo, however, had noticed something.

He leaned across slightly and looked at the phone in Leo’s hand.

Leo had been staring at the screen for several minutes, typing something, reading a reply, then typing again.

At that, Carlo narrowed his eyes and then nudged him in the arm!

”Who are you texting that hard?”

Leo, seeing the former’s curious movements, immediately shifted the phone toward his right, taking the screen out of Carlo’s view.

”Mind your business.”

Carlo stared at him for a second, and then he laughed.

”Alright. Fairs,” he said and then turned toward the window, shaking his head at Leo’s reaction to him trying to see what he was up to.

While he did so, a familiar Manchester landmark passed outside, and Carlo followed it with his eyes before turning his straining neck back to what was ahead of him.

”We should be arriving soon,” he said as Leo, this time with his phone tucked away, leaned down the aisle and glanced through the windscreen.

A few minutes later, Old Trafford appeared ahead, and with it came memories, some that he had forgotten, slowly running back to him as he looked at the Old Trafford stadium for the first time in almost 2 years.

He had spent years imagining this view from the pitch inside!

He had pictured himself walking through those doors, wearing the shirt, hearing his name announced inside the stadium.

But now he was approaching it on a Wigan team bus, and as an opponent.

The closer they got, the larger the stadium became, and Leo’s eyes stayed on it until a sudden roar from outside pulled his attention away.

It was something he expected, so Leo didn’t really turn towards the noise and only listened.

He could hear the supporters lining the approach, and when the bus got a lot closer a few minutes later, the stream of fans around them made their presence felt.

Individual voices, rolled together and cut through the bus’s defence as the Wigan coach went through the barricaded road, the reaction growing louder with each metre they moved.

Beside Leo, Carlo had already pulled the curtain back slightly and was looking through the tinted glass.

When he seemed to remember something, he turned and glanced at Leo, nudging slightly in the other way.

”You’re not even going to look?”

Leo scoffed.

”What happens if I don’t?”

Carlo shrugged at Leo’s response and then looked back.

”Suit yourself,” he said and turned back toward the window.

”I’ve got my own problem with this club anyway. I’m from the blue side of Manchester, and I’ll have my say on the pitch.”

Leo gave him a brief look but said nothing.

The bus continued through the crowd, the noise fading behind them as it turned toward the stadium entrance.

There, a staff member in a reflective jacket stepped into the road and waved them forward.

The driver followed his directions, guiding the bus beneath the stadium and toward the inner access road where the noise disappeared almost completely, turning into just comfortable noise in the background as the bus rolled to a stop.

”Alright lads,” Nolan said a second later, triggering a wave of movements from the players as Dawson led the charge, getting down with his small bag beside him.

In the back, though, Leo remained in his seat for another second before.

He looked outside and was already dreading what was going to happen when he saw the reporters with their cameras in tow, looking like piranhas waiting for something to disturb their stillness.

Elsewhere inside the stadium was an old face in Jonas, head of Manchester United’s Youth and Academy operations, who had arrived almost an hour and a half before kickoff, something he rarely did.

He sat alone in one of the executive boxes, a drink resting untouched beside him as he watched Manchester United’s players warm up below.

His eyes followed the movement on the pitch, but his attention kept drifting toward the tunnel where he was waiting to see the boy eventually walk out of it.