Harbinger Of Glory

The final whistle came almost without warning, and with it came applause from the fans all around the stadium.

It came and went, first from the Italian sections and then from the rest of the ground.

There had been disappointment in the stands because Italy had wanted the win, but nobody could deny what the players had given them.

90 minutes of hard-fought football, but in the end both sides would share the spoils.

"And that’s it," the commentator said with a breath on the broadcast.

"Italy one, England one and what a match this has turned out to be despite the one-all scoreline!"

"Yeah," his partner agreed. "The final minutes had been so cagey that I really thought that either side could win it, but at last, it seems that will have to be for another day."

"England took the lead through Phil Foden in the first half.

Italy came back through Leo Calderon in the seventy-seventh minute, and after that, neither side could find the goal that would have settled it."

Down the pitch, Leo stood near the centre circle with his hands on his hips, breathing heavily with a thought of the draw rummaging through his mind.

It wasn’t the result Italy had wanted.

But when he looked around at the players and then up at the stands, the disappointment didn’t feel as sharp as it had a few minutes earlier.

While he stood there idly, Barella appeared out of nowhere and put an arm around Leo’s shoulders before pulling him in.

"Good game," he muttered in the best English he could, to which Leo nodded.

"We could’ve won it," the former continued, but Leo shook his head.

"We could’ve lost it too."

Barella smiled and then pulled away.

"True," he said before separating as the English players began making their way across the pitch.

Kane was one of the first to reach him.

The England captain held out his hand right when he got to Leo, who took the hand in his.

"That was a very good goal."

"Thanks."

Kane kept hold of his hand for another second before pulling away.

"I’ll see you soon on the big stage," he said, something Leo laughed at as the veteran striker walked off.

Rashford came next, making small talk with Leo before pulling away after the two shook hands.

One by one, Leo met almost the whole English national team before the players gradually disappeared toward the tunnel, leaving the pitch quieter than it had been in minutes.

Leo stayed behind for a little longer, as did some of the other Italian players as they turned toward the Italian supporters and began applauding them.

Leo walked along the edge of the pitch, clapping above his head as he moved.

A while later, he finally turned toward the tunnel and walked inside.

Once inside, he found the interview area already busy.

Bodies moved around with cables, cameras and microphones while players passed through on their way toward the dressing rooms.

Leo had barely taken a few steps before a reporter called his name.

"Leo, one minute."

He stopped, but before he could agree or not, a microphone was placed in front of him, and the first question came immediately.

"How does that feel? You were behind for most of the game, then you scored that goal."

Leo, as always, didn’t think too much about it, his eagerness to get out of the sweaty shirt showing by his short, coherent answers.

"Good."

At that, the reporter just smiled.

"Just good?"

Leo laughed at his answer being repeated before nodding.

"Okay, very good."

A few people behind the camera laughed with him as the interviewer shook her head before putting the mic back to Leo when he looked like speaking again.

"But honestly, we wanted to win. That’s the important thing. We played well in parts, England had their moments, and in the end one-one is probably fair."

"Your goal was very composed and flashy in a situation where a slight volley would have sufficed. Was that what you intended?"

Hearing that question, Leo instantly shook his head.

"Not exactly. I wanted to get the first touch under control, but after that, Pickford moved, I changed what I was doing."

"And you finished with your left foot."

"I know," he said, looking down briefly at his boots.

"That’s probably the part I’m happiest about."

The reporter smiled before throwing another question on the floor.

"You’re eighteen. You’re playing at the San Siro against England, scoring the equaliser, and last time out, you provided 2 assists too. Do you feel like you’re getting used to this already?"

"No."

The answer came simply enough that the reporter paused.

"I mean, I’m enjoying it. But I don’t think you ever completely get used to nights like this. You just try to play the game and not think too much about everything around it."

He looked toward the dressing-room entrance.

"And tonight was a good game. That’s what I’ll remember."

The reporter nodded and lowered the microphone slightly.

"Last one. What does this result mean for Italy?"

Leo looked back toward the pitch.

"It means we’re still in it. But I think we can be better."

The reporter nodded, looking like she’d end the interview any moment, before she slowed and then tossed another question onto the floor for Leo.

"Is there anything else you’d like to say to the Italian supporters?"

Leo thought about it for a genuine second.

"I haven’t been in this team that long," he said. "

And honestly, not long ago I didn’t know as much about my Italian roots as I do now. So I’m still learning what it means to be here, to wear this shirt."

"What I want to say to the fans is to be patient with us. The level they want from this team is something that will be built, not given.

You can’t compare this group to the great Italian teams of the past because even those teams had to start somewhere.

We’re just starting, so give us time and criticise us later when we fail to do our jobs!"

The interviewer, slightly surprised at the answer, smiled, thanked him and lowered the microphone.

Leo unclipped it from his shirt and handed it back before stepping away from the backdrop.

"Spoke well," he murmured to himself as he headed down further towards the team’s locker room.

"Shouldn’t be any problems, though," he muttered as he thought of how what he’d said had sort of been a bit touchy.