Harbinger Of Glory

Italics mean the thoughts of a player, alright!

........

From the grass, the strike exploded through a forest of legs before anyone inside the penalty area fully realised he’d chosen to shoot.

For a split second, Pickford lost it completely, but then instinct took over.

The England goalkeeper launched himself full stretch to his right, fingertips straining before he got the slightest touch.

In the next second, the ball clipped the inside of the upright...

...and spun behind.

The entire Meazza gasped in one voice as Leo stood frozen for a heartbeat before throwing both hands onto the back of his head.

He knew.

That had been inches.

"Oh, what a strike!" the commentator shouted.

"Leo Calderon has almost announced himself inside the opening minutes with an absolute thunderbolt!"

"And what a save from Jordan Pickford," the co-commentator replied.

"Forget the post. The post only matters because Pickford gets there first. Without those fingertips, England are behind."

Behind the goal, Pickford was already barking orders before the corner could even be taken.

"Don’t let him shoot!"

He pointed furiously toward the edge of the box.

"Close him quicker!"

England’s defenders nodded, admitting their fault in letting Leo shoot in the first place.

Across the area, Leo simply smiled to himself while Scamacca called over to Leo and pointed toward the corner flag.

At that, Leo’s head came up with the expression of someone who had briefly left the building and had just been reminded where he was.

As the applause from the Italian end rained down, Leo jogged to take the corner.

The English players started working their setpiece tactics, but El Shaarawy came short and feinted inside, forcing them to scrap their plans.

Walker quickly came to press but hesitated for just long enough.

El Shaarawy took him down the byline and played it back at the precise moment Walker’s pace was going to take the ball away, finding Leo who had run towards the edge of the box.

Without waiting, Leo found Berardi at the far post with the cross, the delivery weighted for a header rather than a volley, but Berardi didn’t get the cue, opting with his foot instead and in the next second, the ball went past the post.

Leo shook his head, and the commentary filled the gap.

"That should have been on target. Berardi has to do better from that position."

The Italian players jogged back toward their own half, the energy inside the Meazza refusing to settle after those opening exchanges.

Pickford placed the ball carefully on the edge of his six-yard box, taking a moment longer than usual as his defenders pushed higher up the pitch.

"Well, if the opening few minutes are anything to go by," the commentator said, "Italy haven’t waited around. They’ve come out with real purpose, they’ve moved the ball sharply, and they’ve already forced Jordan Pickford into one outstanding save."

"That’s exactly what Luciano Spalletti would have wanted," the co-commentator replied.

"High tempo, quick combinations, getting England facing their own goal. They’ve looked the more comfortable side in possession, and they’ve asked all of the early questions."

He paused as Pickford finally restarted play.

"England, though, have been in these situations often enough. They’ll be looking to weather this spell, settle the crowd, and remind Italy that they carry plenty of attacking threat themselves."

Leo drifted back into his midfield position, scanning the movement ahead of him as England began to build once more.

Around him, the Italian shape tightened instinctively as Pickford smashed the ball back into play, restarting the game again!

The Italians jogged back into shape while England gathered themselves around the edge of their penalty area.

High above them, inside the executive box, Vittoria was still staring at the goal Leo had almost found.

Without realising it, she had leaned forward the moment he struck the ball and so had Aldo, her father.

They only settled back into their seats after Pickford’s save, almost in perfect unison.

Sienna watched the pair from the other side as her eyes drifted from Vittoria...to Aldo...then back again.

A knowing smile tugged at the corner of her mouth before she simply shook her head and turned back towards the pitch.

Some things really did run in the family.

On the pitch, England restarted patiently, looking to break the momentum cycle that Italy were trying to instil.

Rice dropped alongside his centre-backs to collect the first pass before turning into space, pushing forward and skipping right past Scamacca before settling into his proper position.

Seeing this, Jude moved instinctively and, spotting his run, Rice played it right into him, the ball arriving at his feet right as the Real Madrid man turned.

Right. Let’s play.

He opened his body and carried it towards halfway, head lifting almost immediately, but Leo was already there.

What...?, he thought as Leo hovered around him like a fly.

Not tackling.

Jude drifted left or tried doing so, but Leo mirrored him.

He slowed, and Leo slowed.

Every lane he’d pictured opening a second earlier quietly disappeared as Leo bought enough time for the Italians to regroup.

"What the hell..." he muttered under his breath.

Rather than force it, he slipped the ball into Calvert-Phillips’s feet and immediately pushed on as England recycled.

Again and again, specifically, twice more inside the next few minutes, Bellingham found himself receiving between the lines, but twice more Leo appeared before he could turn.

Sensing the stalemate, England adjusted with Kane instead of staying against Scalvini and Acerbi, drifting into midfield and dragging one of Italy’s centre-backs with him just enough to leave a sliver of space behind.

There.

Jude saw it instantly, and he exploded through the gap.

Kane received under pressure from Di Lorenzo, cushioning the pass into his stride before lifting it delicately over Italy’s backline.

The ball travelled no higher than knee height, and it was perfect.

"AND THEY’RE IN!"

Jude met it without breaking stride, taking one touch as the ball settled beautifully.

He was through the defensive line, which, suddenly caught off guard, scrambled frantically to get back into position.

Donnarumma, seeing it all unfold, felt like coming out, but he held his position and a moment later, when Jude shaped his body to square it across the six-yard box—

Something crashed into his peripheral vision.

FUCK!

Throwing himself across the passing lane, Leo twisted his body and blocked the effort with the outside of his thigh as the ball ricocheted loose into the middle of the area.

"Brilliant recovery!" the commentator shouted.

"Leo Calderon has rescued Italy there!"

Donnarumma needed no second invitation.

The goalkeeper charged off his line, diving onto the loose ball before Calvert-Lewin could react.

"That is outstanding defensive work," the co-commentator said.

"England finally manipulated Italy exactly the way they wanted. Kane drops deep, Bellingham attacks the space behind... but Italy pull through, courtesy of Calderon."

Jude stayed where he was for a second, hands resting on his hips and watched Leo push himself back onto his feet.

The Italian midfielder never looked at him.

He simply brushed the grass from his shorts and jogged back into position as though stopping one of Europe’s best midfielders was just another part of his evening!

Jude exhaled quietly before walking off.

Behind him, Donnarumma rolled the ball out to Acerbi as Italy began building once more.

"We’ve seen real quality from both sides already," the commentator said as play settled again.

"Italy have threatened. England have responded, but neither team has been willing to give an inch."

"And that’s exactly what this fixture promised," the co-commentator replied.

"Two outstanding footballing nations, trading blows without either one blinking."