Harbinger Of Glory

A murmur rolled through the San Siro as they watched something so magnificent.

”Oh, that is brilliant,” the commentator said immediately.

”...he’s stolen all of its momentum.”

As the commentary ranted, Leo’s head came up, not wasting any time, taking a glance in and then another.

Before anyone could guess his next move, his right arm extended toward the right flank.

”Go.”

The word barely left his lips when his weaker left foot swung through the ball.

Chiesa, playing right on the shoulder of his man, dipped the moment he saw the ball from Leo soaring through the skies.

Leo’s pass arced over the advancing Ukrainian back line, which had taken two steps forward a fraction too soon.

It landed in the space behind them, exactly where Federico Chiesa was already accelerating, and the Juventus winger didn’t need to break stride.

He simply burst through the gap, chasing the ball into open grass with only the recovering defenders between him and the penalty area.

Mykolenko gave chase immediately, and for the first few strides he looked like he might get there, but Chiesa was getting faster rather than slowing down.

And the distance between them opened with each touch.

”Chiesa. In behind. And he is motoring,” the commentary came on the broadcast as Chiesa picked his head up and looked into the box, but he found nothing wearing blue in a position to receive it.

The rest of Italy hadn’t caught up with the break.

Kean was still charging through the middle, but he was several strides behind the play.

Barella and Raspadori were driving forward too, yet neither had reached the edge of the box.

And for a brief moment, Chiesa was on his own, which he recognised immediately.

There wasn’t enough time to wait for support, and there certainly wasn’t enough space to slow the move down.

So he took it himself.

With his first touch, he carried the ball inside, attacking the gap between Ukraine’s right-back and centre-back before it had the chance to close.

The movement forced an immediate reaction.

One midfielder who was already running back broke into a sprint to confront him while the nearest centre-back abandoned his position to narrow the angle.

In the space of two seconds, three yellow shirts were collapsing toward the same point.

”Chiesa’s isolated here...” the commentator said. ”He’ll have to do this on his own.”

Seeing his predicament, Chiesa slowed ever so slightly as the first midfielder planted his feet ready to hook the ball away, and that was all the invitation he needed.

A sharp drop of the shoulder sent the challenge the wrong way as Chiesa burst across his body before the recovering defender could adjust.

The space he got wasn’t much, but at his level it didn’t have to be.

Without taking another touch, he wrapped his right foot around the ball, sending it bending across goal toward the far corner.

The strike left his boot beautifully and curled beyond the defender’s desperate outstretched leg.

For one glorious heartbeat, the San Siro thought it was in.

”CHIESA!!!!” the commentators bellowed in agreement with the ball, but Bushchan had other ideas.

The Ukrainian goalkeeper launched himself full length across his goal, stretching every muscle in his body.

At full extension, his fingertips wanted to find the ball, but it didn’t.

He could almost hear the Italian fans screaming behind his goal, but in the next second, the ball whisked past the post, going agonizingly wide as the roar that had been building inside the stadium collapsed into one enormous groan.

Hands flew to heads all around the ground.

”How did that not go in? That was so so, so close!” the commentator cried.

”I don’t think Bushcan got a touch to it but nice effort from him nonetheless!”

”That was a chance made from nothing really,” the co-commentator added, almost talking over him.

”Look at the new boy, Leo Calderon. He wins the second ball under pressure, kills it with one touch, looks up once and immediately plays over the top.

That’s all it took to turn Ukraine from attacking Italy’s box into desperately defending their own. That is something Ukraine have to be wary of now.”

Chiesa slowed to a stop inside the penalty area, breathing heavily as he looked toward the goal he had come within inches of finding.

He let out a frustrated laugh, shaking his head once before turning around.

Almost a mile behind him, Leo was already backpedalling back into position.

Chiesa waited until Leo’s gaze found him before he pointed at him and raised a thumb towards him.

Leo, returning the action , also raised a thumb towards Chiesa as the latter began walking back to his position on the flank.

While this went on, Bushchan retrieved the ball from behind his goal as Italy’s attack peeled away from the penalty area, blue shirts jogging back into shape while Ukraine prepared to restart.

On the touchline, Spalletti applauded quietly, his hands meeting at chest height as he watched his players settled down.

For the first time since taking over, his team had executed the move exactly as it had been rehearsed and intended.

And if it was to go on like this, it was only a matter of time before someone’s put the ball in the back of the net.

From there, Leo settled into the rhythm of the match.

That pass had changed the atmosphere around him.

Every time the ball rolled his way, there was a murmur around the San Siro, an expectation that another defence-splitting pass might follow, but Leo never chased it.

Instead, he kept the game moving.

One touch when it was there and two when it wasn’t.

He received, turned, recycled possession and shifted into the next space, working in tandem with Barella while Bastoni stayed close behind as an outlet whenever the pressure arrived.

Little by little, Italy’s midfield settled.

The distances between the players shortened, the passing became cleaner, and Ukraine’s front line found itself spending longer spells chasing shadows than pressing, gradually being forced back behind the halfway line as Italy tightened their grip on possession.

Italy’s patience eventually began to stretch Ukraine apart.