Harbinger Of Glory

The crimson and white of the North London club emerged onto the road, its body catching the afternoon sunlight as it slowly approached the stadium and seeing this, the crowd broke out into a fever.

The Arsenal supporters pushed against the barriers, scarves raised above their heads as chants rolled toward the bus, looking as if touching the bus would grant them a certain salvation they’d never gotten.

Right in front of the crowd, camera shutters began firing almost continuously.

Flash after flash reflected off the windows, frequent enough to become almost blinding as the bus moved past.

Players could be seen through some of the windows, though the tinted glass made it difficult to identify anyone clearly.

The noise followed them all the way toward the stadium entrance and even before the Wigan team had arrived, Arsenal had made their home advantage felt.

The bus eventually disappeared through the entrance, and only then did the reporters begin lowering their cameras.

The middle-aged reporter exhaled.

”Well.”

The woman beside him smiled.

”That looked like a team expecting to win.”

”It certainly looked like it.”

He glanced toward the road.

”Everything seems to be falling into place for them.”

The woman beside him shrugged.

”We’ll see.”

Before he could answer, something cold struck the back of his hand.

He looked down, and just then, another drop landed on his sleeve.

Then another.

The sunlight that had covered the area only minutes earlier began disappearing behind a layer of thickening clouds, and soon enough, the atmosphere changed almost immediately.

What had been a bright afternoon became noticeably duller as the clouds moved across the sky and a light drizzle began falling over the waiting crowd.

One of the reporters looked upward and then followed with his hand, immediately feeling a pellet of water splash against his sleeve.

”Is that supposed to be a sign?”

The woman turned toward him and then furrowed her brow.

”A sign of what?”

”That Arsenal are maybe going to lose or something.”

Hearing that, she couldn’t help but laugh.

”Superstitious much?”

The reporter snorted.

”I said maybe.”

”You’re ridiculous.”

”Still doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

Before she could answer, another roar erupted from the crowd, and although this one felt a little less loud, it sounded much angrier.

Every reporter turned toward the road at once, and after a while, they saw the Wigan bus appearing ahead of the escorts beneath and beside it.

There was a strange contrast between the two arrivals.

The Arsenal bus had been greeted by cheers, songs and raised scarves and now Wigan were being greeted by whistles and abuse.

”Go back to the Championship!”

Another voice rose from somewhere behind the barriers.

”The Premier League’s no place for wankers!”

More insults followed as the bus crawled past the supporters.

Some fans pointed toward the windows, and to that, others waved their hands dismissively.

A few simply stood there shouting whatever came to mind, and through it all, the Wigan bus continued forward without slowing, escorted by police vehicles and stewards who helped guide it toward the road leading into the stadium.

The reporters watched it disappear through the same entrance Arsenal had used moments earlier before suddenly, the focus turned towards getting into the stadium for the fans.

Soon enough, the drizzle began to fall harder, transitioning into rain as the reporters and fans alike scrambled to get under the cover of the stadium and then the stands.

And if the rain was anything to go by, the day wasn’t going to end without bringing one of the two sides to its knees.

.....

Jake was one of the first to react to the abuse.

Despite the neck injury that had kept him out, the striker turned toward the exit that they had just come through to get into the stadium.

”Did he just call us wankers?”

”I’m going back,” he said, pretending to pause, but after nobody paid him any mind, he paused.

”Ahem,” he coughed. ”I said I am going back,” he repeated as he looked around, apparently expecting someone else to stop him, but still, nobody did.

After a moment, he looked toward the door before slowly joining the players who were now more than a few steps ahead.

”Forget it.”

This time, a couple of the players laughed as he joined them.

A few minutes later, the players were shown into the dressing room.

The space was noticeably quieter and more cramped than it was outside.

Their bags were already waiting beside the benches, with the familiar arrangement of seats and equipment making the room feel more functional than welcoming.

As the players stood idle, Nolan entered behind them and clapped his hands once.

”Alright, lads. Get changed quickly.”

Several players looked over.

”Rain isn’t stopping anytime soon, so let’s get a few minutes in.”

At that, the players immediately began changing.

With the temperature dropping alongside the rain, several players added an extra layer underneath their training gear.

Leo pulled his warm-up top over his head before sitting down to tighten his boots.

The silver on them caught the light whenever he moved, and they had an almost crystal-blue finish that stood out against the darker colours around him.

As the room settled again, Ezra wandered over toward Leo.

He looked down at Leo’s boots before raising his eyebrows.

”Can you do something for me?”

At that, Leo glanced up.

”What?”

Ezra nodded toward his feet.

”Those Skechers boots.”

”Yeah, what about them?”

”Can you tell them I’m also their athlete?”

”This preferential treatment is going way too far.”

Leo smiled and then shook his head.

”But I gave them a reason to do so. Try dribbling more, and they might just give you a rare colourway.”

”Okay now that’s low,” Ezra said while pointing at Leo.

Before he could manage another, Nolan stepped through the room again.

”Let’s get warm before that rain gets any heavier.”

The players finally stood to their feet, and when Nolan opened the dressing-room door, they began filing out toward the tunnel.