Harbinger Of Glory

By Sunday afternoon, the area surrounding the Emirates had become difficult to navigate.

The growing crowd had spilt beyond the usual entrances, with supporters gathering behind barriers as police and stewards tried to keep a clear path toward the stadium.

And as it was always going to be, Arsenal shirts dominated the scene.

Red and white scarves were wrapped around necks, and once through it, one would see flags hung over barriers, and every few minutes another chant rolled through the crowd before fading into the general noise.

Just beyond the supporters, several reporters had already taken their positions, waiting for the occasion that was to be but hadn’t yet been.

Some stood in front of cameras preparing their live reports, while others waited beside their equipment, phones in hand as they followed the latest updates from inside the stadium.

For the moment, though, nothing remained to report.

The buses had not arrived, and because of that, a few of the reporters had begun making conversation to pass the time.

One of them, a middle-aged man with a press badge hanging from his jacket, glanced toward the stadium before checking his watch.

"I’ll be honest," he said. "I want Arsenal to win this."

The woman beside him, who seemed to be a colleague, looked over.

"You sound surprised by your own opinion."

He chuckled.

"Yes. I am. I know I shouldn’t be saying this as a Spurs fan, but I just can’t help it."

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and then looked at the woman, keen to continue the conversation.

"They need to close this gap. Nine points is already ridiculous at this stage, especially when it’s a team like Wigan."

"Ridiculous for who?"

"For Arsenal and the other top six teams, but most of all, for Arsenal," the middle-aged man said, while nodding towards the Emirates.

"It’s hard for us Spurs fans to accept, but Arsenal have a lot more going on for them than our team. At least they are actually trying to change the club and win something!"

"They’ve spent years trying to get themselves back into the title picture, and they’ve been inching closer and closer with those recent second-place finishes.

But then in the year that it seems like they have the highest chance, a newly promoted side comes along and suddenly decides they’re taking the league from everyone."

The woman gave him a doubtful look.

"Decide?"

"You know what I mean."

He laughed, then continued.

"And look at what Leicester did. It’s something that isn’t supposed to happen that often, but we could be getting a repeat of that, and it hasn’t even been 7 years."

He paused for a moment, shaking his head as if he truly dreaded what was to come.

"I don’t want another outlier."

That earned a quiet snort from the woman.

"You’re a very bad hater. As a true Spurs fan, you should be wishing that, if it were possible, Crowley Town should be winning instead of Arsenal winning it."

She folded her arms.

"Also, I just think that argument is a little outdated."

He looked at her.

"How?"

"Because everyone keeps talking about Wigan like they’re some kind of problem that needs correcting."

She nodded toward the crowd.

"Look around you. Half the people here are probably enjoying this."

"Arsenal fans aren’t."

"No, obviously."

She smiled.

"But if your club isn’t part of the usual top six, why wouldn’t you enjoy seeing them struggle?"

The man considered that for a second.

"Because it could be Leicester all over again."

"Exactly."

"And that’s a bad thing?"

She laughed softly.

"For the clubs at the top? Probably."

She looked back toward the stadium.

"For everyone else? Not really."

Another reporter, who had been listening while adjusting the strap on his camera, finally joined in.

"She’s got a point."

The first man raised his eyebrows.

"Of course you two agree. When are you going to stop coming out of the same apartment?"

"That is not the point, Allister."

"I’m not saying Wigan will win the league," the reporter replied. "I’m saying I’d rather see them make it interesting."

The woman nodded.

"That’s the whole point."

After saying that, she gestured toward the stadium.

"Look at the Premier League right now. City have won six of the last ten. Chelsea have won two. Liverpool have one. Leicester have one."

"That Bald-headed Spaniard has turned the league into a training ground so much so that he regards the Champions League as a higher test than the Premier League."

The reporter smiled.

"You really want them to keep winning?"

The middle-aged man, Allister, snorted.

"I want them to do as well as they can, but that doesn’t mean they should be winning the league."

"Oh, come off it. It’s just matchday 15 now. There’s 23 more matchdays to go, and anything can happen, so stop fretting over something that hasn’t happened yet."

She looked at him and then nudged him in the shoulder.

"You don’t even think about your wife this much," and that got a few laughs from the others.

She continued before anyone could respond.

"Football is better when something unexpected happens. If Wigan can disrupt the order that’s been forming for years, let them."

Even after her words, the first reporter still shook his head, causing the female reporter to shrug.

"You’re old, and that’s why. You don’t like change."

The conversation might have continued, but a low rumbling suddenly began to rise from beyond the barriers and that made the reporters stop talking.

They looked out towards the source of the noise, which grew steadily louder, and at first, it was difficult to tell where it had started, but then someone further down the line looked toward the road.

"They’re coming. Get ready."

Without wasting a second, everything changed immediately.

The reporters who had been debating seconds earlier abandoned the conversation without another word and lifted their cameras.

It didn’t take long for the subject of their attention to appear.

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