Sounds of hurried footsteps echoed from the corridor. O'Neill, sipping tea in the hotel lobby by the window, turned his head.
The players, having just finished a short break, spilled out. Some were still yawning, others dragging their feet. But Zanetti broke through the cluster, spun on his heels, and barked out,"Come on, hurry up! Don't look like you're half asleep — this is no time for afternoon tea!"
Ever since the team's goals for the season had been firmly set, Zanetti seemed to have rediscovered his drive overnight. His voice carried across the lobby with a commanding energy.
O'Neill checked his watch: 1:55. Perfect. The timing was right. He placed the teacup back on the saucer, folded his newspaper, and slid it neatly into the rack beside his chair before rising.
