Harbinger Of Glory

Darikwa steadied himself on the ball and lifted his eyes.

”Leo!” he shouted as Leo stopped his run just long enough to show for it.

Two Sunderland players reacted right away, closing in on him, expecting the pass to come straight into his feet.

And that was exactly what Darikwa wanted.

Instead of sending it to Leo, he slid the ball through the gap to Chris Sze, who had drifted into the pocket behind unnoticed.

”Lovely disguise from Darikwa. He’s pulled bodies toward Leo and opened the middle.”

Chris took one touch and shaped his body as if he might recycle the play, which drew even more pressure toward him.

And just as the Sunderland midfield stepped in, he slipped the ball forward again, threading it into space where Leo had burst ahead of his marker.

”And Wigan are opening them up here,” the co-commentator said.

”It’s Leo on the ball now, and what is next?”

Leo felt the defender’s arm clamp around his waist, tugging at him, trying to pull him off stride as he continued forward.

The grip tightened, but Leo stayed upright, leaning forward to stay ahead of the contact.

”Leo still has the ball and Trai Hume is holding onto him for dear life,” the commentator fired off as Leo bore down more and more on the box.

Instead of fighting the hold, he cushioned the ball with the outside of his boot and then finally nudged it left, into the path of McClean, who had overlapped at full pace.

McClean didn’t break stride.

He knocked the ball ahead, setting it perfectly for himself before drilling a low cross into the box.

It wasn’t clean, and Sunderland’s attempt to clear wasn’t either.

The ball pinballed off a shin, then a knee, and rolled loose near the penalty spot.

Broadhead swung at it but missed completely, and the ball split toward Will Keane.

”Keane’s there! Big chance!”

The commentary came sharply as Keane shaped up like he was about to smash it into the top corner.

The crowd behind the goal got to their feet, waiting for the net to snap back as two red shirts lunged, throwing their weight into the block.

Only Keane never took the shot.

He froze them with the feint, let them slide past, then leaned slightly to his right and passed the ball into the far corner with a calmness that cut through all the chaos around him.

The stands erupted, and the commentators barely kept up.

”They’ve been pushing, but Wigan are finally level! What a finish! Will Keane with ice in his veins, eighty-fifth minute, and the Latics are right back in this!”

Keane jogged straight into the goal to get the ball, only to meet two Sunderland defenders trying to slow him down.

He wrestled past them, refusing to let go, and the referee’s whistle pierced through the shoving.

”Leave it,” the referee barked, stepping between them.

Keane finally emerged with the ball tucked to his chest, sprinting back toward the halfway line.

Behind him, the rest of the Wigan players were already retreating into shape for the restart, feeding off the noise from their crowd, which hadn’t stopped roaring since the ball hit the net.

The cameras cut to Dawson on the touchline, who was applauding steadily, nodding, urging his players on with every clap.

”Five minutes and whatever gets added. This match is wide open again. Wigan have dragged themselves level, and now everything changes.”

”Well, I’d say Sunderland have done this to themselves. They were in control of the game and just decided to give it up at one point and haven’t gotten it back since,” the co-commentator said as Keane set the ball down on the kick-off spot.

The match official stood beside the ball afterwards as the Sunderland players walked into position, albeit slowly this time.

With the momentum having changed, they couldn’t afford to have the ball in Wigan’s grasp.

And so after the restart, they began tossing Wigan all over the pitch with their passes, trying their hardest to keep the ball away, and after a gap opened up, they strung together two quick passes, then launched a long diagonal into the space behind the midfield.

The ball dropped perfectly for Patrick Roberts, who brought it down and slipped it inside.

Another long pass followed, where this one floated toward the edge of the box.

”Sunderland back on the attack, and this could be dangerous here.”

Their forward, Ross Stewart, timed his run well and then controlled the ball, but he was soon swarmed.

And so, not wanting to waste the chance, he fired off towards goal, but his effort turned out to be more than decent as it forced Jamie Jones to lurch towards his left, pushing the ball onto the post as the entire stand behind the goal lurched forward in the same breath.

”OHHHH, Sunderland very nearly got their lead back, but now Wigan have got it back,” the commentary came as Leo anticipated and pounced on the loose ball before anyone could.

He took one touch and looked as though he might slow the game, but then he spotted McClean tearing down the left touchline again.

And so Leo took the opportunity, drilling the ball low and forward, putting it right into McClean’s stride.

McClean cut inside with a sharp touch that forced his defender to open up the wrong way.

The crowd rose as he shifted onto his right foot and fired low toward the near corner, but this time, too, Patterson dropped fast and pushed it aside with a strong palm.

A ripple of shock swept through the stadium as even Sunderland fans felt that one and saw how close it was to denying them a point from how things stood.

Roberts seized the rebound and played it immediately to Dajaku on the opposite flank.

The latter pushed the ball ahead and used his pace to burst past Darikwa, who tried to match him, but Wigan’s captain found himself a couple of steps behind by the time they got into Wigan’s final third, where Dajaku stopped dead at the edge of the box, killing Darikwa’s momentum.

The defender stumbled past him, and the Sunderland end roared, sensing the danger as Dajaku cut inside with room to shoot.

But before he could pull the trigger, Tilt came sliding across the turf.

His timing was perfect, with the defender clipping the ball away cleanly while Dajaku tumbled over his legs.

The fans behind the goal exploded, screaming for a penalty, though the referee held his ground.

”No. Get up,” he shouted, waving play on.

That decision barely settled before Amad Diallo arrived for the loose ball and struck it on the turn.

Jamie Jones reacted instantly, dropping low to palm it away, and the rebound skidded across the six-yard box, where Max Power didn’t bother taking a touch.

He smashed it into the stands for a throw-in, choosing safety over anything fancy, and the commentators finally had a moment to breathe.

”What a lovely attacking display by both sides. End to End football for the past couple of minutes, and this is somehow turning into a game of basketball,” the lead voice said.

The co-commentator laughed under his breath.

”And the crowd are loving it. You can hear them. They’re applauding both sets of players here. What a spell.”

The camera caught pockets of fans clapping and chanting for their players while back on the pitch, Jay Matete stepped to the touchline, ball in hand.

He flicked it up once, twice, then held it above his head to take the throw.

Amad Diallo stepped forward, palms open, demanding the ball, and Matete didn’t hesitate.

He hurled the throw straight at him, and Amad killed it with a neat touch before flicking it past McClean.

The right side of the stadium rose as he accelerated, but Leo came sliding in from nowhere.

He hooked the ball cleanly from underneath Amad’s feet and spun up to his own as applause rolled down from the stands.

From there, Leo moved the ball toward the right, then carried it into the centre circle with a calmness that felt almost unreasonable for the moment.

On the sideline, the fourth official lifted his board, showing just three minutes of added time.

”Three added on. Three minutes for someone to take this game for themselves. It isn’t much, but football is a game of seconds.”

Leo drifted again, this time toward the left as Wigan fans urged him on, a wave rising behind him.

He looked up and launched a long, arcing ball into the box where Keane and Broadhead fought for position, with the Sunderland defenders crashing into them as more and more blue shirts poured forward.

In that same sequence, it nearly broke for Sunderland when one clearance bounced kindly for Dajaku.

He turned and tried to sprint, but Jamie Jones sprinted further, reading it early.

He slid out of his box and knocked the ball straight to Leo, who was now the only Wigan player left in his own half.

”Is there one more moment in this? Just one more?”

Leo didn’t dwell.

He pushed the ball back up the pitch and swept a pass toward the right, where Chris Sze collected it on the move.

Sze drove into the box from the left, cutting across two defenders before slipping the ball across the six-yard area.

Chaos followed.

Legs everywhere, bodies twisting, the ball ricocheting from shin to boot to heel before Will Keane stabbed at it, nudging it toward goal.

He had almost begun to run in celebration, but then, a Sunderland defender swiped it off the line at the last possible inch.

The home fans groaned while the away fans groaned louder.

”It’s still loose, it’s still loose, someone needs to clear it!”

But before the clearance ever came, Leo arrived menacingly and struck the ball with everything he had, sending it rising past Patterson’s left hand and into the roof of the net.

Then the sound hit the stadium like a wave.

”GOOOOOOOOOAL!”

The roar swallowed everything.

Leo didn’t even think.

He turned and sprinted toward the Wigan end, face wide with disbelief and adrenaline while his teammates chased him, shouting his name, grabbing his arms as he leapt over the railings and disappeared into the arms of the fans behind the hoardings.

”Would you look at that. This is why we love the game so much. They’ve been down copious stints of the game, but all of a sudden, Wigan have come back to beat Sunderland. You cannot write a better script than this.”