Harbinger Of Glory

”This one’s gone a bit stale,” the commentator said on the broadcast.

”After that energy in the first half, both sides seem to have settled, and I won’t be surprised should this game go to extra and possibly penalties.”

”For Luton, there isn’t much difference in how they are playing, but for Wigan, they aren’t quite getting their playmakers involved,” the analyst added.

”And that goes to show why they haven’t been that inventive.”

But in that moment, on the pitch, Leo chased a loose touch near the centre circle, arriving just late enough to clip the defender’s shin.

It wasn’t dangerous, but a foul was a foul even without the intent, and so the whistle came straight away as the referee stepped in next.

”Careful,” he warned. ”That’s your last one.”

Leo nodded, hands raised briefly to show he hadn’t meant it, before turning and walking away.

He just couldn’t help it on that occasion.

The noise from the away end sharpened, growing by the second and feeding off the lull, growing bolder with every quiet second.

”Overrated.”

The chant cut through the air, crude and deliberate.

Over-ra-ted,

You’re fucking over-ra-ted,

All that hype and still you’re shite,

Over-ra-ted.

One good game,

Wigan went mental,

Now you hide when it gets rough,

Over-ra-ted.

Leo heard it, and more followed, variations of the same idea, each one meant to stick.

He shook his head at that, a bit irritated, but the thought of face slapping them by playing much better proved stronger, so he kept his emotions in check.

”You can hear the Luton Town fans now,” the commentator said. ”They’re making themselves heard. At the moment, it feels like Wigan are playing away from home.”

Luton Town, after the foul, got the ball moving again, with their captain Jordan Clark moving the ball centrally, skipping past Max Power, before laying the ball off, just past the reach of Duvan to Elijah Adebayo.

The Luton Town forward, with his back to goal, shifted the ball to his other forward pairing in Cawley Woodrow, before moving into space to get it back, but the pass from Woodrow was intercepted by Leo, who immediately sent it wide to avoid the pressure in the middle.

”Nice interception to halt the play,” the commentary called as Ryan Nyambe took the ball down the flank before slowly moving backwards after seeing not much of his numbers in the opponent’s half.

From there, Wigan worked the ball patiently across the back before feeding it into midfield.

Duvan received it on the half turn and did what he had been doing all night.

He drove forward without hesitation, surging forward into space, and moving past Luton’s players like they weren’t there.

He carried the ball straight through the centre, dragging bodies toward him, forcing Luton to collapse inward.

As the defence narrowed, Joe Bennett burst forward on the overlap, timing his run perfectly to match Duvan’s just before the latter slipped the pass into his path.

Bennett slowed, almost pausing, selling the cross and drawing the defender toward him, but instead of whipping it in, he cut the ball back sharply into the middle.

Leo, running a beat behind, sped up the moment he saw Bennet’s pass and arrived at speed, getting a subtle touch on the ball, but at the same time, the Luton players tried to meet him with a challenge.

And so with some little momentum still behind the ball, Leo let the ball run, stepping around the challenge and reclaiming it just behind the defender’s side as the away end gasped, because from where Leo was, there was more chance in him putting the ball into the back of the net than their keeper saving it.

And the moment Leo drew his leg back, their hearts sank.

”He’s going for it,” the commentary fired sharply on the broadcast, sold that Leo was going to shoot, but Leo touched the ball slightly, and slid it sideways instead, nudging it perfectly into Fletcher’s path as the commentator’s voice rose into a shout, raw and urgent.

”It’s up for Fletcher!”

Fletcher caught it cleanly.

Too cleanly.

The strike came off his boot with a crack that made half the stadium rise, only for the ball to keep climbing.

The camera followed it for a second too long before the commentator’s voice dropped, flat and disappointed.

”Oh dear.”

The shot sailed over the bar and into the empty space behind the goal.

Fletcher was already down on one knee by the time it landed, hands braced on the turf, head lowered as if he could will the moment back.

”He’s missed it,” the commentator continued.

Leo stood a few yards away, staring at the sky with both hands on his head.

He held them there for a beat, then let them fall, bobbed his head once, and began walking backwards toward his position without complaint.

”Calderón puts it on a plate for him, and Wigan cannot believe they’re still level.”

The Luton goalkeeper certainly could.

He clapped his gloves together, took a ball from a nearby ball boy, muttered a quick thank you to no one in particular, and wasted no time.

One step, a long run-up, and he sent it high and long, a towering kick that turned the pitch inside out.

And it went straight back into Wigan’s territory.

”And that’s the danger now,” came the warning from the gantry.

”Wigan squander a set chance, and suddenly Luton have the opportunity to make them regret it.”

The ball dropped just outside the box, hanging for a fraction before bouncing up invitingly.

That spun the players around into action, but it was Louie Watson who got there first, menacingly at that.

Because on the second bounce, he smashed his left foot through the ball without hesitation, leaving the rest of the players rooted, and just staring at the ball that had zoomed towards the Wigan goal.

Jamie Jones had taken a step, maybe two, before he realised what was happening.

The ball was already past him, rising, swerving, screaming toward the goal.

It smashed against the crossbar with a metallic shrill that cut through the stadium.

The noise lingered, echoing, before the ball ricocheted back out into play.

”Oh, what a strike!” the commentator gasped, scrambling to recover.

”That had everyone beaten. Inches away and the audacity to try that.”

Relief crashed through the home crowd in uneven waves as Jones, now up, turned towards his mates who were still pinging the ball in the left and roared towards them to clear the ball.

A moment later, the ball skidded left toward Joe Bennett.

The left back took hold of it and glanced upwards after that.

To his right was Leo, offering himself as an option.

Bennett didn’t linger any longer and nudged it inside, just before Leo stepped onto it, shoulders squared, eyes up.

A midfielder rushed, but Leo opened his body toward his own half, shaping to recycle possession.

The player bought it, checked his run, and turned to face where he thought the ball was going to go, but Leo spun back the other way, throwing off the player by a mile.

From there, Leo carried the ball forward, head high now, touches short and close as he moved through the centre.

”This is what we’re used to seeing,” the commentator said, a hint of relief creeping into his voice. ”Leo is taking responsibility for the ball and holding onto it.”

He released the ball to Naylor a few metres ahead, nothing fancy, just the right pass at the right time.

Then he drifted back into the pocket, scanning, adjusting his position by inches.

And suddenly, the ball started finding him from there onwards.

Once, twice, three times in quick succession.

”Calderon again. He’s got the ball, and he’s got a bit of space to himself,” the commentary began, before being cut off by another exchange as Leo slipped the ball again to Ryan Nyambe, who took it forward, before slipping it to the support in the form of Fletcher.

The forward touched the ball once and then released it to Max Power, before moving forward and occupying the defenders, just as the captain released the ball to Leo.

With no option but to go forward, Leo did, worming his way scrappily through bodies before releasing the ball to Fletcher, who had his back to goal and was under pressure.

Immediately after getting the ball, Fletcher released it back once more, before dashing behind the Luton backline, dragging bodies with him and Leo, getting the ball, escaped another player with a quick, la croqueta.

The obvious pass was there after that, the cut-back that everyone in the stadium was waiting for.

Even the Luton Town keeper had steadied himself, positioning a bit centrally in his goal, but that was his mistake because the cutback never came.

Leo lifted his leg and instead of passing the ball, nudged it instead, threading it into the sliver of space at the near right post.

It was subtle and almost rude, as the ball kissed the inside of the net, and the noise came rumbling down.

GOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

”Oh wow!”the commentator laughed, almost incredulous.

”That works too. Wigan have pulled ahead in this FA cup replay, and that is very cheeky by Leo.”

Leo turned away as the roar washed over him before teammates collided with him.

He was buried for a moment, then pulled free, pumping his fist once.

”Wigan lead!” came the call. ”Eighty-seventh minute, and it’s Leo who finds the breakthrough.”

The away end fell quiet, stunned into stillness as the commentator returned to business quickly.

”Luton have three minutes, plus whatever is added on, to find something here if they want to stay alive. You’d have to say, though, that feels unlikely now.”

As Leo passed the away fans, he turned towards them and cupped his ear, telling them to make more noise.

A few shouts followed him, but he didn’t mind them too much and turned towards his mates, following them back to his half.