Harbinger Of Glory

As the crowd waited for the restart, Ezra drifted over to Leo, both of them watching Adebayo being steered toward the touchline by two teammates, a staff member and then the fourth official.

Adebayo was still talking, arms moving, head shaking, the frustration pouring out of him even as the decision had already been made.

”Man’s still going,” Ezra muttered under his breath while Leo stood there now with a detached expression on his face.

A while later, the referee broke away from the officials and walked straight toward him, stopping close enough that he could hear what he was saying over the lively crowd.

”Be careful,” the referee said, low and measured.

”You aren’t without fault,” he continued, to which Leo nodded once.

”I hear you, mister”

The referee stared at Leo after his words before shaking his head and taking a few steps back.

After that, he grabbed the ball, setting it up for a drop ball before the whistle came through.

The drop ball came down, and Tom Naylor, nearest to it, didn’t waste a second.

He stepped through it and punted it high into the Luton half, resetting the lines and giving Wigan a few seconds to breathe.

”We’re just 5 minutes away from normal time being over”, the commentator said.

”Wigan compact, disciplined, doing exactly what they need to do.”

The co-commentator followed, smacking his tongue at the gap in his teeth.

”Luton just haven’t really found a way through. Everything feels a bit flat from them tonight. So tonight, it has just been a battle of who can do just enough because Wigan haven’t been superb either.”

Back on the pitch, the game crawled just as the clock hit the 90th minute.

Throw-ins from Wigan took just long enough to not draw the referee’s attention, and that got Luton, who was trying to level the score, more frustrated.

And even in the dying minutes, Leo stayed true to Dawson’s instruction, sitting deep, filling space, showing for the ball only when it made sense.

With the help of his teammates, he dealt with more and more of the Luton attacks that were mounting in the final minutes of the game, right until the referee’s whistle cut through the noise, sharp and final.

Just then, a wall of sound rolled down from the stands towards the pitch.

It felt like relief and satisfaction altogether as the players all slowed to a stop.

”There it is,” the commentator shouted over the roar.

”Full time here at the DW, and Wigan have won for the second time against Luton Town and what a good series of games it has been, especially from Wigan. Today wasn’t as level as the previous games, but the home side won’t care because they have gotten the three points and are now 7th on the table.”

”Yeah, they are!” the co-commentator affirmed. ”That puts them just one place behind the playoff spot that they are chasing and 2 points behind West Bromwich Albion, who are in 6th in the last playoff spot.”

”Some might say Wigan held on, but I think that wasn’t it. Luton were just lacklustre tonight. Four shots all game, only one on target. That’s not enough to get anything against this Wigan side under Dawson...”

The co-commentator, however, didn’t get to finish.

”What is going on?” the lead commentator cut in.

”It seems the game is not yet done for the players on the pitch.”

Near the tunnel, Adebayo was back, and with him already having a red card, the restraint was clearly gone.

He stepped toward Leo again, voice raised, arms wide.

”I just want to talk to him,” Adebayo shouted, even as two teammates grabbed him.

Nobody believed that he wanted to talk.

Not the officials rushing in, not the players forming a tight ring around them, not the crowd that sensed exactly what it was.

Leo didn’t engage.

He walked, that same faint smirk on his face, head shaking once as if the whole thing was being taken out of proportion by the Luton Town man.

The reaction only wound Adebayo tighter, his body leaning forward, hands clawing at air as he was dragged away.

Officials crowded in, palms out, voices firm and a moment later, the scuffle fizzled before it could boil over into anything worse.

Dawson caught Leo just inside the tunnel and hooked an arm around his shoulder, pulling him away from the noise.

”What was that about?” he asked. ”What did you say to him to get him like this?” he fired off again before Leo could answer the first question.

Leo, though, just shrugged.

”I didn’t say anything really.”

”He’s just not as mature as he looks.”

Dawson scoffed and smacked the back of Leo’s head out of habit.

”Whatever you say, but go get a wash,” he said.

”You’ve done enough for one night.”

Leo smiled to himself and disappeared further down the tunnel as the roar outside kept going.

...

A quarter of an hour later, the team bus waited just beyond the barriers, its engine already humming low as the Wigan players filtered out into the night.

Camera flashes popped in quick bursts, white light stuttering across faces that had barely cooled from the match as the local reporters called names that went unanswered.

A few phones were held high, recording anything they could catch before the doors closed.

Leo climbed the steps with his wired earphones already in his ear, blocking out the noise, but the bus did it better as he entered.

He nodded once to the driver and moved down the aisle, where a few of his mates were already seated.

After getting to his seat, he lifted his bag, shoved it into the overhead compartment, and dropped by the window.

The screen of his phone glowed as he tapped back into the video he had paused earlier.

In the clip, Dawson stood in front of the podium in the tunnel speaking calmly to the reporter.

A while later, the video moved on to the same backdrop, but a different person in the Luton coach occupied the space.

The reporter barely finished the question before he started.

”He’s not usually like that,” the man said, clearly referring to Adebayo.

”Anyone who knows Elijah knows that.”

Leo tilted his head slightly, listening keenly to what the man had to say.

”So I have to ask what was said to him,” the coach continued.

”Because that reaction doesn’t come out of nowhere. And if we’re being honest, the blame doesn’t just sit with my player.”

He paused, then added, ”That Wigan kid.”

Not Leo’s name.

Just that.

”I’ve been watching him since the FA Cup tie. Second leg especially. Talented boy, no doubt. But you can see it now. The noise is getting to him. He’s starting to believe in the words people say.

Leo scoffed quietly.

”It’s not a bad thing,” the coach went on, softening his tone just enough to sound reasonable. ”But for someone that young, it can tip into cockiness if you’re not careful.”

That did it.

Leo pulled the earphones out in one smooth motion and let them fall into his lap.

He locked the phone and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling for a second before turning his head toward the aisle.

James McClean sat opposite him, one arm draped over the seat, scrolling through something on his own phone.

Leo looked at him for a moment, then spoke.

”Be honest, Mackie,” Leo said. ”Am I getting cocky?”

McClean looked up slowly, eyes flicking to Leo, then back down, then back up again before setting his phone down.

”When have you not been cocky?” McClean said, causing Leo to open his mouth wide before he broke into a grin.

”That bad?”

McClean shrugged.

”It’s part of the package, lad. And it’s not a bad thing to be cocky. Some situations warrant that, and sometimes, you have this annoying look about you.”

”What look?”

”That one,” McClean said, nodding toward Leo’s face.

”Has no one ever told you that you look punchable when you escape the press in training?”

”Sometimes, I have to remember that you are my teammate to keep my hands to myself. But since you are playing for us, keep doing it. Makes the job easier if the opponent has one less player if they keep getting annoyed by you.”

Leo laughed under his breath and leaned across the aisle.

McClean met him halfway, and they bumped fists lightly, both smiling now.

From a few rows ahead, Fletcher’s voice cut through the bus.

”Gaffer,” he called out, loud enough for half the bus to hear, ”I’m telling you now, Leo’s following McClean’s footsteps. Won’t be long before he’s asking for a lighter.”

Laughter rippled through the bus immediately as McClean straightened up, offended in a way that clearly said otherwise.

”Smoking?” he said, turning around in his seat. ”When have I ever smoked?”

”When have you never because you must be on something to be always parting shit wisdom”, Fletcher shot back without missing a beat.

That got a louder laugh.

Leo sank back into his seat, still smiling, the earlier irritation from the interview already dulling.