Harbinger Of Glory

”Allow it,” came a roar, followed by the puff of the air stored in between Tom Naylor’s cheeks as he tried to meet the ball, but Leo swooped in at the last second and took the ball away.

”That cun-” Naylor tried to say, but what he didn’t know was that he was being swarmed, and had Leo left the ball to him, Wigan might have already conceded, just like the previous 2 instances in the past 5 minutes.

”Wigan on the ball now and it’s Leo moving it along nicely,” came the commentary as Leo took the ball just inside Southampton’s half and let the game slow around him.

He rolled it under his sole, head lifting once, then again before dragging it back with the sole, baiting the Southampton numbers to step up, but they looked too organised and smart for that.

Still, the red and white shirts up ahead eventually gave in as two players stepped up to press, mainly because they knew how to do more with the ball than without it.

With that, Leo saw space opening if he carried it a few more steps, and so tried to do just that, but all of a sudden, a body came at him from nowhere.

Leo felt it before he fully saw it, a sudden rush at his blind side.

He reacted on instinct, nudging the ball forward and slightly away, just enough to escape the lunge.

”Fucking hell-” the Southampton player called out as he overcommitted, legs stretching, and as he went down, his arm shot out, fingers catching Leo’s shirt out of pure reflex, while the latter withstood it, but the ball was now out of reach.

Still, the whistle came like a saving grace, with the referee deciding to give the foul after the advantage was lost.

Leo stopped, bent down, and pinned the ball still with two fingers, breathing steadily while the Southampton midfielder got back to his feet, turned toward the referee and nodded once, accepting it without complaint.

”Good awareness from Calderón there,” the commentator said.

”You can see that he’d checked his shoulder, but sometimes one slips through anyway.”

The free kick was taken quickly by Leo, who took it back and tried to turn, but the same player came again, and this time, he came in harder.

Leo felt the shoulder, felt the arm press into him, and he answered it the same way, planting his own forearm out, keeping the space just enough to stay upright and while the ball stayed close with him, the other didn’t give an inch.

”There’s a little duel developing here,” came the voice from the booth.

”They’ve clocked each other in a nice show of what a midfield battle looks like at this level.”

Leo finally slipped the ball off to Tom Naylor and peeled away, walking it off as if it meant nothing.

But when he glanced over his shoulder, the Southampton player was still following.

Then he shook him off, but in the next play, and even though he didn’t have the ball, the player still lingered around him.

From that moment on, Leo had a shadow.

Wherever he drifted, the red and white shirt went with him.

It did not rattle him, but it narrowed his options.

Teammates hesitated, sometimes choosing the safer pass rather than risking it under pressure.

Leo, trying to accommodate the situation, adjusted, started stepping wider, dropping deeper, and trying to drag the marker with him and open up space elsewhere.

And for a while, it worked, until it didn’t.

Midway through the half, Wigan recycled possession again, and so Leo showed for it, raising his arm slightly to signal for it.

Naylor, who had the ball, saw him but hesitated and then finally decided against it.

Instead, he went long, sending the ball over to the left side of the pitch, which was occupied by Thelo Aasgaard, and more than 3 Southampton shirts.

”Naylor but ow, he’s given it away,”

the commentary said as the home side’s winger got to the ball first, cushioned the touch and immediately began driving straight toward the byline.”He’s off. He has space in front!”

”Joe Bennet steps up, but Jordi’s done away with him. He’s in now!”

The commentary, from their booth, rambled sharply as they tried to capture the situation for the people who hadn’t gotten the chance to watch the game while Wigan scrambled back, bodies retreating, but the damage was already forming.

Jordi, with time and precision, slowed almost to a stop, before glancing into the box, settling on a target, and in the next moment, he sent a ball skipping across the top blades of grass, almost like they were what was keeping it afloat.

Legs were stuck out with lunges in-between trying to push the ball away, but in the next second, the Southampton striker arrived unmarked and tapped the ball into the back of the net past Ben Amos with twenty-seven minutes showing on the scoreboard.

”GOOOOOOAAAAAALLL!!!! It’s the first goal of the game, and it’s from none other than Southampton. Jordi does enough to set up Sekou Mara, and in tournaments like this, goals like these are enough to put a team in a very, very, very comfortable position.”

”The answer for Southampton in this game has always been on the flanks because you look there and realise that Wigan aren’t really putting in the effort there, and so I am glad they were able to capitalise on that even though this was mostly as a result of a mistake,” the co-commentator added.

Leo, who had followed the chase and had even tried sliding in to get the ball away, dropped to the turf and rolled onto his back, head tipping up toward the lights.

He slapped both thighs once, sharp and frustrated, then got to his feet and looked at Naylor, asking why he hadn’t passed the ball, but Naylor did not meet his eye.

He turned to the others instead, raising his arm slightly in the air and muttering a quick apology that the rest of the players felt even he couldn’t really hear.

Around them, the home fans began getting louder and louder.

”The Saints! The Saints!”

They called out like fervent praise, while the red and white shirts jogged back toward their half in a business-like manner and without too much celebration, while Wigan also began resetting with players who had been standing idly before turning and then walking back towards their respective positions.

”It’s the expected lead,” the commentator continued. ”But the question now is whether Wigan can respond, because they’ve not been overrun here.”

Just as he said that, the camera cut to the touchline where Dawson was on his feet now, right on the edge of the technical area, with his eyes fixed on the pitch while Will Keane knocked the ball back to restart the game.