Harbinger Of Glory

As the game unfolded, Dawson, who was in his seat a moment earlier, now stood with his hands in his coat pockets, rain tapping softly against the fabric while his eyes fixed on the pattern unfolding in front of him.

Behind him, Nolan shifted from one foot to the other.

”How are we getting pounded like this?” Nolan muttered for the third time in as many minutes.

”It’s almost like they’re trying to walk it in.”

Dawson didn’t answer.

He simply nodded once, slow and thoughtful, as if agreeing with something Nolan hadn’t actually said.

A moment later, his gaze drifted to the right wing, where Darikwa had timed his overlap well and now received the ball in stride.

He had started off strong and sharp, but the ball still felt a bit out of reach.

Still, it seemed a bit of luck was on the side because in the next second, the ball began slowing and when he got there, Darikwa didn’t think too much of what to do and just shipped the ball into the box without ask.

Without an intended target, though, the ball wasn’t really going anywhere and was quickly met by Lewis Dunk, who, composed and confident, stepped onto the flight of the ball without a hint of panic.

He cleared it firmly, not just away but with intent, shoulders squared as if the box belonged to him.

That got Dawson’s brow to rise higher than he intended.

”Dunk’s feeling himself today,” he murmured.

From behind him, Nolan nodded, missing the tone that the former had spoken with.

”He’s having a brilliant game. Hard not to be confident when you’re playing like that.”

Dawson turned slowly and looked at him with a disappointed gaze, something that sounded like, ”Can you catch a clue?”

Nolan, not finding fault with his words, just blinked.

”What?”

Dawson shook his head and turned back to the pitch, focusing more on Lewis Dunk as if he was trying to bore a hole in the defender with his eyes.

”Too much of everything is bad,” he said quietly.

At the corner, Cousins stood over the ball near the flag, waiting for bodies to settle inside the box.

Wigan shirts jostled for position, raising their arms and shoving the Brighton players as much as they could for space.

”A Good delivery here could test Steele for the first time,” came the call from the gantry as Cousins ran up and bent the ball toward the penalty spot.

When his leg went through the ball, it was floated rather than whipped, hanging for a moment in the cold air.

Not waiting for anyone, Jason Steele stepped off his line decisively and punched through the crowd, sending the ball skidding toward Brighton’s left flank, and the crowd roared in agreement, seeing that what he did was needed because the closest man to the loose ball on the field was a Brighton player.

”Danger here if Brighton break,” the co-commentator warned, and Mitoma was already moving.

He gathered the loose ball near the touchline and accelerated, forcing Wigan to scramble.

Navy shirts with red streaks retreated in uneven lines, trying to plug spaces that opened as quickly as they closed, but time waited for no man.

Mitoma darted inside, drawing two defenders with him and breaking the line that had just been formed again before he drifted back toward the wing and then slipped a pass to Undav, who had peeled away into space.

Undav didn’t hold it.

He laid it off first time to Ferguson, and if he had done so a split second later, an offside might have been called.

The Amex crowd rose instinctively, eyes flicking to the assistant referee’s flag before snapping back to the ball.

Ferguson, now found himself through on goal and one-on-one with Amos.

Despite the pressure bearing down from behind, he was man enough to shrug it off before he tried to place it, guiding the ball around the keeper with the inside of his foot.

Amos, though, eyes set like a marksman, reacted sharply and spread himself, blocking the effort with his leg.

The noise dipped in disbelief as the ball spilt loose again, but only for a breath because Mitoma was there again.

He collected the rebound without hesitation and sent it back across goal, low and precise.

Amos, still recovering from the first save, could only twist and watch while Whatmough lunged toward the line, stretching desperately, but the ball still slid past him and into the net right before the stadium exploded into cheers.

GOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

”That is what we have been waiting for! Brighton have their breakthrough!” the commentator roared.

”And it’s been coming.”

Free without reins, Mitoma slid toward the corner flag, arms wide, with his teammates piling onto him from behind in celebration as rain sprayed up from the turf.

Back inside the box, though, Amos rose slowly, not knowing what or how to feel.

He simply looked at the spot where the ball had crossed the line and nodded once to himself.

”It’s been thirty-five minutes gone, but in the thirty-sixth minute,” the co-commentator added, ”Brighton finally break down what has been stubborn resistance from Wigan.”

Rallying themselves together, the Wigan players trudged back toward the centre circle, talking amongst themselves with sour expressions.

A few even looked towards Dawson on the touchline, but the latter was locked deep in conversation with Nolan and the rest of the coaching staff.

”It’s only one goal now, but you do wonder,” the main commentator said, ”if Wigan might feel this is where the cup run meets its limit. They’ve worked tirelessly to stay in it.”

A moment later, the Brighton players finally began trudging back to their half.

Following closely ahead of them was the match official who picked up the pace and then stood near the centre circle, watching as the Brighton players moved into their respective positions.

When the head of the official rose from the face of his watch, he brought his whistle to his lips before sounding it for the restart.

And from that restart, Brighton pushed again before the break, working the ball from side to side, probing without overcommitting.

In the 41st minute, they worked out a meaner sequence and got a shot off from distance, but that only sailed high into the stands, drawing groans followed by applause from the home crowd.

5 minutes later, Wigan, eager to end the half on a high despite their performance, answered with a rare foray forward which saw Cousins slipping a pass into the channel for Fletcher, but the latter’s cross was cut out before it could find a target.

And a minute later, the whistle for halftime arrived without further damage.

”It’s the first 45,” the commentator said as the broadcast panned towards the scoreboard in the stadium. ”We are still a whole half away from finding out who will be moving on to the next round, but it seems the home side feel it is in their favour.”

”Wigan, though, will be looking to bounce back if they are to get any hopes of being the team that makes it out of here today. We will be back after the break!”

On the pitch, the rain continued to fall as both sides headed for the tunnel with one in the lead and the other in need.