Harbinger Of Glory

[A Day Later]

The screens inside the studio glowed with highlights and league tables while morning light filtered through the wide studio windows at Sky Sports.

It hadn’t been the best of mornings for them, but they still went about their business, keeping the football world informed.

The show had already spent the better part of thirty minutes breaking down the weekend’s Premier League fixtures, the usual talk of title races, injuries, and who needed points more than the others.

Then, as it seemed that the show would continue, the host leaned back slightly in his chair and glanced toward the large screen behind them.

”But before we get too deep into the league action,” he said, ”let’s rewind a bit to the FA Cup quarter-finals that wrapped up over the last two days.”

Behind them, the screen shifted to a graphic of the results.

”The first game of the round was played two days ago,” he continued.

”And Manchester City absolutely dismantled Burnley, six-nil. That one was over long before the final whistle.”

One of the pundits beside him chuckled quietly.

”That wasn’t a contest. That was a training session with cameras. I mean, honestly, we all knew what was happening before the game and true to our thoughts, Pep’s men didn’t disappoint.”

The others nodded as the conversation naturally shifted to the remaining fixtures.

”And yesterday brought the other three ties,” the host said. ”Sheffield United edging Blackburn three-two in a proper cup scrap. Manchester United handling Fulham three-one as well.”

The graphic flicked again.

”And then,” he added with a slight smile, ”there was the one nobody quite saw coming.”

Clips from the Amex appeared on the screen with the rain, noise, and the late chaos in front of the goal.

”In a surprising turn of events, Wigan Athletic have done it again. Against all odds, they’re through to the FA Cup semi-finals for the first time in a while and in a game that didn’t really favour them, they put another goal past De Zerbi’s men in the dying embers of extra time, courtesy of an own goal by Brighton’s captain Lewis Dunk.”

One of the pundits leaned forward, shaking his head slowly.

”They won because they wanted it more,” he said simply.

”That’s what it looked like to me. Brighton had the better side, the better control of the match for long spells, but Wigan never stopped believing they were in it.”

He gestured toward the replay of Darikwa racing toward the bench in celebration.

”And honestly, that was the most entertaining game of the round. The other three... if we’re being honest, they felt decided before the ball was even kicked. Maybe the Sheffield game could be contested, but that game wasn’t really active despite the 3-2 scoreline.”

The host nodded.

”There’s truth in that,” he said.

”But even with the result, most people still expected Brighton to come through. Wigan had players missing, they’ve got a promotion push going in the Championship, and usually when a club is balancing those two things, the league takes priority.”

The second pundit shrugged slightly.

”Didn’t look like they were thinking about that last night.”

A soft laugh moved around the table as the screen behind them shifted again, this time showing the semi-final bracket.

”So now the picture is clear,”

the host continued.”Manchester City will face Sheffield United in one semi-final, and that means Wigan Athletic will take on Manchester United.”

”Two Championship sides still standing,” one pundit added. ”Wigan and Sheffield United. That alone is impressive.”

After his words, the host folded his hands together while looking keenly at the broadcast camera.

”But here’s the question,” he said thoughtfully. ”At some point, Wigan have to decide how far they want to take this.”

He glanced at the old footage now playing on the screen, footage of Wigan players lifting the FA Cup in 2013 after defeating Manchester City.

”They’ve done this before,” he said.

”Back in 2013, they shocked everyone by winning the final against Manchester City. Now, ten years later, they’re back in the semi-finals with another Manchester club waiting for them and possibly Manchester City again in the final.”

One of the pundits leaned back in his chair, half smiling.

”History’s got a funny way of knocking twice.”

The host nodded slowly.

”So the question now,” he said, ”is whether Wigan want to chase promotion... or whether they want to try and write another piece of history.”

The studio lights hummed quietly as the conversation moved on from the FA Cup talk, while the image of Darikwa’s celebration still looped silently on the screen behind them.

.......

For reaching the semi-finals of the FA cup, Dawson had given his men a day off and that showed by how quiet it was as Leo reached the far side of the Wigan training complex.

He moved slowly along the corridor, the rubber tip of his crutch tapping softly against the polished floor with each step, while the usual buzz and staff were nowhere to be seen.

The brace on his leg was still strapped tight, though the stiffness in his stride had begun to ease over the past few days.

Outside the tall windows, the training pitches stretched out in neat strips of green, empty now except for a few groundsmen tidying up for the next day’s session.

Getting to a door, Leo pushed open the door to one of the monitoring rooms.

Inside, the doctor looked up from the desk while a physio sorted equipment near the padded examination table.

”Well,” the doctor said, leaning back in his chair. ”How are we feeling today?”

Leo shrugged lightly as he manoeuvred the crutch aside.

”Wigan just made the semi-finals,” he replied. ”So I guess I feel like someone in a semi-final.”

The physio chuckled first, and the doctor followed with a quiet laugh.

”That’s one way to measure recovery,” the doctor said, standing up.

They helped Leo climb onto the padded bed.

The brace was unfastened and carefully set aside while the doctor leaned in, fingers pressing along the back of Leo’s thigh.

His hands worked slowly around the hamstring, checking the muscle, applying pressure in small circles while watching Leo’s expression.

Leo, though, stayed relaxed.

The doctor paused and glanced up.

”Wow,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

He prodded the muscle again, this time with a little more force.

”Any discomfort?”

Leo shook his head.

”Honestly, the brace is worse than the leg.”

The doctor nodded thoughtfully.

”In that case, we’ll lose the brace for now,” he said.

”We don’t want any fatigue to the injured leg, but we will re-evaluate.”

Leo gave a small nod.

”Dr Navarro will be in soon,” the doctor added. ”And he’ll want a proper look before we celebrate anything.”

Hearing that, Leo slid carefully off the bed and planted his injured foot on the ground.

The doctor watched closely, trying to find a hint of pretence in Leo’s expression.

Afterall with his eagerness, it wouldn’t be weird for him to fake feeling fine, but after a moment, he could tell Leo wasn’t pretending and was truly healing well and fast.

”It’d be best if you stayed close,” the doctor said while pointing towards one of the massage rooms. ”We’ll call you when Navarro gets here.”

Leo nodded at that before making his way outside.