Harbinger Of Glory

”Aasgaard, ooohhh,” the commentary called as the ball crashed off the underside of the bar, back down, and then out.

The stadium held its breath for the half-second it took everyone to work out what had happened, and then the Wigan end erupted because the ball had crossed the line on its way back out.

”That is the luckiest penalty you will ever see. The crossbar has saved Wigan Athletic. Lady luck wearing blue with white stripes tonight.”

Next stepped Sabitzer for United as it was sudden death now, c but he converted without fuss.

Five apiece.

At the halfway line, Joe Bennet looked along the players and asked.

”Who’s going?”

Nobody answered immediately, but before the silence could become something heavier, Ezra had already taken the ball and was walking.

Leo watched the back of him from the line and then the seven steps back from the spot that made him almost laugh out loud.

”That guy isn’t missing,” he said quietly.

And he wasn’t lying.

Ezra hit it like he had a personal grievance with the net, straight into the top corner, and wheeled away, pumping his fist toward the Wigan end, who gave it straight back to him.

From there, the penalties kept going.

Both sides kept scoring, the tension ratcheting up with each one until the commentary said what everyone was already feeling.

”Nine each and not a single miss between them. This is extraordinarily rare. We may be here for some time.”

Leo looked along what remained of the Wigan line.

It was only Ben Amos beside him, and that was it.

They were the only ones who hadn’t taken theirs.

He glanced at the keeper, who looked back at him, and Leo looked away first.

The chances were there.

Slim but there, and he hoped anyway, that the next United taker after Amos would miss and spare him the whole thing.

”I thought he’d be last, but now, it’s Wigan’s shot stopper who is stepping up,” the commentator judged as Ben Amos picked the ball up.

Leo watched him walk to the spot and said nothing.

There was nothing to say.

The keeper set it down, stepped back, and hit it low and hard into the corner while De Gea went the wrong way entirely.

10 for Wigan.

In the next moment, De Gea came forward from the United group and did what De Gea did, which was to make it look simple.

Without much effort, he rifled a shot into the bottom left corner, making some of the United fans even wonder if they should have put the shotstopper up front when they needed efforts from their players.

Still, it was all level, and Leo knew it was just him left.

He looked away from the spot, looked at the Wigan end, looked at his boots, and then walked to the spot, picking up the ball on the way.

10 penalties in and nobody had missed.

Now it was him, and he didn’t want to be the odd one out.

He placed the ball and stepped back before glancing at De Gea.

The shot stopper looked worn out, but at the same time, Leo couldn’t see where he was to put the ball, even though the goal was as large as it got.

”Where do I even put it?” he thought, but the whistle didn’t allow his thoughts to settle, and when it came, Leo ran up and hit it left.

And cruelly enough, De Gea also left.

The save was good, and the ball was out, but the Wigan end made a sound he had never heard before, somewhere between a scream and complete silence, and he stood there for a moment just looking at where the ball had gone.

”He’s missed it,” the commentator called out as the United end erupted.

”Wigan’s saviour might have just caused their demise. What a story,” the commentary continued as Leo stood there, unmoving, but then he turned suddenly towards the referee and pointed at the line.

The referee was already moving toward De Gea, arm raised, and the United keeper knew before anyone said anything because his head dropped slightly and he stepped back without being told.

”Wait, it seems that David De Gea was off his line before Calderon took his attempt. The match official is now calling for it to be retaken.”

The Wigan fans found their voice again, slowly and then suddenly.

His teammates behind the line were clapping and shouting things he couldn’t fully make out, and so he tuned them out and collected the ball before walking towards the spot and then letting everything go.

Just pass it into the net.

That will be enough!

Leo thought, repeating these few words until the referee’s whistle sounded.

Then he moved sharply, drawing his leg back like he was ready to send the ball out of the stadium.

The United fans saw this and raised their hands, ready to celebrate, but the ball left his foot slower than anything he’d struck all night, rolling low to the left, and De Gea, who had gone the same way, was now airborne and could only watch from somewhere above the ground as it crept underneath him and into the corner.

Leo turned and roared at the sky, rallying the shouts of the Wigan fans simultaneously, before he turned back, walking towards his teammates.

Ezra met him halfway.

”What,” he said, ”was that?”

Leo said nothing and only turned towards the end where Dean Handon picked the ball up.

He stood at the spot for a long time.

And you could see it happening in real time.

You could see it happening, the thoughts arriving one after another, and none of them helpful.

When he finally ran up, he went for the Panenka, the chip straight down the middle, and Ben Amos had read every step of it and caught it at chest height before it had even bounced.

”OHHHHHHHHH!!! IT’S NOW DONE. IT’S OVER. WIGAN ARE GOING TO BE IN THE FINALS OF THE FA CUP FINAL!”

The Wigan fanatics broke out, filling every corner of the stadium with a wild roar, while on the pitch, it was the embodiment of chaos.

Leo wanted to run amok, but he knew he had to take it easy.

Near the lower stands, the stewards did their best, but still, a few fans slipped through.

And it happened just so that one of these fans ran up to him and wrapped their hands around Leo.

”We are going to the finals!!!” he bellowed into the ears of Leo, but Leo couldn’t even push him away.

For all that they had been through, they deserved it.

”For the first time since 2013,” the commentary returned, ”Wigan Athletic are going to Wembley. And nobody, nobody saw this coming.”

[A/N: I am pretty sure that the readers saw this coming, but whatever. Now I am in a dilemma. Italy just went ahead and effed me over, so I need your thoughts. Do we stick with them still in the story as Leo’s national team, or do I opt for the other options? Let your thoughts be known in the comments.]