Harbinger Of Glory

Looking at the celebrating City fans, the cameras around couldn’t help but try to capture the contrast.

It went through the faces of the Wigan fans before somehow finding its way to Ashley Fletcher.

He was standing with his hands on his hips staring at the still celebrating city fans, and the commentator said what everyone was already thinking.

”He will be thinking about that for a long time.”

A moment later, his head snapped back to his mates, mainly Darikwa and Max Power, who were already moving through the team, setting hands on shoulders as if it could comfort, while their voices raised, trying to keep the morale from dying any further.

But even they knew the math.

Playing on par with City, even outplaying them in moments, and still being behind meant the next goal had to be Wigan’s and had to come soon.

But that also meant giving everything they had, even though it might not even work out for them in the end.

As all this went on, the fourth official’s board went up on the touchline, indicating the changes to be made with the respective numbers of the players.

Ezra for Lang.

And then Will Keane for Sze, who had spent so much of the game invisibly that even the commentary seemed mildly surprised to be reminded he’d been playing.

”Chris Sze making way,” the commentator said. ”And I think most people inside Wembley had genuinely forgotten he was on the pitch.”

His partner said nothing, silently agreeing.

The changes were soon done with, and Fletcher, standing by the centre circle, set the ball down in the kickoff spot and waited until the referee blew his whistle again.

And like they had conferrred, Wigan came forward with everything they had left, which was still something, just not quite enough to make City feel genuinely threatened the way they had earlier.

After a while, the minutes went by like seconds.

The Wigan fans watched and sang and stayed on their feet, but the game was doing to them what it does when one team is chasing.

They saw their team doing everything they could, but it was just not working out.

Maybe they were rushing, but that couldn’t even be said because they had to rush.

They were chasing the game, and they couldn’t afford to do it while jogging around.

Another thing holding them back was that whenever Wigan pushed forward, they left gaps behind them, and City were sharp enough to find those gaps even when Pep started rotating his pieces because the ones who came in were just as good, if not better than the ones who left the pitch.

Bernardo came off for Phil Foden in the 78th minute.

While Carlo walked off to warm applause from the City fans, having earned it with the display he had shown so far.

In his place, Mahrez came on, switched to the right while Foden took the left side, and immediately the problem got worse.

He was direct and unpredictable, and Bennet, situated on the left, had no answer for him.

”Mahrez has changed this game in three minutes. Wigan cannot deal with him,” the commentary noted plainly.

To add up, a young Cole Palmer came on for Gundogan in the eighty-fifth, and the last of Wigan’s energy went into keeping their players on their feet while praying for one of those moments of individual brilliance that their players seemed to conjure.

And that moment came when Ezra went to the ground.

.

Leo, after going on one of his mazy runs through the middle, played it forward toward the right, and Ezra, the moment he received it on the turn, burst past Akanji so cleanly it wasn’t a contest.

But as he did, Akanji’s arm came across and tipped his balance and sent him stumbling toward the byline.

Somehow, Ezra got his feet under him and stayed on the right side of the line, getting back to the ball just ahead of Akanji, who tried to take it away, and the moment he did, his leg clipped Ezra, who had also stuck his leg out trying to claim the ball.

At his tumbling, the referee’s whistle went across the pitch.

The Wigan fans behind the City goal were on their feet immediately, some pointing toward the spot, but the referee placed the ball just outside the box on the right side.

It was close, but it wasn’t a penalty.

Wigan knew they weren’t really the best at set-pieces, but at the moment, it was something.

It was their everything, at least for the time being.

”Couple of minutes on the clock,” the commentator said.

”This might be Wigan’s last chance.”

Ezra sat on the pitch adjusting his sock, taking his time, but Leo grabbed his arm and pulled him up before picking up the ball and setting it where the referee indicated.

”I need you at the far corner,” Leo had muttered towards Ezra.

The Wigan winger nodded in understanding before joining the rest of his mates in the Manchester City box.

Soon the wall was done with, and as it did, the Wigan fans behind the City goal got expectant and loud, doing what crowds do in the final minutes when hope is the only currency left.

Leo stood over it, planting his left leg beside the ball before taking a few steps back, and in the next moment, the referee’s whistle came through.

Leo’s chest heaved, just as he began to pick up the pace, but nobody expected what came next.

Instead of bending it over the wall, Leo timed his run and sent it underneath them, low and hard, and the players in the wall widened their eyes as it passed beneath their feet.

Legs stabbed down trying to intercept, but the ball got through.

”OHHHHHHH,” the commentary mumbled, trying to get words away but not being able to.

There were legs, some trying to poke the ball into the back of the net and others trying to poke it out and eventually, one of the latter party connected, ricocheting the ball sideways to where Laporte was stepping out to clear.

But Leo had tracked it.

He settled on the edge of the box after his effort, and when the ball got near him, he drew his left leg back, and nobody in that area wanted to be near what was coming because even from a difficult angle, the power behind it was obvious.

Leo’s left foot wasn’t the most useful tool in his arsenal, but its power was undeniable.

As the ball zoomed towards goal, Laporte flinched and moved aside, but so did the others as the shot flew toward goal.

”IS THIS IT?” the commentary questioned as Ortega lunged and felt it whisk past his arms before the crossbar rang out across Wembley like a bell.