Harbinger Of Glory

The Saturday morning shows had been running since nine, and by the time the afternoon fixtures were approaching, the conversation pertaining to the first game of the Premier League season, which had been played between Manchester City and Burnley, was dying down.

The pundits had spent a reasonable amount of time on it, talking about the manner of it as much as the result, the way City had moved through Burnley’s press in the first twenty minutes and essentially ended the contest before half-time. ’

Burnley had fought and had done so with the organisation of a well-drilled side, but the gap between what they were and what City were had been visible and wide, and the scoreline had reflected it honestly.

”That’s the reality of promotion,” one of the panel said.

”You earn the right to be here, and then you find out very quickly that you might struggle. That is the reason why we are asked to be careful with what we wish for, because I saw a team that had lost hope in that game, just on the first day.”

After that, the conversation moved to the day’s fixtures.

With teams like Arsenal going against Nottingham Forest, as well as Palace going against Sheffield United, the other newly promoted side making their top-flight debut.

Then you had Bournemouth going toe to toe with West Ham, as well as Fulham going against Everton.

The final match of the second day of the opening weekend would take place at the Amex, where Brighton hosted Wigan in what the presenter described as one of the most anticipated fixtures of the round.

For Wigan supporters, it was obvious why.

Four hours before kick-off, the Wigan team bus rolled through the Sussex roads.

The journey was quieter than usual.

Most of the conversations had already been had.

The nerves, the excitement, the predictions.

After a certain point, there wasn’t much left to say.

Leo sat by the window with his phone pressed to his ear.

”Perfect,” he said. ”I’ll come by tomorrow and sort it out.”

”Yeah. Thanks.”

He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket, while beside him, Ezra immediately turned his head.

”Who was that?”

”It was the DVLA,” Leo said.

”They said my licence was ready.”

At that, Ezra stared at him for a second and then another.

”How?”

”I started my lessons before you.”

Leo nodded.

”I passed before you.”

He nodded again as Ezra frowned.

”So how have you got yours first?”

Leo looked out the window, then turned back towards him.

”For that, you might want to ring them and ask.”

Ezra turned back to the front of the bus and said nothing else.

Some five minutes later, the Amex appeared.

It emerged gradually between buildings and traffic, the white curves of the stadium showing in the afternoon light and the effect on the bus was immediate.

Conversations that had been scattered around the seats faded away one after another.

A few players leaned slightly towards the windows while others simply lifted their heads to a familiar but unfamiliar ground.

No matter how many stadiums a footballer visited throughout a career, there were highlights, and for the current Wigan players, at least most of them, this was one of the highlights.

Premier League football.

The words had lived in the distance for so long that there had been times they felt more like an objective than a destination.

Now it was here.

The streets around the stadium were already filling.

Brighton shirts drifted through the crowds in groups of twos and threes.

Families, friends and children walking half a step ahead of their parents because they were too excited to stay beside them.

As the bus crawled forward, traffic began to slow, and with every turn, the stadium seemed to grow larger in the windows.

Not long ago, they had played the FA Cup quarter-final in this same stadium.

A day that had ended with celebration, disbelief and a place in the semi-finals.

Yet somehow it felt much further away than a few months.

Back then, they had arrived as outsiders with nothing to lose.

Today, they arrived in a different competition but on the same level.

The bus rolled through the security barriers and past the stewards and the television crews.

Nothing was like the championship.

Everything seemed to have been taken a level further.

Half an hour later, Leo felt the glossy finish of the tunnel grounds under his feet, his boots clicking against it as he made his way through the tunnel.

After a while, he came out into the afternoon light, where the Amex was still filling, but it already felt alive.

Supporters streamed into their seats and up around the stadium, and the music drifted from the speakers.

The Wigan players, under the instructions of Nolan, soon got into the groove quickly, going through their warm-up session.

Away from them, a few hundred Wigan supporters stood behind the goal, packed tightly together among the sea of Brighton colours.

Three hundred miles from home, on a Saturday afternoon, for a match most people expected them to lose.

They weren’t many, but they were there, and they were ready to bare their throats out.

Up in the stands, the broadcast swept across the Amex as the final warm-ups continued below.

”Well, here they are,” the commentator said.

”Wigan Athletic. Back in the Premier League.”

As the commentary went on, the camera lingered on the away end for a moment longer, where a few supporters were already singing despite kick-off still minutes away.

”It’s been some journey for them.”

”It has,” the co-commentator agreed.

”And I think that’s why there’s so much curiosity surrounding this team.”

”Promotion was the headline, of course. But when you look at last season as a whole, there was so much more to it than that.”

”An FA Cup final as well.”

”Exactly,” the commentator nodded.

The camera found Leo briefly as he jogged across the pitch to try to get to a bad pass from Jake.

”What I like about this Wigan side,” the co-commentator said, ”is that they’ve never looked overwhelmed by the occasion.”

”They’ve had bigger budgets against them. Bigger squads. Bigger names.”

”But every time people expected them to disappear, they’ve found a way to stay in the conversation.”

The camera widened once more as players began drifting back towards the tunnel.

”Today, though, is different as they are now faced with the question every promoted side eventually has to answer.”

”Can they stay here?”

A small smile entered the commentator’s voice as he closed out.

”We’re about to find out.”