Harbinger Of Glory

The commentator was already half out of his seat.

”EZRA’S DOWN INSIDE THE PENALTY AREA!”

Every Wigan player nearby turned instantly toward the referee, and so did the Brighton players, with their arms spread and protesting before the decision had even been made.

For a split second the entire stadium seemed suspended between two possibilities.

Then............

The whistle came, high-pitched and ringing through the stadium, and as it did, the Amex exploded, with the Wigan fans applauding in joy for what they expected to come while the Brighton fans did the opposite.

”THE REFEREE’S GIVEN SOMETHING!”

The commentator was shouting now.

”WIGAN WANT THE PENALTY! BRIGHTON CAN’T BELIEVE IT! AND THIS PLACE HAS ERUPTED!”

Players from both sides converged immediately.

Some were appealing, and some were arguing.

But most were simply trying to reach the referee before the decision became official.

The broadcast camera found him at the centre of the storm, jogging toward the incident as noise poured down from every stand.

”This is huge,” the co-commentator said. ”Absolutely huge. One look at it and you can see why Wigan are screaming for it.”

The referee raised a hand to his ear.

He had seen what went on, but he was awaiting confirmation.

Around him, twenty-one players, that is excluding Ben Amos, waited for the answer, and before the wait could get longer, the referee’s hand came down and pointed to the spot.

”He’s confirmed it!” the commentary came on the broadcast as the Brighton players surrounded the referee immediately with their arms out and voices raised, protesting the penalty like the world was treating them unjustly.

The referee moved through them calmly.

He had already made his decision wasn’t going to wait for them to catch up to it before he continued with the necessary proceedings.

”The penalty stands,” the commentator returned.

”And Brighton are furious, but the referee has seen it clearly, and he is not changing his mind. There was contact inside the box, and Wigan have been given the opportunity to take the lead against the run of play.”

”Against the run of play is right,” the co-commentator said.

”Brighton have been the better side since we kicked off 15 minutes ago. But football doesn’t always reward the better side, and right now lady luck is wearing red with black stripes.”

[So Wigan’s away jersey is red with black stripes. I will attach an image.”

As the pull and push went on, Leo picked the ball up and then turned and tossed it to Fletcher, who caught it against his chest.

”It appears Fletcher will be stepping up,” the commentator said.

”And what a moment this would be. Ashley Fletcher, who was most recently being eyed by Brighton, standing over a penalty at the Amex in Wigan’s first Premier League game in a decade. Football does love a narrative.”

The referee was still managing the aftermath, moving the Brighton players physically when words stopped being enough.

With no option, his arm began sweeping them back toward the edge of the box, threatening a yellow card for all those who didn’t heed.

Some of them went, but others needed a second invitation.

He moved to Fletcher and looked at the ball on the spot, crouched slightly to check it was properly placed, and then stood up.

Then he glanced at Fletcher, said a few words and then looked back at the Brighton players still drifting toward the arc.

”On the line,” he said, directing them back.

”Anyone on the line and I’m either retaking it or disqualifying it depending on which side you’re on. Back off!”

That did it for both sides as they began to comport themselves, and after seeing that everything was okay, the referee stepped away.

Around the pitch, the Amex found a silence.

Not odd but uncanny because of the number of people that had suddenly gone quiet in anticipation of the 12-yard effort.

”Fletcher against Steele,” the commentator said, dropping his voice slightly.

”One of these two is about to be right, and one of them is about to be wrong. We are seconds away from finding out which is which.”

Fletcher stood at the end of his run-up, looking at the keeper who was also doing the same thing he was doing, with both players making their respective calculations from opposite ends.

A moment later, the whistle went, and Fletcher moved with it.

He sent it left, low and with conviction, and Steele went right, which was Fletcher’s left, the direction the keeper had backed himself to call correctly, and he got his hand to the ball.

The post did the rest, the ball coming back off it and into the box, and the Brighton end found its voice again in the release of a save while the Wigan fans behind the other goal went silent in the way that hurts.

”DENIEDD!!” the commentator screamed sharply.

”Steele goes the right way, and Fletcher’s penalty comes back off the post. The ball is loose—”

Reyes got to it first, and despite the pressure on his back, he didn’t hesitate.

He flicked the ball back straight toward Leo, who was standing alone.

All eyes spun towards Leo, as the Brighton players tried to react.

Steele’s eyes found Leo too, but after that, he couldn’t see anything else.

Not his form nor any motion that suggested Leo was shooting.

All he saw in the next second was a very slow, draggy ball, bouncing right towards him.

On any other day, even a 14-year-old kid could have grabbed that effort.

But his weight was wrong and so was his positioning.

And before his body had fully resolved the chaos of the previous three seconds, the ball streaked past him through the space beside him and hit the net.

At the same time, the Wigan end behind the opposite goal erupted.

There was no clean way to describe the noise that followed.

It was disbelief and joy all crashing into each other at once.

Leo had seen the ball cross the line and was already turning away before he’d consciously decided to run.

His arms were spread wide as he sprinted toward the corner, a roar tearing from his throat while red shirts converged on him from every direction while he slid on the ground.

”IT’S IN! LEO CALDERON HAS SCORED FOR WIGAN ATHLETIC!”

The commentator’s voice rose above the chaos.

”THE PENALTY WAS SAVED! REYES KEPT IT ALIVE! AND CALDERON REACTS FIRST TO TURN IT HOME!”

The away section somehow found another gear.

Scarves disappeared into the air while a few supporters simply stood there screaming because they couldn’t think of anything else to do.

”This is turning out to be a cracker and a half! What a story to begin the season with”

”They have waited ten years for this moment, and they have grabbed it,” the commentator said, warmth evident in his voice.

”Welcome to the Premier League, Leo Calderon. Welcome to the Premier League, Wigan Athletic!”

As the celebrations went on, the broadcast camera cut to Dawson.

The Wigan manager’s fist punched the air once.

Then again.

Then a third time, with each one harder and heavier than the last.

Dawson finally stopped celebrating long enough to drag a hand through his hair, but the grin remained firmly in place.

On the pitch, the celebrations showed no signs of slowing.

And why would they?

For the first time in ten years, Wigan Athletic led a Premier League football match.