Harbinger Of Glory

Gilmour had been on for four minutes, and the difference was already visible.

His arrival brought a wave of comfort for the Brighton players in a way that Dahoud hadn’t been able to do.

His passing wasn’t just passing; it was organisation, each ball telling the players around him where to be for the next one, and Brighton began to move differently.

But he wasn’t the only one.

The other substitution, Julio Enciso, added something different.

In that same time frame, he shot the ball on target twice, causing Ben Amos to tune in and the Wigan defence to switch on.

”Wigan need to find something soon,” the commentator said, noting the change as the game went on.

”Brighton are beginning to click and when they click it is going to feel like a whole new proposition.”

Leo took his breath when the ball went out for a throw, hands on his hips, looking around at his teammates.

Several of them were showing in their bodies what the game had cost them, the particular heaviness that comes with their first sixty-seven Premier League minutes.

They didn’t have much time for their breather, though.

Adingra, who had come on for March a few minutes earlier, received the throw immediately and began taking it forward, trying Leo on the outside.

Leo moved with him, not diving in but not committing either.

He wasn’t defensively astute, but he was very good spatially, like a man who understood that the point was to contain rather than to win, and every time Adingra shaped to go past him Leo shifted and made the angle wrong, forcing Adingra to reset.

Eventually Adingra made a decision, trying to use his pace to beat Leo, but just as he knocked the ball inside, Bennet appeared around Leo’s outside and took the ball from Adingra cleanly.

That got a cheer from the away crowd as he played it immediately to Leo, but the latter just let it run past him.

Enciso had been pressing forward, expecting the touch, his body already moving to win the ball the moment it arrived.

And so when Leo dummied, it caught Julio Enciso off guard.

”Lovely dummy,” the commentary called it as Carlo ran towards the ball to meet it.

And upon doing so, he just touched the ball to his side and left it.

Then with a short twist, he spun and began to run again.

The eyes of the Brighton players all simultaneously found the ball, or Leo, who had already gone around Enciso in the opposite direction.

He was moving before Carlo had the ball, and when Leo played it over Milner, Carlo was already on the other side of the Brighton midfielder’s outstretched arm and running.

The Brighton players raised their hands, but the flag stayed down.

”And Carlo is away,” the commentator said, the voice climbing.

”Leo with the pass and Carlo Regutti running clear and there are options ahead of him.”

Carlo’s first touch after the bobble tried to get away from him, but he brought it back with his second, legs pumping frantically.

Ahead of him, Van Hecke sliding across to cover, but before he could do so fully, Carlo rolled the ball past the slide and found Fletcher in the box.

The Wigan forward took the ball and then shaped to shoot, which brought Dunk onto him.

The defender’s weight committed to the block, and then just as it seemed like Fletcher would shoot, he pulled it back and yet even with the time and less pressure, Fletcher rolled the ball again.

Slowly, with the apologetic pace of something that knew it was wrong, it went directly into Steele’s hands.

The keeper caught it at chest height and held it and looked at it for a moment, possibly also surprised.

”How the hell has he done that?” the co-commentator managed in shock.

”That,” the commentator said carefully, ”should have been two nil.”

”It should have been two nil,” the co-commentator confirmed.

”Fletcher has had a very difficult afternoon in front of goal, and that is the most difficult one to explain.

Dunk was beaten, the space was there, and the finish was unacceptable at this level.

If it goes on like this, it won’t be long before Dawson says he’s seen enough, if he hasn’t already.”

Leo had been running in support and pulled up as the shot left Fletcher’s foot and stood watching it travel at walking pace into the keeper’s arms.

He looked at the sky briefly, visibly irked by what had gone on, but he didn’t let it linger.

After waving off Fletcher’s apology, he turned and jogged back to his position.

Seeing all that had happened, Dawson finally let out a long breath.

He’d given Fletcher almost 75 minutes, but the striker had really underperformed, and he knew it.

A second later, he turned toward the bench.

”Jake. Tilt. Robinson.”

Three heads snapped up immediately, knowing what the manager wanted to say before he could even say it.

”Get ready.”

Jake was already moving before Dawson had finished speaking.

The substitute practically launched himself out of his seat, wrestling his jacket off as he hurried toward the touchline.

One sleeve got stuck halfway and nearly sent him stumbling onto the pitch before he yanked it free and continued on his way.

By the time he reached the fourth official, he was still pulling his shirt into place, and the cameras around the stadium weren’t going to miss that.

”Someone’s eager,” the commentator laughed.

”I don’t think Jake got the memo that substitutions usually involve waiting,” his co-commentator followed up.

Back on the pitch, Jake stood on the touchline bouncing lightly on his toes, eyes fixed on the pitch, ready to sprint on at a moment’s notice.

Unfortunately for him, his enthusiasm wasn’t met by the flow of the game.

For a whole 5 minutes, the ball refused to go out of play.

Jake’s anticipation gradually transformed into visible frustration as that meant that his playing time was reducing.

Eventually, the ball rolled out near the halfway line, and the fourth official immediately raised the board for fear that Jake might just get onto the pitch and play regardless of the change.

”Dawson goes to his bench again!” the commentator said.

Despite his below-par performance, Fletcher received a warm round of applause as he made his way toward the sideline, his work done for the evening.

On a good day, he might have walked off with two, feeling that he really deserved the applause, but it seemed he might have to wait a bit longer.

On the far side, Bennet jogged off to another appreciative ovation from the travelling supporters while Robinson replaced him.

Then came the final change in Max power as Tilt took his place.

”Dawson’s closing the door a little here,” the commentator observed as the players settled into their new positions.

”Tilt drops in alongside O’Shea and Whatmough, which gives Wigan a back three out of possession.”

”And it allows Darikwa and Robinson to push higher when the opportunity presents itself,” the co-commentator added.

”It’s a sensible adjustment, but that also means Brighton are going to throw bodies forward now.”

Back on the pitch, Jake jogged across to his position, rolled his shoulders once and looked around at the pitch in front of him.

Then a grin spread across his face.

”Finally.”