Harbinger Of Glory

Leo came up from under the pile with his shirt half twisted, his hair everywhere and a smile that had been there since the net moved and showed no signs of leaving.

His teammates pulled him upright through a tangle of arms and bodies, the celebration refusing to settle as more players arrived.

The noise rolling down from the away end felt impossible.

There weren’t enough Wigan supporters in the stadium to be this loud, yet somehow they were, their voices crashing across Stamford Bridge in relentless waves.

On the broadcast, the commentary settled back into something coherent.

”There is no way Wigan are losing this now,” the commentator said.

”A man up, three one ahead, and seventeen minutes to play. I’ll say it plainly.”

”Football is unpredictable,” the co-commentator said.

”That’s the first thing you learn and the last thing you forget. But this?” he paused, ”This is as settled as it gets. And I wouldn’t be remotely surprised if they added to it.”

Leo walked back to his position and slid between Whatmough and O’Shea again, and the Wigan supporters simply refused to come down.

They got louder.

The noise from the Wigan supporters refused to die down.

Every time Chelsea touched the ball, another wall of sound came rolling out of the away end.

On the pitch, the home side looked nothing like the team that had started the match.

A man down and now behind, Chelsea’s movements carried a growing frustration.

The sharpness was still there in flashes, but the confidence wasn’t.

Wigan saw it and that prompted them into pressing even harder.

They looked not content to protect what they had; they went looking for more, swarming Chelsea whenever possession changed hands and forcing the game deeper into the home side’s half.

Eventually, as the Chelsea players passed it around their own half, the Wigan players went at them and won it back, soon pushing the Chelsea team into a state similar to Wigan’s when the game had begun 77 minutes ago.

”Wigan have the ball, and now they’ve sent it to Leo,” the commentary came through as the Chelsea players retreated.

With a man down, their press would be gaping, showing spaces to the Wigan players that would be detrimental in a second if they took it.

All of them did, settling deeper and deeper into their half, except Nicholas Jackson, who stayed high, the one Chelsea player still committed to the idea that this game had something in it for his team.

Leo assessed the shape and did a quick one-two with McClean to step past him before looking up, and immediately he did, he spotted Jake in the box.

Six foot four of him, standing over Thiago Silva the way a building stands over a hedge and Leo barely needed a second look.

The ball sat up invitingly, and he whipped the cross in early, driving it into the area before Chelsea could reset themselves.

Jake attacked it immediately and with him, Silva went.

For a moment both men rose together, but then Jake kept climbing.

The Chelsea defender suddenly found himself underneath him, twisting his neck upward as Jake powered the header down toward goal.

The breaths of the Chelsea fans in the stadium hitched as for a second, Jake’s effort looked inevitable, but at the last second, Bergström reacted sharply.

The goalkeeper got both hands behind it and beat it away before it could bounce in front of him.

”Another chance!” the commentator exclaimed.

”The new man up front, Jake is causing absolute havoc in there. Chelsea just cannot get hold of him.”

The ball ran behind for a corner, and Leo started jogging across to take it.

The away end rose with him, sensing another opportunity as Leo began rallying them, waving his hands up and in reaction to that, the fans continued getting louder and louder that one might have even thought that some of the Chelsea fans had defected.

But before he could even reach the quadrant, Carlo had already taken the corner short, rolling the ball right at Leo’s feet.

”Quickly taken...” the commentator reacted.

”Wigan aren’t letting Chelsea settle for a second.”

With the ball in tow, Leo turned to face the box and opened his body as though he intended to drive inside.

On a normal day, he might have waited, but this was no normal day.

This was a day that had gotten more and more disastrous for them, so Gusto bit.

It was only half a step, but it was enough.

Leo felt it immediately and, without breaking stride, went forward, baiting Gusto, who reacted again, but in the next second, he flicked the ball behind himself with his heel.

The face of Gusto, who was still lunging, scrunched up as he saw Carlo running behind Leo.

The Italian burst onto the ball and then began running towards the edge of the box.

The Chelsea players were caught off guard, still did enough, but before they could get near him, Carlo curled a first-time effort toward the far corner.

For a second, Stamford Bridge held its breath as the ball bent beyond Bergström’s reach, past his dive and past the fingertips.

But then it struck the post.

The sound rang through the stadium as a gasp sounded from one end and a groan from the other.

Carlo already had his hands on his head, looking into the box where Ezra charged after the rebound, convinced it was dropping kindly for him, but Thiago Silva somehow got there first.

Of course he did.

The Brazilian slid across the six-yard box and hooked it away before Ezra could pull the trigger.

”What a block!” the co-commentator shouted.

”That is pure experience. Silva knew exactly where that second ball was going. And Chelsea are scrambling for life here!”

The clearance rolled out for a throw-in, and the danger finally eased, but the Wigan supporters didn’t care.

They were on their feet applauding anyway.

What they were watching felt too good to be true, but no matter how hard they pinched themselves, they couldn’t wake up.

If things went on like this, and the time didn’t suddenly run out, it was only a matter of time and everyone inside Stamford Bridge could feel it.