Harbinger Of Glory

Beto touched the ball back, and Everton came forward with everything they had left, which was more than the scoreline suggested.

It was almost unsalvageable, but one wouldn’t know with the way that the home crowd was pushing them on.

The evidence of time was against them, but if it got to them, they didn’t show.

The 4 minutes of regular time eventually passed, giving way to another six minutes of extra playing time being added to the clock.

”It’s not impossible,” the commentator said. ”Everton are two down, but six minutes is six minutes, and they have the crowd, and they have Beto, and they’re going to throw everything at this.”

”I don’t think Wigan will allow it,” the co-commentator said. ”But let’s see.”

What followed was Everton’s best attempt at making the commentary look wrong with crosses coming in from both flanks.

It was relentless and last-ditch, the desperation of a side that had committed to one approach and was going to exhaust it completely.

Beto rose for three of them and won none.

The others were dealt with at source with Wigan’s defenders getting bodies across the delivery before it could find him, and every time it did get through, Amos was underneath it, reading the flight and claiming cleanly before going to the ground with the ball held against his chest.

He claimed one in the final minute and went to the ground with it and stayed there while his teammates pulled their line higher, buying seconds, and the away end applauded him from behind the goal, and he lay there accepting it briefly before getting to his feet.

After that, he set the ball down for the goal kick and then smashed it high into the stratosphere of the stadium.

The ball climbed into the Goodison sky and was still descending when the referee’s whistle came, the sound of it cutting through everything to end the game.

And when it did, the away end produced a roar that had no right to come from a section that small.

”There it is! Full time at Goodison Park,” the commentator said. ”Everton nil, Wigan Athletic two. And Sean Dyche’s side had no answer for them tonight.”

While the commentary went on, Dawson found Dyche near the halfway line on the sidelines.

The broadcast camera found them as the two managers shook hands, exchanged a few quiet words that neither side would remember tomorrow, then went their separate ways.

Around them, the Wigan players drifted toward the away end.

There was no sprint this time, no explosion of celebration as there had been after the goals.

It was just applause.

Long, genuine applause for the supporters who had made the trip to Merseyside and had watched their team leave with all three points.

The travelling end answered with one final chorus, scarves lifted high as the players stood in front of them.

”Six league games,” the commentator said once more, high up in the gantry.

”Six wins and that means Wigan Athletic remain perfect.”

”And they’ve earned every one of them,” the co-commentator replied.

”This wasn’t a smash-and-grab. They came to Goodison, managed the difficult moments, and when their chance came, they took it.”

The main commentator nodded as another graphic appeared on his monitor.

”Seven matchdays into the Premier League season, although Wigan have only played six because of the postponed Burnley fixture.

Not a single side has managed to solve them consistently. They’ve defended well, they’ve adapted to different opponents, and every week someone different has stepped up.”

For those watching on the broadcast, a little pause happened before Drury’s voice came on again.

”Hang on...” he said as a brief silence followed before he came through again.

”And I’ve just had confirmation that Wolverhampton Wanderers have beaten Manchester City this afternoon.”

That caught even his co-commentator off guard.

”They have?”

”They have,” Drury responded as on screen, an updated league table appeared.

”Which means this becomes even more significant. If Wigan win their game in hand against Burnley on Tuesday night, they’ll go top of the Premier League with twenty-one points.

That is three clear of Manchester City on eighteen, 4 clear of Tottenham and Arsenal, both sitting on seventeen, and 5 clear of Liverpool, sitting on 16 points, rounding out the top five.”

Down on the pitch, the stadium cameras found the Wigan players again, still applauding their supporters, completely unaware of the latest result filtering through the stadium.

”Nobody expected this,” the co-commentator said quietly.

”Nobody.”

High above the pitch, behind the glass of one of Goodison Park’s executive boxes, three men remained seated after almost everyone else had left.

The roar outside had faded into a dull background hum as the stands slowly emptied.

One of them reached for a bottle of water, took a slow drink, then set it back on the table.

He looked from one colleague to the other before looking at the glass expanse ahead.

”I’m guessing we all have our thoughts together,” he said, receiving no answer from either of the two.

After a few more seconds, he pushed himself to his feet and buttoned his jacket.

”I’ll be in the car.”

He then turned and left without another word.

The other two stayed where they were, their eyes drifting back down to the pitch, where Wigan’s players were finally making their way toward the tunnel.

.....

The motorway stretched ahead as the Wigan team bus rolled north, the evening sun washing the windows in gold.

Inside, the mood had settled into the comfortable contentment that only comes after a hard-fought away win.

A few players had reclined their seats as far as they would go, some doing so to sleep while others did so to enjoy whatever cheat meals they’d been allowed to have.

Reyes was the only one still paying close attention to football.

He sat with his phone in one hand, scrolling through the updated Premier League table while a grin spread across his face.

”Would you look at that,” he murmured before raising his voice just enough to be heard.

”Joint top.”

Nobody looked up.

Jake, who’d usually be jumping up and down by this time, had fallen asleep against the window, his mouth slightly open while Ezra was buried beneath a pair of headphones, tapping absent-mindedly against his knee.

Carlo stared out through the glass, watching the countryside slide by as Reyes waited another second.

Then, with all the dignity he could muster, he nodded to himself.

”As expected,” he declared. ”Obviously this is all thanks to my leadership.”

A few eyes found him, but none said anything.

”...You’re welcome,” he said with a grin, expecting a reaction, but he didn’t get any.

He slipped the phone back into the pocket of his track pants before settling into his seat.

”Tough crowd,” he muttered before settling quietly into his seat.