Harbinger Of Glory

”So there it is,” the commentary came in on the broadcast right after the referee’s whistle sounded.

The DW released everything it had been holding.

Players went to the ground, others jumped, and other players grabbed each other.

It was for a short while, but nothing in the world felt as exciting as the stage they’d reached.

And the roar that followed felt like every emotion the stadium had been holding onto finally breaking loose at once.

”Full time,” the commentator said, finally catching his breath after such a very fiery and gut-wrenching finish to the game.

”Wigan Athletic one, Burnley nil. And they go top of the Premier League table with twenty-one points from a possible twenty-one.”

After saying that, he paused a bit and then let the stadium do the talking for a moment.

”I’ve been trying to think of the last time I saw scenes like this from a newly promoted club,” he said.

”And I keep coming back to Leicester. 2015, 2016. That miracle that everyone said couldn’t happen and then watched happen anyway.”

”It’s too early to draw that comparison seriously, but it’s not too early to stop dismissing it. Afterall, Wigan are off to a much better start than what happened close to a decade ago.”

”What I want to say about this game specifically,” the co-commentator interjected, ”is that Wigan were broken down tactically tonight in a way no other team has managed this season.

Burnley took away their primary weapon, isolated their most important player, and kept them goalless for over ninety minutes, and the away side had me thinking for a moment that they were going to cause an upset!”

”But still, they still lost,” the co-commentator continued, ”and that tells you something about this group that the results alone don’t.”

While the commentary stayed on the broadcast, the stadium announcer’s voice came through the speakers right as the crowd settled enough to hear it.

”Your man of the match...

Leo Calderon.”

The announcement drew a roar from every corner of the DW.

It wasn’t the loudest cheer of the night.

That had belonged to the goal, but this was no less resounding.

The supporters weren’t just applauding the winner.

They were applauding the grit despite a white bandage wrapped around the side of his head, the goal-line clearance that had kept them alive, and the quiet discipline he’d shown for most of the evening, spending almost an entire half drawing Burnley toward him so everyone else could play.

Leo glanced up at the big screen as it found him.

He smiled, raised a fist toward the North Stand, then applauded them right back.

”They’ve made the right choice,” the commentator said.

”A goal to win it in stoppage time. A header clearance that got him a boot to the side of his head, all while clearing another clear-cut effort off the line to save his team from going on the back foot.”

”We’re seven league matches into the season, and I’m already struggling to find new ways to describe him,” the main commentator said, letting out a short laugh while his partner hummed in agreement.

”Even if we forget the goal,” he said while he pointed toward the replay of the clearance, ”that’s what I’ll remember. Most players switch off after losing the ball in that situation.

But he didn’t and threw himself in front of a certain goal, all while carrying something that could have turned fatal. That’s a very top-tier mentality to have at his age.”

Back on the pitch, the players, after going round and applauding their fans, began turning towards the tunnel, but not without exchanging shirts while others opted to toss them to the fans in the stands.

Eventually the players disappeared down the tunnel, one after another, while the supporters lingered in the stands, reluctant to let the evening end.

The game that they had been highly anticipating had just come to a close, seeing them come out on top, but they knew that it was not just going to end with it.

And they were right because the headlines were waiting by morning.

Wigan Go Top. Fluke Or The Real Thing?

Seven Matches. Seven Wins.

The Premier League’s Surprise Leaders Continue Their Remarkable Start.

Across television and radio, the discussion was impossible to avoid.

One of the larger football panels spent almost ten uninterrupted minutes debating Wigan’s start before eventually settling on the same question everyone else seemed to be asking.

Were they genuine title contenders...

...or simply enjoying a remarkable run?

”I keep hearing people call this luck,” one former Premier League defender said.

”But I don’t think anyone in this world is that lucky, if luck is even a real thing!”

He leaned forward in his chair.

”One result? Fine.”

”Two? Maybe, but you don’t accidentally win seven Premier League matches in a row.”

While he mentioned that, the league table appeared behind him.

”They’ve beaten different teams in different ways. They’ve defended leads. They’ve come from behind. They’ve controlled games. They’ve won ugly as we saw against Everton!”

He motioned towards the top of the league table where Wigan’s name and team badge were plastered.

”If that really is luck, then I will need some of that,” he added, drawing laughs from around the table.

”But if it isn’t,” he continued, ”then we really have to take a bow at the coaching and then mentality of this club because it’s a football club that knows exactly what it wants to be and is making strides towards it.”

When he finished, another pundit came in with his piece about the whole situation.

”The real test comes next,” he said and nodded toward the fixture list.

”Tottenham away. I know they’ve already beaten Chelsea, but as we can see in their start to this season, the pride of London hadn’t really been all that and weren’t even in good form when they met Wigan.”

”If they leave North London with a good result.....”

”...I think that this Lancashire side could do something special this season.”