Harbinger Of Glory

”There it is. Full time.”

The words came through the broadcast as the camera found the Wigan players scattered across the pitch.

Some were still standing, others had dropped to the grass, too exhausted to do anything but breathe.

Leo stood further up the pitch, surrounded by teammates who kept grabbing him, pulling him into one embrace after another.

The camera then rose slowly and higher as the view opened up over the DW Stadium, revealing the Wigan supporters packed into the stands.

They looked exhausted too, like they had also played the game, and with how things had been, it wasn’t very far from the truth.

They had been through everything.

The excitement of the early goal.

The frustration of the equaliser, the disbelief of the first red card and the fear of watching their team defend with ten men, then nine.

And finally, the madness of seeing Leo score with seconds remaining.

”What a rollercoaster this game has been,” the co-commentator said.

”It really has. From Whatmough putting Wigan ahead, to Maupay bringing Brentford level.”

The camera briefly returned to the pitch, showing the Brentford players walking away, their forms slumped.

”Then came the red card to O’Shea, Wigan having to defend with ten men, and somehow they still found opportunities.”

”And then there was the decision to bring Leo Calderon on in the ninetieth minute,” the main commentator interjected right as the camera found Leo again, who was still being mobbed by his teammates and now some of the Wigan staff!

”The entire stadium thought Dawson was going to leave him on the bench today, but he didn’t! Then Carlo was sent off as well, reducing Wigan to nine.”

The co-commentator shook his head.

”And that sending-off will certainly be debated. I’m not convinced that was a last-man tackle, but it doesn’t matter now.”

He looked toward the replay monitor.

”Because Calderon has come on, created havoc, and found the winner.”

The main commentator laughed quietly.

”It’s becoming ridiculous,” he said when the camera showed Leo again as he finally managed to break free from the group.

”We shouldn’t be measuring this kid by the numbers that he is producing for this team, but he’s making that very difficult to do.”

”Aside from the peace he gives to this team when he is on the pitch, the tempo he controls and the freedom he gives to other teammates, Leo Calderon is very clinical!”

The moment the commentator finished, a graphic appeared on the broadcast showing a string of words and numbers beneath Leo’s picture and then his name.

LEO CALDERON

12 GOALS | 5 ASSISTS | 14 PREMIER LEAGUE APPEARANCES

”Twelve goals and five assists in fourteen Premier League matches,” the commentator said, shaking his head.

”Eighteen years old. Playing for a newly promoted Wigan side. And he’s now second in the scoring charts behind a goal-scoring machine in none other than Erling Haaland.”

The co-commentator smiled at that!

”I think Wigan might offer a prayer of gratitude every morning.”

The main commentator laughed and then asked, ”To whom?”

”To God and to Dawson.”

Both men laughed before the main commentator recovered!

”Because somehow, those two brought Leo Calderon to Wigan.”

”Well, they also have United to thank too,” the co-commentator suddenly said, causing a fit of laughter to erupt in the gantry right as the broadcast then cut down toward the pitch.

There, Leo had been pulled in front of a small backdrop near the touchline and through it all, the stadium noise had barely dropped.

A reporter stood beside him, microphone in hand and after a momentary introduction, she spoke!

”Leo, what is going through your mind right now?”

Leo looked at her, and then he shook his head.

”Nothing?” the reporter asked with a smile, and he seemed genuinely lost for words.

”Honestly, I can’t describe it.”

He glanced back toward the pitch.

”At one point, I thought the streak was going to end today as I sat on the bench,” he paused, sighing heavily.

”We were down to nine, Brentford were attacking, and there wasn’t much time left,” he said and looked back at the reporter.

”Then I got that ball.”

A small smile appeared.

”And I knew I had to pull us back.”

The reporter nodded, but suddenly, Leo looked directly into the camera, unprompted, before holding it slightly.

”The streak goes on for one more matchday,” he roared into it and then walked away right before the broadcast immediately cut back to the studio.

There, the host sat behind the desk, with a freeze frame of Leo roaring into the camera displayed across the screen behind him.

He looked over his shoulder and then laughed.

”That was Calderon for you.”

He shook his head and turned back toward the desk.

”What a match.”

The camera slowly widened, revealing two panellists sitting on either side of him, both still smiling, before one of them leaned forward.

”Things are getting ridiculous now, aren’t they?”

At that, the screen behind them changed and showed the final Premier League table after Matchday 14, and in that list, Wigan sat at the top.

1. WIGAN ATHLETIC — 42 PTS

14 WINS | 0 DRAWS | 0 LOSSES

35 GOALS

The trio looked at that banner for a while before the host, as if remembering what he was supposed to be doing, turned towards the camera!

”And this was the final game of Matchday 14,” he said and then pointed toward the table.

”So all twenty teams have now played fourteen matches, and after fourteen matchdays, Wigan Athletic are still top with no real threat in sight.”

He let that settle and then looked at the two guests!

”Fourteen wins from fourteen. Forty-two points.”

One of the panellists slowly shook his head.

”It’s unheard of.”

The host nodded.

”It really is,” and then he gestured toward Wigan’s name.

”A newly promoted side that had been outside the division for a decade coming in and taking the league by storm.”

The other panellist looked at the table.

”And they’re not scraping results either. Thirty-five goals and they are nine points clear of the team in second.”

He pointed down.

”Arsenal are on thirty-three. Liverpool have thirty-one. Manchester City have thirty,” his finger moved again,” and Aston Villa round out the top five on twenty-nine.”

The panellist leaned back in his chair and stared at the table for another few seconds.

”If this were any other club, with this level of dominance, I’d probably say wrap up the league.”

He smiled after saying that and then shook his head.

”But this is still Wigan.”

The host laughed softly.

”Maybe!”

”And the next few matchdays are going to tell us whether this is real.”