Harbinger Of Glory

The rain had done little to quiet the Emirates.

If anything, the sound seemed to carry further through the wet afternoon, with every chant and roar travelling around the stadium before crashing back toward the pitch.

Then the noise grew louder right as the teams began to come out.

The match officials emerged first, followed by Arsenal and Wigan, the players walking onto the pitch with the short warm-up already behind them.

Tens of thousands of Arsenal supporters rose from their seats as a familiar gooner chant began rolling around the stadium with voices joining together until it became almost impossible to distinguish one section from another.

Through it all, the players kept moving as above them, the stands seemed to stretch endlessly.

More than seventy thousand supporters had packed themselves into the Emirates, and almost every one of them had something to look forward to.

For the next two hours, everything else could wait.

Filing forward in the line, Leo wiped a hand across his face, clearing the wetness trying to blind his sight.

His hair was already soaked, the longer strands sticking against his forehead as rain continued to fall.

He looked toward the stands, and it only took a second to find them.

The Wigan supporters were tucked away in their corner of the stadium, surrounded almost entirely by red.

There weren’t nearly as many of them, but they were easy to spot.

A section of blue, white and grey scarves stood out among the Arsenal shirts, and Leo watched them for a few seconds.

Even if they didn’t notice, he gave them a small nod before looking back toward the pitch as the players had begun moving into position around the referee.

Soon enough, the pleasantries came.

Hands were shaken.

A few words were exchanged between opponents who had spent the last week preparing to stop one another, and after that, Wigan moved along the line, greeting the Arsenal players before the home side returned the gesture.

The broadcast camera moved across the pitch, capturing all that right as the commentary came through, for those who hadn’t made it to the Emirates.

”It’s raining here,” the commentator began. ”Some players like it, others absolutely admonish it, but all the same, it is present, and they’ll have to deal with it.”

Beside him, his co-commentator couldn’t help but give a small chuckle.

”Especially on a pitch like this. The ball will move slowly at times, so the players will have to be really tuned in.”

While they spoke, the cameras around the stadium all settled on the two teams.

”And what a fixture we have ahead of us.”

The commentator’s voice took on a little more energy.

”First against second. Wigan Athletic, unbeaten after fourteen matches, travelling to face an Arsenal side looking to cut the gap at the top of the table.”

His partner added, ”And two managers who are still relatively young by Premier League standards looking to stake their claim in this glorious competition.”

”Very much so.”

The camera briefly found Arteta on the touchline.

”Mikel Arteta has been in charge of Arsenal for almost five years now, while Wigan’s Dawson is considerably younger.

In fact, there were periods during Wigan’s Championship campaign when he was younger than some of the players he was managing.”

”Which tells you how unusual his rise has been.”

”Indeed.”

The camera returned to the players.

”But whatever the difference in age, both managers know exactly what’s at stake today.”

Near the centre circle, Whatmough had gathered his teammates around him.

The captain’s armband sat firmly around his arm as he looked from one face to another.

”It’s just another game,” he started.

”And it’s just another team that thinks we’re finally going to lose.”

A few of them smiled.

”We probably will eventually,” Whatmough said like he was dreading that day, ”but not today.”

Whatmough looked around again.

”Not when we can do something about it,” and this time, his expression became more serious.

”It’s wet. The ball’s going to move, the surface is going to be unpredictable, so be careful and don’t give them anything cheap.”

The players nodded.

”If you see a way to hurt them, take it.”

He clapped his hands once.

”That’s it.”

The group broke apart, and right after that, the commentary picked up almost immediately.

”Wigan come into this one with plenty of confidence, but there is one problem they couldn’t avoid.”

”They’re missing two players who have been hugely important to this extraordinary start.”

”Carlo Regutti and O’Shea.”

”Exactly.”

”Regutti, the Manchester City loanee, had been enjoying a remarkable season, while O’Shea had established himself as another important part of Dawson’s side.

Both were sent off in that extraordinary victory over Brentford.”

”The Regutti red is still being appealed, I believe.”

”It is, but the appeal hasn’t changed today’s team sheet, and so this Wigan team are stuck with two significant absences.”

”Very significant.”

As they went on, the camera moved back toward the pitch.

”But somehow, with Wigan, we’ve learned not to assume anything.”

Back on the pitch, Leo stood several yards away from the centre circle.

He rubbed his hands together before blowing warm air into them.

The cold had begun to settle into his fingers, causing him to look forward to the whistle since standing idle wasn’t going to help.

Still, through this, he looked up and found Arsenal across from him.

There were faces he’d seen countless times on television and others he’d studied throughout the week.

Martinelli.

Saka.

Raya.

Gabriel.

Saliba.

And then there was Ødegaard.

Leo’s eyes rested on the Norwegian who had quickly become the leader in this growing Arsenal team, and it wasn’t hard to see why, with his impact on the Arsenal team despite what his numbers said.

There was a sort of semblance between him and Leo in that way, though the latter had quickly proved that he could also add numbers to that.

Leo eventually looked away and found Gabriel Jesus had walked over and positioned himself directly behind the ball.

”Everything is ready at the Emirates.”

His partner replied, ”Arsenal know what a victory does for them. Six points behind instead of nine, and suddenly this title race looks very different.”

”There’s also the chance of them further closing the gap if City are able to do damage to this Wigan side.”

”And Wigan?”

”They’re here to prove that they have a right to stake a claim to this title race!”

The commentator laughed softly.

”Something tells me neither side intends to make this comfortable.”

The referee stepped away from the centre circle, just a few feet from Jesus and then, without waiting any longer, he blew his whistle.