Harbinger Of Glory

Four red shirts surged forward against Wigan’s three, with Bennet even being the one tucking in to keep it a contest for the away side, but with how Arsenal was moving, it was beginning to look like it wasn’t even a contest.

”Arsenal have numbers here,” the commentator said, his voice sharpening as the transition developed. ”This could be interesting.”

Odegaard carried through the middle before moving it toward Havertz, who continued the run without faltering.

Martinelli was already accelerating to the left, Jesus was pushing through the centre, and Saka was stretching the right side, showing the options the London club had.

Havertz took one touch and then another before finally deciding to commit after seeing a pass, but right as he began to play it, a hand clamped around his shoulder.

Havertz sucked in a sharp breath and tried to shrug it away, but the grip tightened just long enough to disturb his balance.

He turned his head and found Leo alongside him, his fingers hooked around the Arsenal forward’s shoulder as though they were talons.

The pass left Havertz’s foot badly and rolled nowhere near its intended target, but the referee had seen it and his whistle came immediately.

”Foul!” he pointed as Leo, with Havertz on the ground, finally let go.

He already knew what he was in for, and he wasn’t disappointed.

The referee walked toward him, reached into his pocket before he had even arrived and pulled out a yellow card.

Leo accepted it with a brief nod, shaking his head in the process, but Havertz was less willing to let it go.

He pushed himself upright and immediately turned toward the referee, gesturing animatedly at his shoulder.

”He’s pulled me back!”

The referee listened for a moment, then pointed toward the spot where the challenge had occurred.

”Enough. I’ve given the foul.”

Havertz continued talking, but there was never much argument for anything beyond the yellow.

Leo had stopped a promising attack with a deliberate grab, yet there had been no excessive force, no dangerous contact and no obvious denial of a clear goalscoring opportunity that would have warranted something harsher.

The card stayed yellow, and as Leo backed away, the referee began arranging the Wigan wall.

”Ten yards, people, you already know it!”

”I need you further back than this!” he said after Tiehi tried to encroach on the space.

The midfielder chuckled wryly but heeded as the Wigan players shuffled into position, their boots slipping slightly each time they adjusted.

Leo remained several metres away, hands resting briefly on his hips as he watched Odegaard stand over the free kick.

The referee blew, and Odegaard struck it cleanly, but ”Thumps it wide!” came the commentary as the ball bent around the edge of the wall but drifted beyond the far post, landing against the advertising boards as a ripple of applause came down from the Emirates.

Benn Amos jogged across and collected it, and with his pass, Wigan started again, seeking what would bring them rest in the match.

For the next few minutes, the match returned to the stalemate that had defined much of the afternoon.

Arsenal refused to loosen their defensive structure simply because they had regained the lead, and Wigan were equally unwilling to throw bodies forward and leave themselves exposed to another transition.

Leo moved the ball from side to side, occasionally dropping beside Reyes before pushing higher again.

He took fewer risks at first, but push he did, and when the chance to take the lead came, he took it.

”Tiehi leaves the ball to Calderon, who’s been very vital in keeping the balance between the two teams for Wigan,” the commentator said as the ball bobbled towards Leo.

Odegaard moved across, and with a simple glance, Leo angled his left leg, cushioning the ball like he was about to shift play towards the left flank, but the moment Odegaard changed his momentum, Leo, instead of following up, touched the ball inside, right opposite where he had cushioned it to and with the rain, it wasn’t going to take much.

Odegaard faltered in his attempt to recalibrate his momentum, but that only ended up sending him slipping harder into the grass, and Leo had no time to admire his work.

With Odegaard down, albeit it was going to be for just a few seconds or a moment, Leo accelerated right through the middle.

He pushed the ball ahead with his right foot and went, skipping past the first Arsenal shirt that tried to close him from the inside.

Leo shifted his weight outward, allowing the ball to run toward the touchline before cutting back across the defender’s path, and the movement was so smooth that the next defender had to turn before he could even think about stepping in.

”Leo Calderon has found a little bit of space here!” The commentary on the broadcast and the away end in the stadium rose keenly with Leo as he kept going.

His next touch carried him between two players, the ball remaining close enough that he could change direction at any moment and through it all, the rain helped and hindered him at once.

His boots skidded slightly when he planted his left foot, but instead of losing his balance, he used the movement to roll his body around the next challenge.

”Still Calderon!” the commentator bellowed, but like a jinx, Rice began moving across.

Leo was approaching the final third now, and for a moment it looked as though the entire Arsenal midfield had been pulled toward him.

He slowed just enough to make Rice hesitate, then suddenly accelerated again, slipping between the spaces before Arsenal could close them.

The crowd rose as Leo took another touch, but in a second his vision felt like it had warped.

The Arsenal midfielder slid across the wet turf, timing his challenge perfectly enough to reach the ball first.

Leo felt the studs brush against the flesh above his boot as Rice swept the ball away, sending him right into the grass.

”Oh!” the commentator’s voice jumped with surprise.

”Rice got the ball there!” he continued, but the referee waved play on.

”Calderon felt every bit of that challenge and has gone down, but the referee says play on.”

The arms of the Wigan players were ready to go up, but they didn’t have time to do so.

Rice got up, and without looking back, he collected the ball and sent it spiralling right back forward and straight toward Odegaard, the reason Leo had started that run in the first place.

And now, almost in the same movement, Odegaard had become the beneficiary of it.

He received the ball in stride, and moving like he had eyes at the back of his head, he skipped past Tiehi without even glancing at the midfielder once.

”Excellent from Rice, and now Odegaard is away! Wigan are caught out here once more!”

The Arsenal captain lifted his head, and he had a world of options.

Havertz was calling for it in the centre.

Saka was available to his right.

Martinelli was beginning to run beyond the left shoulder of the Wigan defence, and Gabriel was looking to hold play, but Odegaard ignored them.

He shifted the ball onto his left foot right as he got to the edge of the box, like he was looking to bend one, forcing Amos to adjust his position.

And with that being exactly what he wanted, the midfielder shot away from him from outside the box, skimming across the wet grass so quickly that it seemed to gather speed with every metre.

”IT’S ODEGAARD!”

Amos, who realised he’d been fooled, stopped gathering steps and threw himself to his left.

The rain made the dive even faster as his body slid across the surface, one hand stretching toward the shot and, for a split second, the ball looked as though it would drift past the far post until it struck the inside of it.

The sound was sharp, ringing incessantly, especially for Ben Amos, who could almost feel his eardrums bursting, but behind him, it was even worse as the ball crawled across the goal line and disappeared into the bottom-right corner from Odegaard’s perspective.

And, a second later, Amos realised he had landed a fraction too late.

”OH, A WONDERFUL STRIKER AND AN EQUALLY WONDERFUL GOAL FROM THE NORTH LONDON SKIPPER!”

Odegaard tore toward the corner flag, both arms spreading as Saka and Martinelli chased him down.

The Arsenal crowd erupted behind them, the noise rolling around the Emirates as the captain disappeared beneath a swarm of red shirts.