Harbinger Of Glory

In the seventy-fourth minute, Reyes collected the ball just inside City’s half and laid it off to Ezra, who was cutting inside, but his job wasn’t over.

The attacking midfielder glanced up, becoming Ezra’s eyes and the moment he saw Lang moving, he pointed.

”Reyes has seen the run!” the commentator noted, expecting the return pass to Reyes, but Ezra made the pass instead, and the ball arrived perfectly.

Lang took it on the left, with Kyle Walker retreating toward his own box, but with a subtle flick, Lang cut off the run of Kyle Walker, forcing the latter to retreat a bit because any touch on Lang was basically a free goal, but that gave the winger the chance to carry the ball inside.

He took a touch, and then another as Ruben Dias came across, but before the defender could get there, Lang opened his body.

”Lang...” the commentator called as the winger shifted the ball onto his left instead and then wrapped his left foot around the ball.

”OH, WHAT A STRIKE!”

The shot curled away from Ederson’s reach as the keeper tried to get low, and in the next moment, the stadium erupted as the ball bent right past the left post and then into the back of the net.

”GOOOOOOAAAAALLL!”

The DW Stadium exploded while the commentary followed.

”CALLUM LANG WITH A STRIKE TO BRING THE SCORE LEVEL!”

The winger turned toward the supporters, both fists clenched while his teammates sprinted after him.

”Two goals for Lang on his return to the side after his injury, and Wigan have come back again!”

The commentator was almost drowned out by the noise.

”What a finish!”

”Wigan have been adapting so well to Pep’s tactics, and their own have finally paid off. What an expert ball from Ezra to find Lang. I didn’t even think he had that in him.”

The Wigan supporters kept on bouncing behind the goal while Dawson punched the air once before immediately shouting for his players to calm down and finish the game off.

While City gathered around the halfway line, Pep stood still.

For a few seconds, he watched the celebrations, and then he looked toward the bench.

He would not have liked to risk it but at the moment, it was his last resort and almost begrugdingly, he accepted that he would have to use it.

The game restarted, and right then, the board went up showing Julian Alvarez’s number 19 in red and then Erling Haaland’s number nine in green.

And the stadium’s reaction to this change was almost instant.

The noise dropped for a moment as thousands of people looked toward the Manchester City bench where Haaland stood.

The Norwegian adjusted his shirt and walked toward the technical area while a low murmur moved through the stadium, and some fans, or most even, couldn’t help but dread it.

”Here he comes.”

”The big man has been on the bench all afternoon after that knock yesterday.”

”And Wigan know exactly what this means. Manchester City are trying to win this!”

Haaland entered, and the atmosphere changed with him as the City supporters found their voices again.

Wigan had held on for almost the entire second half, but the threat was obvious.

Every cross now had another target, and every long ball suddenly had more purpose.

After the restart, Wigan attacked like mad men, but with Haaland posing a threat with every breath he took, they slowly began to retreat more into their shell, in hopes of at least keeping the status quo.

They defended, and Amos also proved helpful, winning air balls and fending Manchester City off until the clock reached ninety.

But that was just the start of what was to come.

The fourth official stood at the sides and signalled five more minutes of play, but to Wigan, it began to feel like 50.

”Five added minutes and Wigan can see the finish line now. Can they do enough to hold?”

The Wigan supporters were standing now.

Some were already singing, trying to help their team cross the finish line, and others were watching the clock rather than the football.

They watched on as attack after attack from City broke down.

”Come on, guys, a little more compact,” Dawson said as he stood, keenly trying to will his team on until Foden received the ball in the centre.

He looked up, and right when the two gazes met, Haaland started his run.

”Foden...” the commentary came in, and before it could manage to finish what it was trying to say, the pass came through.

”Good ball and now Haaland’s in!”

Whatmough expertly rushed to cover and began driving Haaland towards a tighter and tighter angle, but like none of it mattered, Haaland took one more touch and then hit it, hard!

Ben Amos, poised and sitting low in goal, watched as the ball streaked with deadly accuracy right above his head, before his hands could catch up and all he could hear, without even turning, was the sound of the ball smashing into the roof of the net.

Manchester had finally broken through the Wigan defences.

”OH, WHAT A FINISH TO THIS CLASH. GOOOAAAAAALLLL!”

The City end erupted.

”WHO ELSE BUT ERLING HAALAND!”

The Wigan players stopped, with some falling to the ground while Amos remained on the ground.

Haaland wheeled away toward the corner as his teammates chased after him, with the away end roaring rampantly as their players neared.

”Manchester City have done it!”

The commentator’s voice rose above the noise.

”Erling Haaland, barely ten minutes on the pitch, and he may have just won the game for Manchester City!”

The Wigan supporters fell silent.

The roar that had filled the stadium seconds earlier had disappeared, and now Dawson stood motionless on the touchline.

He turned toward the pitch and tried to start something but even for him, it was hard to believe.

”Come on!” he said, but there was nothing in it.

Wigan restarted quickly and threw bodies forward in their bid to launch one final attack.

A long ball was sent toward Jake, but Gvardiol won the header and the ball dropped to Rodri.

The midfielder held onto it for a bit and then sent it high and up towards the Wigan half, but before they could restart, the referee looked at his watch.

The Wigan players watched on, almost like they were pleading for the chance to build one more attack, but the referee brought the whistle to his lips, and he blew.

FWEE, FWEE, FWEEEEEEEEE!

After fifteen matches without defeat, after fourteen victories and one draw, after everything that had happened since the beginning of the season, there was finally no way around it.

Wigan had finally lost.