Harbinger Of Glory

Boxing Day came with that familiar mix of stiffness and quiet excitement.

The players filtered onto the bus in layers and headphones.

Dawson stood near the front, hands on his hips, scanning the seats.

”Anyone still full from yesterday?” he asked. ”Be honest now so I can drop you from the squad.”

A few groans went up, coupled with laughs as the players entered.

McClean leaned across the aisle, grinning.

”Gaffer, we’ll be fine. We’re not ending the year with a loss.”

Max Power nodded along.

”Yeah. Christmas calories get burned today.”

Dawson laughed. ”That’s the spirit,” he said, before taking his seat as the engine rolled to life.

The bus pulled away, heading toward the DW, where the streets were already dotted with fans wrapped in scarves and Santa hats.

Red and white, mixed with a bit of the usual Wigan blue, bobbed along pavements, festive shirts layered under coats.

By the time the broadcast cut in, the stadium was alive.

”Good afternoon from a festive DW Stadium,” the commentator opened with a bright tone.

”A Boxing Day crowd here in Wigan, where the home side play their final game of the year against Blackburn Rovers in what promises to be a competitive afternoon.”

The camera swept across the stands, lingering on supporters in Christmas jumpers and novelty hats, then down to the pitch, where they were finishing with their warm-ups.

”Wigan come into this one sitting ninth,” the voice continued.

”That goalless draw against sixth-place Rotherham last time out kept them just outside the playoff picture, but crucially, they have this game in hand.”

Graphics flashed up on the screen with the stands for the background before the commentator. Continued.

”A win today against fifth-placed Blackburn would see Wigan move up to eighth, and more importantly, close the gap to the final playoff spot to just six points. Not a bad position at all as we head toward the new year and the next half of the season.”

The commentary paused briefly as the camera caught a pocket of fans bouncing and singing near the corner flag.

”And it’s far from unrealistic,”

he added.”Wigan have won four of their last five matches, with that draw against Rotherham the only blot on an otherwise excellent run of form.”

The shot widened, the stadium now fully in view, a hum rolling through the air.

”We’re about fifteen minutes away from kickoff here at the DW. Stay with us for what should be a lively end to the year.”

A steady wall of sound rolled down from every corner of the DW by the time Mia and Sofia got to their seats.

Sofia dropped into her seat and let out a quiet breath, smiling as she looked around.

”Feels like it’s been forever since we actually came to a game,” she said.

”Yeah,” Mia replied, adjusting her jacket. ”I forgot how loud it gets before kickoff.”

She scanned the pitch for a moment, then turned slightly to her right, lowering her voice without really thinking about it.

”What do you think?”

”It’s nice,” came the answer.

”Proper matchday atmosphere.”

Mia nodded, then finally glanced fully toward the speaker, acknowledging Vittoria with a small smile before her attention shifted again.

She then jerked her chin toward the two seats beside Vittoria.

”You two got lucky, you know. Late tickets like these barely exist. Most times, the DW’s packed days ahead.”

Carlo shrugged, amused. ”Wasn’t exactly planned.”

Gianna leaned back, folding her arms, before muttering something in Italian to Vittoria.

”We’re grateful, though,” Carlo added. ”Honestly.”

Before Mia could respond, the stadium announcer cut through everything.

”Welcome to the DW Stadium!”

The noise jumped another notch as the players emerged from the tunnel.

Blackburn and Wigan walked out side by side, boots tapping against the turf.

Mia leaned forward, eyes narrowing slightly as she searched.

”There,” she said, lifting her hand.

Leo was near the front, fingers wrapped around the hand of a young mascot, both of them facing the stands.

For a second, he looked up, eyes searching for them, maybe, but after a while, he looked back down and soon the lineups broke off.

Handshakes were exchanged.

Polite nods passed between opponents.

Then Darikwa broke away together with the Blackburn captain, heading toward the centre circle for the coin toss.

The camera lingered on Leo for a moment as he rolled his ankles on his toes while the final instructions echoed around the pitch.

”We are all set here for Wigan’s final game of the year, and there’s the young man who has been a breath of fresh air for the Wigan fans this season. By his own standards, it was a below-par outing last time out against Rotherham, but you get the sense that it can and will be different today too.”

The commentator paused briefly, then turned the question over to his partner for the day.

”What did you make of that performance?”

The analyst didn’t rush the answer.

”It was one of those games you see with players like Leo,” he said.

”Once someone starts looking unstoppable, coaches will always look for ways to limit the damage. Rotherham did that by committing two players to him, almost from the first whistle.”

He continued, measured but firm.

”What surprised me was what came after. If you’re drawing two markers every time you get the ball, you’re already doing half the job for your team. That extra space has to be used somewhere else. Wigan never really took advantage of that, even after Leo occupied two players the whole game.”

”So you wouldn’t pin that on Leo?” the commentator asked.

”Not at all,” the analyst replied.

”If he’s being doubled up and still forcing the opposition to shift their shape, then the issue isn’t his performance. It’s what the rest of the team does with the opportunities that he creates.”

He let that sit for a second before adding, ”The big question today is whether Coach Dawson and his staff have worked on an answer. Because Blackburn will have watched that game back and they’ll try something similar, no doubt about it.”

The commentator nodded along.

”That’s the tactical battle we’ll be watching from up here. We can only speculate, but it’s about to unfold in front of us.”

Down on the pitch, the players were in position now.

The noise swelled again as the referee glanced at his watch and then brought the whistle to his lips.

”Kick off here at the Dw,” the commentary came as the shrill sound of the referee’s whistle began another wave of chants around the stands.

Fletcher took Broadhead’s place at the top of the shape, and it was Wigan who got the game moving.

The first touch was simple, and Blackburn pressed straight away, closing down passing lanes and forcing the ball sideways for a few seconds, but they were still unable to get the ball.

It didn’t take long, though, for Wigan to change the tone of the game.

A long ball was launched into the Blackburn half, dropping into the space Fletcher had already started to attack.

He used his height well, cushioning it down on his chest before holding off his man long enough to let support arrive.

”That’s a direct start from Wigan,” the commentator said. ”Fletcher bringing others into play early.”

Fletcher laid it wide, and Darikwa was already on the move.

The captain took it in stride, pushed the ball past Harry Pickering, and surged down the right.

In the next moment, Darikwa cut inside, slowed for a heartbeat and began searching for his numbers.

”You feel something opening up here. Wigan have bodies forward.”

Darikwa, after coming to an answer, switched the play sharply, sending it across to the left where Leo and McClean were waiting.

Leo brought it down cleanly, knocked it into McClean’s path before spinning away, and the return pass came back straight away.

Inside the box, Fletcher raised a hand, pointed once, then darted across the line, dragging the Blackburn backline with him.

Leo saw it, and without breaking stride, he clipped a dipping ball into the space ahead of him.

The fans at the back of the goal rose to their feet, and Fletcher stretched, just enough, and guided it into the back of the net, sending their voices climbing in the cold afternoon.

”Wigan strike early,” the commentator shouted, voice climbing with the noise around him.

But it didn’t last.

The assistant referee’s flag went up on the far side, sending the Wigan roar collapsing into a groan.

Fletcher stopped dead, both hands on his head, then turned toward the linesman, shaking his head.

”That’s not off,” he muttered, gesturing back toward where the ball had been played.

”It’s tight,” came the response on the broadcast. ”Very tight. But the flag’s up, and the decision’s been made.”

Leo was still arguing when Darikwa reached him, a firm hand on his shoulder.

Max Power stepped in as well, steering both players away before it went any further.

”Leave it,” Darikwa said quietly. ”We go again.”

Reluctantly, they backed off.

The referee reset the players, and moments later, Blackburn’s keeper placed the ball down and sent the game back into motion.