Harbinger Of Glory

Blackburn eased themselves back into the game the way experienced sides do after a goal.

They stopped chasing shadows, kept the ball moving, and tried to draw Wigan out of shape.

From the stands it looked controlled, like they weren’t bothered about the goal.

On the pitch, it was anything but.

Wigan stuck to their shape, like a silent reaper waiting for Blackburn to slip up.

They held their lines and waited, and when the ball finally crossed into areas that mattered, it almost always ended up at Leo’s feet.

Not by accident, either.

It was what Dawson had stated before the game.

”Find Leo, before the ball or your opponents find you!”

And so his teammates kept finding him early, trusting him to decide what came next.

”He’s dictating things right now,” the commentator noted, voice steady but impressed. ”Everything is going through the youngster and it seems the loss of confidence we expected him to have from the Rotherham shutdown isn’t happening.”

On the pitch, Leo took the ball under pressure, felt a body at his back, and let it roll across his foot before turning away.

A moment later, a second defender stepped in, and he slipped past that too, foregoing speed for near-perfect timing to slide the ball just through the player’s legs.

”He’s also cheeky,” the commentary noted while the crowd reacted before the move even finished.

Blackburn tried to compress the space, using the same tactic Rotherham had, but Leo kept drifting and pulling markers with him, opening lanes without forcing the issue.

And he did so, by playing his own teammates never letting them anticipate what he was going to do.

A kind of ”Never letting your opponents know your next move.”

When he dropped deep, Wigan breathed.

When he stepped forward, the Blackburn backline tensed.

”Watch how he breathes on the ball,” the analyst added.

”He’s not playing the first pass he sees. He’s playing the right one and that is making all the difference today as opposed to the last time.”

And another pass came a moment later.

Leo shaped his body as if to recycle possession, but then threaded a pass straight through the middle.

The Blackburn setup, dragged forward by Leo’s two markers began scrambling back.

On the left, McClean was already sprinting into the ball, bursting past his man and driving toward the byline.

The sound inside the DW lifted instantly, the chants serving as a morale booster as McClean whipped the ball low across the face of the goal.

”That’s dangerous,” the commentator snapped while Fletcher lunged, stretching for it, but the Blackburn keeper read it well, rushing off his line and throwing himself at the cross.

In seconds, the ball disappeared under his body and the chance was gone.

A ripple of applause followed, mixed with a few groans.

”Wigan nearly make it 2 goals but nearly is not enough!”

Blackburn tried again, pushing higher, but their moves kept breaking down.

Leo stepped in to intercept one pass, slid across to make a clean tackle on another, then carried the ball away himself, shrugging off a challenge as if it barely registered.

He did it once more near the touchline, dragging the ball back with his sole, then spinning inside as a defender overcommitted.

On the touchline, the fourth official moved into view, raising his board in the air for all to see.

Two added minutes, was what it read when it came back down.

After that, Wigan might have been happy to slow things down, but Blackburn were not.

With the clock edging toward halftime, something shifted in their urgency.

They pushed a little higher, committed an extra body here and there, and began to take risks that had not been there earlier.

It did not need explaining to anyone watching.

They wanted and needed momentum.

Jon Dahl Tomasson could be heard from the touchline, his voice sharp, constant, urging his side forward.

Not reckless, but insistent.

One goal before the break and the mood would change entirely.

Blackburn tried to force it through the middle but it clogged.

They switched wide and in that space too, it stalled.

And then, in trying to press one step too far, they left space behind them.

After a missed chance by Blackburn, Whatmough saw it immediately and caught out the Blackburn setup.

He firmly planted his standing foot, and the ball quickly launched the ball long into the right channel, sailing over the first line of pressure and dropping into open grass.

”Here they come again,” the commentator said, tone lifting eagerly as the danger formed.

Will Keane was already moving, angling his run toward the flank and pulling Harry Pickering with him.

It turned into a straight sprint, shoulder to shoulder, the ball bouncing once ahead of them.

Pickering had youth and pace on his side and for a moment it showed.

He edged in front, stretching for the angle but Keane stayed with him, patient, waiting for the contact.

Just before the box, Keane leaned in.

It wasn’t that hard to be called a shove but it was just enough.

Pickering lost balance, stumbled, and Keane was free.

The crowd rose as one.

”He’s done him there,” came the call as Keane steadied himself and lifted his head.

Instead of driving it, he clipped the ball toward the middle after reaching the byline.

It dipped awkwardly, inviting chaos and the Blackburn keeper was not going to wait for that to happen.

He charged, leapt on top of his player, and punched clear with both fists, crashing into traffic but getting enough on it to send the ball spinning loose near the edge of the area.

For a split second, no one reacted.

But then Hedges moved to claim it but the second he got the ball, Leo breathed down on him like a hound, stretching a toe through the gap and nicking the ball cleanly away before Hedges could even set his body.

He took the contact, rolled through it, and was back on his feet in one motion.

”Is he in?” the commentator asked as Leo poked the ball forward instinctively.

It fell perfectly into Fletcher’s path.

And for a moment, the stadium held its breath.

Both sets of fans watched on as Fletcher struck it early, clean and low, aiming for the corner.

It was the kind of finish players practice a thousand times.

Fletcher’s body subconsciously turned towards the corner in anticipation of what was coming but the ball never hit the back of the net.

Blackburn’s keeper threw himself across the goal, got a strong hand to it, and somehow kept it out, smothering the rebound before anyone could react.

For a moment there was disbelief, then noise, with Wigan fans putting their hands on their heads as they wondered how the ball had not gone in.

”That’s not a miss,” the commentator said quickly. ”That’s an unbelievable save. One of the highest order.”

Blackburn players swarmed their keeper, slapping his back, pulling him up, relief written all over them.

Behind the play, Leo stayed where he was, sitting back on the grass before easing down fully, staring up at the lights, chest rising hard.

”He’s done everything there,” came the voice again. ”Leo puts it on a plate for Fletcher, but the keeper denies Wigan a second.”

The applause began to rain down afterwards but before Leo could even push himself up for the reset, the halftime whistle cut through the noise.

The reaction rolled around the DW as players began to drift toward the tunnel.

Wigan clapped the crowd while the Blackburn players regrouped quickly, grateful to be only one down.

Leo finally stood, brushing grass from his shirt, and jogged off with the rest, the applause following him all the way.

.....

Dawson was already clapping before the door swung shut behind them.

”Good,” he said, nodding and patting his men on the back as they filed in.

”That’s good.”

They dropped into their seats in ones and twos.

Bottle tops popped open with water being squeezed and spilt, some of it missing mouths entirely as players tilted their heads back, trying to slow their breathing.

”Well done,” he added. ”You’re doing the hard parts right.”

A few players nodded.

A moment later, the dressing room doors opened again as Leo filed in with a few more players.

He closed the door behind him and took a few steps in before stopping.

Dawson was mid-sentence when he noticed him.

”...and when they step up like that.....”

His eyes flicked to Leo and then he raised a thumb, holding it there for a beat.

Leo returned it with a small nod before Dawson turned immediately toward the physio, lowering his voice but not enough to hide the concern.

”Check him,” he said. ”Hedges landed on his left thigh at the end.”

The physio nodded and crossed the room, crouching in front of Leo as he sat down at last.

Leo rolled his shorts up slightly as the physio pressed carefully along the muscle.

”Anything sharp?” the physio asked.

”Just a bit,” Leo replied after a second.

”Tell me if that changes.”