Harbinger Of Glory

At the gate of the kids’ park, Carlo stopped, causing Leo, who was walking slightly behind him, to stop as well.

”Hey,” he said, turning slightly. ”Thanks for coming.”

Leo shot him a sideways look, one eyebrow lifting.

”Don’t make it weird.”

But Carlo frowned.

”I’m just saying thanks.”

”Yeah, yeah,” Leo replied, already turning away. ”Don’t make it sobby. Or gay.”

Carlo snorted, shaking his head.

”I wouldn’t even be interested.”

Leo lifted a hand without looking back, fingers flicking once in a lazy wave as he headed off down the pavement.

Carlo, after standing there still for a while, nodded once like he was coming to a decision.

And a moment later, and after another subtler nod, he turned, going the way from the path Leo had taken.

Leo, on the other hand, kept his hands in his jacket pockets and thoughts spiralling towards what Carlo might have meant by the conversation, but even after contemplating the whole walk, nothing concrete seemed to come to mind.

”In due time,” he muttered, sniffing the wet inners of his nose back into his system.

When he reached the apartment building, the lights were on with a bit of commotion ahead.

”So much for not coming early,” he muttered under his breath.

Before he could knock, the door opened with none other than Mia standing between the door frames, with her phone still in hand and looking the same as Leo had left her.

”Hey,” she said as Leo stepped inside, glancing past her.

He could hear movement from further in, the soft clatter of something being set down.

Mia shut the door and leaned back against it.

”By the way,” she said casually, ”I called her.”

Leo stopped and looked at her slowly.

”You did not.”

She shrugged. ”I did.”

He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head, lips pressing together as if holding back a comment he knew wouldn’t change anything.

”Sure you did,” he said flatly, earning a grin from Mia, who quickly composed herself but could not stop the corners of her mouth from going up.

While Leo, on the other hand, walked past her, kicking his shoes off by the door and hanging his jacket without another word.

A few days later, Wigan took to the roads, travelling 4 hours to the south of England, specifically, Hampshire, where they would be facing Southampton in the 5th round of the FA cup.

And it was no warm welcome at St Mary’s.

The home fans, from the onset and before the players even came out to warm up, made their presence felt, some through chants and others through insults and ridicule.

To them, Wigan was a thorn, a 2nd division side trying to play with the big boys even though Southampton had been in the Championship not so long ago.

In the away dressing room, however, the usual figure in Dawson was nowhere to be found in the centre of the room.

Instead, it was Tendayi Darikwa, the Wigan captain, who looked like he had played a half of football already.

His mates stared on, listening keenly to what their skipper had to say.

”We are one game away,” he said, looking around the room, meeting faces one by one.

”One from a quarter final, and although that isn’t the end, crashing out here doesn’t seem very fitting either, so what do we do?” he asked more to himself than to the room.

”We take the best of the worst, and that is winning this game that would send us to the quarter finals for the first time in a while.”

A few heads nodded while one tapped his studs against the floor in approval.

”Quarter-finals,” Darikwa continued. ”That’s it. That’s what’s in front of us. Just one game.”

”They’re Premier League,” he said, shrugging slightly.

”So what. They bleed the same. They get tired the same. The only thing that matters tonight is who wants it more when it gets ugly.”

A murmur of agreement ran through the room at least as Darikwa closed out.

”Keep your heads. Keep your shape. Be brave on the ball. Be horrible without it,” he added, a faint smile creeping in.

”We do that, and we give ourselves a chance to win.”

Behind him, at the doorway, Dawson leaned against the frame, arms folded, saying nothing.

When it seemed like Darikwa might never end, he broke the built-up stakes.

”Come on, Darikwa, it’s just Southampton,” he said, suddenly causing all the players to laugh, including Darikwa, who clapped his hands to get their attention again.

”Alright,” he said. ”You heard the gaffer. It’s just Southampton at St. Mary’s, so let’s go show up.”

A loud collective shout echoed down the corridor after that as the players broke away, grabbing jackets, pulling on gloves, and heading for the tunnel.

And out on the pitch, the floodlights cut through the evening air as the commentary came alive on the broadcast.

”Good evening and welcome,” the commentator began, voice sharp with anticipation.

”FA Cup fifth round action, and tonight, Premier League side Southampton host Championship opposition in Wigan Athletic in a fixture that hasn’t quite drawn the attention it deserves, but it’s got mine, that of my partner and the remaining tens of thousands of fans watching in the stadium and at home.”

His co-commentator chimed in.

”Yes, Jordan. On paper, the home side are favourites, but the cup has a habit of ignoring paper. If Southampton are not fully switched on, they could be in for a long night.”

A while later, both teams emerged to a wall of sound.

Wigan first, greeted by a roar that felt almost defiant and then Southampton followed, their mood a bit lax before the pleasantries followed, and a while later, the ball was placed at the centre spot.

”And so this is it,” came the commentary as the referee blew his whistle, and almost a split second later, Will Keane started the match.

”And we are underway,” came the call as Southampton immediately won the ball and began moving it back quickly, trying to set a rhythm early.

Two passes later, Southampton caught the away side offguard when Wigan stepped up immediately, trying to press as a unit, but all they did was force the ball back inside and into pressure, but that was not much for Southampton, who were still able to do it.

”They’re not sitting off,” the co-commentator noted. ”It seems both sides didn’t come to play games but to win a battle.”