Harbinger Of Glory

The noise and rain kept pouring down on him, more relentless than ever, but Leo stayed where he was.

He lay stretched out on the soaked grass with both forearms folded over his face, and from the distance, he could hear the shouts, probably those of the team doctors telling his mates to get off him, but it was hard to do so with the adrenaline around.

Then, one by one, hands loosened and the weight he felt got lighter.

After that, more and more figures peeled away until the rain hit his chest again and the cold crept back in.

One of the medics dropped to a knee beside Leo while the other just hovered just behind him.

”He’s scored,” the commentator said, voice still raised but no longer triumphant.

”He’s dragged Wigan back into this tie... but look at him. Leo Calderón is still down, hands over his face and for the second time this game too!”

The broadcast camera, amid the water splashed, tightened in on the scene while Leo, on the ground, finally lowered one arm as rain tracked down his temples and into his hairline.

”Leo,” the medic said. ”Talk to me.”

Leo just shook his head and then looked at his thigh.

”It’s gone,” he muttered after raising his head.

Around them, the Wigan players stood off now with concern on their faces, particularly Darikwa, who only lingered a few steps away, watching with his jaw set.

In the away end, the celebration slowly began to thin out.

The chants of the fans lost their grip while the clapping lost its rhythm.

Thousands of eyes stayed fixed on the same small circle near the edge of the box.

”And listen to this,” the co-commentator added. ”The Wigan fans, who were bouncing seconds ago, have gone almost silent. They are suddenly realising what this could mean to them and to their season.”

The older medic pressed gently under Leo’s thigh only for Leo to hiss and turn his head away.

The two medics shared a look, then both glanced toward the touchline where the older of the two met Dawson’s eyes and shook his head.

Seeing this, Dawson exhaled through his nose, shoulders dropping as he shook his head in return.

There was no anger in it.

Just resignation.

He turned and hooked a hand around Cousins’ arm as the midfielder finished pulling his shirt over his head.

”Listen,” Dawson muttered, leaning in close.

”I’d have left you with the freedom you wanted, but as you can see, we aren’t in that position. I don’t need anything fancy. Just legs and discipline.”

Cousins nodded, eyes already locked on the pitch, while beside them, Nolan stepped toward the fourth official with the request.

The latter, a moment later, raised the board to signal the change.

Back on the grass, Leo was helped upright.

He got his feet under him, but the moment he tried to take weight, his body betrayed him.

He sagged, arms instinctively reaching out.

The medics caught him, one on each side, and looped his arms over their shoulders.

”There it is,” came the confirmation from the gantry. ”The board is up, and this is going to be a change for Wigan.”

The numbers flickered into life as Leo’s 22 burned red while Cousins’ 6 glowed green.

As Leo began the slow walk toward the sideline, the away end found its voice again in long, full claps that rolled down in waves.

Leo, though, covered his face with the turtleneck compression-undershirt and kept his head down as he was guided off.

”He’s given them belief,” the commentator said as the match threatened to begin again.

”Whatever happens from here, Leo Calderón has pulled Wigan back to life in this fifth-round cup tie, and it is up to his mates to let it go up in the air like smoke, or fight for a chance in the next round.”

The medics steadied him as he reached the touchline, easing him across the white paint and toward the bench, but once they got there, Dawson quickly approached.

”It’d be better to get him to the scans soon. I want us to know what is wrong and fix it soon,” he fired off as Leo still stared at the ground.

The two medics nodded and then called for the help of the rest of the team before leading Leo down the tunnel and ending their night early.

”And there are six minutes left of normal time,” the co-commentator added. ”Six minutes to decide it.”

The camera lingered once more on the pitch, the rain, the players resetting.

”It is all to fight for in this game.”

With that, the Southampton striker Andy Townsend kicked off and restarted the game.

.....

Even with the soundproofing of the room, it didn’t stop the murmurs from intruding into the corridor.

There, Leo sat on the plastic chair outside the imaging room with his hood pulled low and chin tucked into the soft fold of fabric.

A thick bandage now wrapped his thigh down to the knee, neat and tight, the brace resting against his hip where he had dropped it when they told him to wait.

His boots were gone, and his socks rolled halfway down his calves.

To his right, the snack dispenser buzzed and clicked as the only sound breaking the silence in the corridor.

He stared on and stared on before heaving a heavy sigh, but just then, the door in front of him opened.

A member of the Wigan staff who had come with the medical team stepped out, letting it close gently rather than pulling it shut.

He paused there for a second, reading the room, then moved over and sat beside Leo without saying anything.

They stayed like that.

A minute, maybe more, passed, but Leo still stayed the same until he heard the tone of a final whistle of a game emanating from his phone.

That made Leo’s head lift slightly.

He reached into the pocket of the hoodie and brought the phone out, the screen flaring to life and washing his face in pale light.

For the first time since he’d sat down, his mouth moved just a little.

Not wanting to enjoy it alone, he turned the screen toward the man beside him, showing him the graphic that had displayed on the screen.

[FT: Southampton 1-2 Wigan]

The graphic played like this, but below, it showed Wigan Athletic had won on penalties.

8–7.

The staff member stared at it for a heartbeat, then let out a sharp laugh before jumping to his feet and then punching the air.

”Get in,” he said quietly but full of it before turning towards Leo with his fist.

Leo, not in the mood but not wanting to leave the grinning man hanging, stuck his fist out and met the former’s.

After that, the staff turned towards the room and entered it again as if to share the news, while Leo turned the phone back to himself, staring at the score of the shootout.

8–7.

”That’s it, lads,” he said before leaning his head back against the wall.