Harbinger Of Glory

The halftime whistle brought the graphics up on the screen almost immediately after the referee’s whistle blew, but 10 minutes later, that was still what was showing on the broadcast.

Possession.

Shots.

Chances created.

United had everything on its side.

Carlo glanced at it once and looked back down at his plate.

”Your boy has been on the bench the whole half,” Palmer said, nodding toward the screen where the broadcast had cut to the Wigan dugout.

”He was really good when we played you guys back at the national camp!”

”Yeah, he was,” Carlo said as he proceeded to stuff his face with some rice.

On the other side, Foden, who was eating, leaned forward and shoved the plate to one side before turning towards Carlo.

”The one who had the tape.”

”Yeah. Leo Calderon,” Carlo answered.

Foden looked at him before poking at the salad on the side with a fork.

”Where’d you meet him?”

”Italy camp.” Carlo reached for his glass.

”Last November.”

”Any good?”

Carlo considered the question for a second longer than a simple yes or no required.

”He’s seventeen,” he began when he had finally settled on something to say.

”And would have probably been sent to the senior side if they had a camp when he was called up, but they didn’t, so he came to play for the U21S. He was the only one playing in the second division of a league in the team back then.”

”And at the moment, he’s probably going to play through a hamstring injury for his Championship club as he did some days ago against Bristol City, only this time, it’s the semi-final of the FA cup.”

He set the glass down.

”What do you think?”

”I know he’s good, but this is a bit much,” Palmer said with a chuckle as

Foden looked back at the screen where the broadcast had cut to the Wigan players walking back down the tunnel, and found Leo with his hands in the pockets of his puffa jacket, with his head slightly down.

”How’d he end up at Wigan if he’s that good then?” someone else asked from further down the table, and Carlo started talking.

”That’s something we should be asking the other team in the semi-final.”

....

”Well, that’s not very curt,” the main commentator offered after Antony caught Bennet late, the referee’s whistle cut through the noise, and Bennet went down on the turf, grabbing his ankle.

A few seconds passed before he got back up, and after he rose to his feet, he tested the foot once, and his eyes drifted up to the Jumbotron above the far end.

[0-1]

63:47, and still counting.

He stared at it a moment longer than he needed to before he couldn’t anymore.

”Bennet.”

Whatmough’s voice came from somewhere behind him, deep and immediate.

Bennet turned to face the direction of the voice, where he found Whatmough already moving toward him.

The centreback got down when he finally got to Bennet before reaching down to collect the ball from beside his feet without breaking stride.

When he got back up, his other arm swept forward to wave the Wigan players up.

”Focus,” he said, and that was the end of that.

Joe Bennet nodded and then followed suit as Whatmough sent the ball long and turned back to his position, and the game moved on.

On the touchline, Dawson had his back to all of it.

He was leaning toward Ezra with one hand, gesturing toward the pitch.

Ezra nodded twice and reached for a bib.

But the Wigan manager wasn’t done.

Dawson straightened and looked along the bench where Leo was already looking back at him.

A moment passed between them that didn’t require anything to be said, and then Leo stood, took the bib that was handed to him, and pulled it over his head as he moved toward the touchline, where Ezra was already loosening up.

Ezra glanced across as Leo drew level with him, and he couldn’t help but smile.

”How’s the leg?”

Leo smiled as he took his eyes off the pitch for the first time all game.

”Stiff from all the sitting.”

Ezra laughed quietly and said nothing else.

Behind them, the Wigan end became more vocal when they saw two players.....youngsters, who had been impactful for them since they made their debuts for the senior team.

At least, they had something to look forward to as the game neared its demise.

”And it looks like Dawson is preparing to make changes,” the commentator noted.

”And it seems he will be relying on teenage power to look for a possible escape from their exit as it stands now!”

[Etihad Campus]

The plates had mostly been pushed aside by now.

Nobody had decided to keep watching.

It had just happened, the way these things do, one person leaning forward and then another until no one was really watching it anymore.

Until Palmer, who was still on his phone, caught something on the screen.

He looked up, then across at Carlo.

”Your boy’s coming on.”

Carlo, who was also in the same posture as the former, looked up, and on the screen, the camera had found the Wigan touchline.

Leo was standing just inside the white line, one hand reaching back to pull his heel toward him, stretching the quad but not too much to hurt.

Ezra was beside him doing something similar as the fourth official fiddled with his machine.

”A double change for Wigan,” the commentator’s voice came through the cafeteria speakers.

”Lang and Power making way, and Calderon is one of the two coming on. Sixty-fourth minute, one-nil down, and Dawson has decided this is the moment.”

At the mention of that name, the camera cut to Dawson, who now had the two players gathered around him in a loose cluster just off the pitch, and he was talking to them with the quiet directness of someone who meant every word and didn’t need volume to prove it.

His eyes moved across the group and then settled.

He looked at Leo.

”Explore,” he said, and nothing else.

Lang and Power came off to applause from the Wigan end, and Leo and Ezra crossed the white line in the other direction.