Harbinger Of Glory

The morning after the first leg, the football internet did what it always did: process a result loudly and at length.

Most of the coverage agreed on the basics.

A tight game between two evenly matched sides, a disallowed goal that would be talked about for days, and a second leg that was genuinely open.

From there, the takes that came through varied.

Both fans argued that their team had been the better side and deserved more.

Others said Luton had done exactly what a third-placed team should do away from home at a tough ground.

A few, namely the Wigan fans, made the point that Leo had been managed carefully and that the second leg, with Kenilworth Road packed and hostile, was where the real test would come.

Nobody was sure how it ended as both sides wished their team would come out on top, but they knew they’d have to wait till the kickoff and then the final whistle.

The days that followed wasn’t anything the Wigan players hadn’t seen before.

Dawson, as always, ran the sessions with the same rhythm.

He didn’t mention the disallowed goal once or what they could have gained had they done things differently.

His only words came during the day before the match, when he felt he needed to say something.

”We are going to win,” he said after one video session, making his players a bit surprised since he wasn’t one to really talk before games.

The fans felt it differently.

They woke up happy and went to bed expectant.

And the reason for their happiness was none other than the anticipation of the second leg sitting alongside the FA Cup final on the horizon.

The two things fed into each other as the possibility of both being within touching distance for the first time in a generation settled in the minds of the fans.

”Can you imagine? Playoffs final and FA Cup final in the same season. We are eating good this year,” a fan said

”Don’t jinx it. But after what Leo did against Swansea, I’ll believe anything.”

These and many more were the words of the Wigan fans until eventually, the day for the second leg dawned.

The Wigan bus pulled into Luton on a Tuesday evening with two hours to spare, and Kenilworth Road was already making its presence known from the outside.

A tight ground, close to the surrounding streets.

For the Wigan players, it felt like a cage whenever they played a game there.

When Leo stepped off the bus, he glanced at it briefly before being whisked away by Jake, who had once again made the team.

”Imagine I come on and score a goal to win the game. I might go naked or something,” he said excitedly as the players were led through the pathways and then into the away dressing room, which looked more bare than the last time they came there.

”So it’s mind games now,” Nolan muttered as he looked around the room, which looked like it had been stripped of its amenities and could no longer be called more than a hollow space.

Dawson smiled at that before clapping to draw the attention of his players.

”Look around you,” he said, causing the players to glance around the room they had begun criticising after they entered.

”I’m sure you’re all aware of the games they are playing. But that won’t faze us. As I said before, a win and nothing more.”

The players nodded resolutely, and soon they found themselves in line, in the tunnel.

The Luton Town fans were excited, and it showed with the rumbling the players felt in the tunnel.

Leo stood in the line with his kit on, with Ezra just ahead of him.

His eyes met those of the Luton players a few times, es only to be met with glares and unfriendly expressions.

”Eeek” he feigned with a chuckle that made Ezra also laugh.

The Luton players didn’t take that well, but there wasn’t much they could do until they were on the pitch.

A while later, the referee’s signal came, and the players began to move out of the tunnel.

As soon as they did, the muffled noise turned into a roar, and it felt physical.

Kenilworth Road was doing its job.

The Luton supporters gave it everything from the first step and kept going, and the small pocket of Wigan fans tucked into the away end answered as best they could, which wasn’t the same volume but was something.

Leo, together with his mates, lined up in front of the crowd and looked around the ground once, taking in the atmosphere before focusing on what was ahead a second later.

On the broadcast, the commentary settled.

”Good evening and welcome to Kenilworth Road. Championship playoff semi-final, second leg. Luton Town against Wigan Athletic, and the aggregate score going into tonight is one-one. Everything is still to play for, and the team that wins here tonight goes to Wembley.”

His partner came in, slowing down once he began for dramatics.

”A draw at the DW last time. A game that felt like it could have gone either way, and in many respects it did.

Wigan had a goal taken away by VAR in the final ten minutes that would have given them the lead.

Luton will feel they rode their luck at times but also that they did what a home side coming away from home should do, which is not lose.”

”The key battles tonight are going to be interesting. Luton will look to Campbell and Clark to control the midfield early. Wigan’s response to that pressure will set the tone for the whole evening.”

”And then there’s Calderon. Starting tonight for Wigan and not off the bench like last time. At this point, there can be no excuses for both sides.”

The camera found Leo in his position, already scanning, already reading the Luton shape as both sets of players took their final positions.

”This Wigan side has defied expectation at every turn this season,” the commentator continued, the ground noise building underneath his voice.

”The injury list, the league run, the FA Cup semi-final at Wembley, the last day free kick that kept them in the playoffs. They have found ways when ways didn’t appear to exist.”

The referee brought his whistle up.

”And tonight they need one more. This is the second leg of the Championship playoff semifinal.”

The moment he finished, the referee looked to both sides and then blew his whistle.

Fweeeeeee

The whistle had barely faded when Leo asked for the ball.

It came to him just inside his own half, but the moment it reached his feet, the normally slow-going Wigan players began to move forward sharply.

You could feel it in the way he took his first touch, nudging the ball into space before the nearest Luton midfielder could even close the gap.

”And straight away, Leo Calderón wants to get on it,” the commentator noted, his voice lifting with interest.

The first man stepped in, but Leo didn’t slow.

He feigned going right but then slipped the ball through the legs of the oncoming player as the latter tried to slide the ball away.

The crowd rose as the ball stayed close to Leo, glued to his stride as he slipped past, his second touch already setting up the third.

Another shirt moved across to meet him, but Leo adjusted again, a faint touch across his body, just enough to force the defender to turn, and that half-second was all he needed.

”Look at this... look at him go,” came the sharper edge in the co-commentator’s voice.

Now he was moving.

Grass opened ahead of him, as his boots ate up into the ground.

A third defender tried to step out, hesitating just long enough, and Leo took that hesitation personally.

He pushed the ball beyond him, burst through the narrowing gap, and suddenly the noise around the ground changed.

The Wigan fans rose, and the Luton fans leaned forward.

”Calderón, driving right through the middle here. This is brilliant!”

He reached the edge of the final third with bodies collapsing around him, options forming and fading in the same breath.

Then, at the last moment, he slid the ball right.

Ezra was already there.

The pass was so clean and perfectly weighted that Ezra didn’t need to think.

He took one touch to settle, and then he whipped it straight back toward the centre.

Leo had never stopped moving.

He arrived at the edge of the box just as the ball rolled into his path.

And he didn’t let the ball breathe.

”OH, HE’S HIT THAT—!” the commentary followed, a bit surprised, at the effort from Leo.

The strike flew, low at first, then rising, cutting through the air with that sound that turns heads before eyes can follow.

It screamed toward the top corner, a shot taken on instinct and belief, and for a split second, it looked destined.

The Luton keeper reacted late but well.

His fingertips grazed the ball, pushing it behind.

The shot then crashed against the underside of the crossbar with a violent clang before spinning up and away, bouncing out behind for a corner.

The stadium gasped as one.

”WHAT A START!” the commentator roared.

”That is inches away from something spectacular!”

”Almost a first before the clock had hit a minute,” his partner added, still half-laughing in disbelief.

Leo stood frozen for a second, both hands on his head, staring at the goal like it had betrayed him before he let out a sharp breath, frustration and adrenaline mixing in his chest.

Around him, Wigan players clapped, shouting encouragement.

Ezra pointed at him. ”Again! Again!”

And in the away end, the noise swelled, belief rising early.

Behind the goal, Luton fans exhaled, some laughing nervously, others shaking their heads.

”Too close,” one muttered. ”Way too close.”

Leo dropped his hands, turned, and jogged toward the corner flag.

Following that, Leo began jogging towards the corner flag while the away fans rallied behind him.