Harbinger Of Glory

Leo burst through the gap he’d created for himself, reached the edge of the box, and felt the ball rise perfectly into his stride.

Then he drew his leg back.

”He’s going to hit it!” the commentator burst out, the noise in his voice rising with the crowd around him.

And Leo did.

His leg came through the ball viciously, clean enough that the strike sounded different off his foot, and it exploded upward.

For one suspended second, the entire stadium saw the same picture at once.

Top corner.

Goal.

Screamer.

The Milan fans behind the goal had already started reacting before it even arrived, some rising, some grabbing heads, some simply frozen as the shot screamed toward the angle at terrifying speed.

”OH MY WORD, LEO CALDERÓN!”

Then came the impact.

The ball smashed into the junction of post and crossbar with a violent metallic bang that rang through the stadium like a gunshot as the frame of the goal shuddered from it.

But it didn’t end there as the rebound flew back out into play.

The noise from the stands twisted instantly into agony.

The specific sound a crowd makes when they’ve already celebrated in their heads and reality rips it away at the last possible second.

Leo, on the other hand, stopped dead.

Both hands went to his head immediately, disbelief written all over his face, while around him, even some Milan players looked stunned that the shot hadn’t gone in.

”And somehow it stays out!” the co-commentator shouted over the chaos. ”That would’ve been one of the goals of the summer! The San Siro was ready to erupt against their will!”

”That,” the commentator said, after a pause in which he appeared to be collecting himself, ”was an extraordinary run from Leo Calderon and an extraordinary effort, and it has come back off the post and the crossbar. The San Siro was on its feet, and they had every right to be.”

On the touchline, Allegri shifted his weight from one foot to the other and looked at the pitch with the expression of a man recalibrating.

Somewhere in the stands, Vittoria had half risen from her seat when the ball hit the post.

Her mouth widened, hand already going up as she sat back down.

Gianna looked at her sideways.

”Your outside showing of affection is getting tiring,” she said.

”Why shouldn’t I?” Vittoria said, arranging herself in her seat.

”You were the same every time we watched Carlo play.”

Gianna opened her mouth and then closed it before shaking her head as Vittoria leaned forward, her eyes almost shimmering.

”We should have gone with the VIP section,” Vittoria said after a while.

”You were the one who told me you wanted a proper matchday experience,” Gianna replied with an exasperated look, and only got a shrug in return.

Her face scrunched up a bit, falling for her friend’s provocation.

She was about to talk again when Milan supporters around them erupted suddenly, and both women snapped their heads toward the pitch where Leo had the ball in hand, and the referee was waving play on despite what looked like a clear foul.

”How is that not given?” a man two rows behind them said, loudly and in Italian, to general agreement from his section.

On the pitch, Leo turned and took the ball forward again.

This time, he slowed as the numbers approached, drawing them toward him, and then switched to the left, where Ezra collected it and went at the Milan defence with the directness he always brought to these moments.

After bearing down on the goal enough, he cut inside, shaped it onto his left, and curled it from outside the box.

Sportiello reacted well this time and pushed it away, but Jake followed up immediately, only to get his shot blocked by the bodies throwing themselves in the way.

The ball went out, and the fans applauded, with the crowd not even feeling sure which team it was applauding.

”Wigan have been the dominant side for the majority of what we’ve seen here,” the commentator said.

”Thirty-seven minutes played, and they have been in front, and they have looked like staying in front. The quality of what they’ve produced has been genuinely impressive from a side that on paper.....”

”And they’re at it again,” the co-commentator cut in. ”Carlo inside, he’s cut across the face of the goal, and Jake is arriving and.....”

The whistle arrived next, and the commentator didn’t wait.

”PENALTY. That is a penalty. Jake has been grabbed, absolutely grabbed, there is no question about it, and the referee has given it immediately.”

On the pitch, the Wigan players arrived in the box in a wave, pulling Jake to his feet in celebration while the Milan players surrounded the referee with the expressions of men going through a process they knew was futile but felt obligated to complete.

The referee pointed to the spot and walked away from the conversation.

”Leo has the ball,” the commentator noted. ”One would assume he’ll be stepping up here. He’s the captain this evening, and the performance he’s put up so far puts him on the spot.”

On the pitch, that didn’t happen as Leo tossed it across.

Jake caught it, and before he could second-guess himself, Leo turned and began ushering his teammates out of the box, hands waving them back and helping the official with his job.

Or at least half of it.

The official still stood locked with the AC Milan players, and it was only after some convincing that they got out of the box.

All this time, Jake placed the ball on the spot and began walking back.

He stood locked in a staredown with the keeper, who looked back at him with neither side refusing to give a hint of where they were going.

But when the whistle sounded, everything that the keeper thought of proved futile as Jake ran up and hit the ball into the roof of the net, the ball clipping the underside of the crossbar on its way through and then settling into the back of the net as Jake pumped his fist in the air once.

”TWO NIL. Nicely done by Wigan’s striker with the penalty, and Wigan Athletic lead AC Milan two goals to nil at the San Siro.”

Jake, after that, turned and pointed at Leo as Leo approached him, together with the rest of his mates, with high fives and hugs.

”Some may want to call that luck with the crossbar,” the commentator said, ”but that was an expertly taken penalty and the conviction behind it told you everything.

And you know, I keep saying pre-season, but losing at home to anyone is never something a club enjoys, and right now AC Milan are discovering what Wigan Athletic are about.”

The Wigan players jogged back to their half, and the scoreboard above the north end of the San Siro showed what it showed.

AC Milan 0 — Wigan Athletic 2