Harbinger Of Glory

Despite the celebrations, the Wigan fans found their voices.

The goal had stumped them, but that wasn’t enough to kill their spirit.

It might have been sadistic to say, but they were glad that all those past years, spent bouncing between the Championship and the English League One, had toughened them up more than most.

Their voices rose, and although it wasn’t loud enough to compete with Stamford Bridge, the away support had never really worked like that.

It wasn’t about volume so much as presence, and that the fans really showed.

”Don’t mind it.”

”Don’t be fazed.”

”Come on Wigan.”

The chants rolled down from the corner of the ground they occupied and carried across the pitch, stubborn and unwavering.

One who had just joined the game would even think that they were the ones in the lead with how they were cheering for their players.

The Chelsea players heard them as they made their way back toward their half, and a few even glanced briefly toward the away end before turning their attention back to the task in front of them.

Yes, they had struck first, but there was still a long way to go.

Fletcher stood over the ball waiting for the whistle, and when it came, he rolled possession backwards and the game restarted.

As it did, Chelsea came forward immediately.

There was no retreat into shape, no pause to protect what they already had.

Palmer and Enzo sprang toward the wide areas as soon as the ball moved, cutting off the obvious outlets while Jackson pushed up through the middle.

The press arrived with the same aggression as before, as though Chelsea had seen how the first goal had been created and decided there was no reason not to try it again.

”It’s the same scenes here again,” the commentator said as the blue shirts continued to close space across the pitch, forcing Wigan to play quickly, forcing decisions, refusing to let the visitors settle into the game.

This time Reyes received and turned it quickly to McClean on the left side.

The veteran and Carlo found each other in the press, with each player trying to anticipate what the other wanted to do, and after a second more of looking at each other, they seemed to come to a tacit understanding as Carlo turned and began to run in behind.

By now, Gusto was caught between two stools, not knowing whether to follow the possible threat or continue up with Palmer on McClean.

But those seconds of thought slowed the press, making it one fewer body in the right place, and Wigan were through it briefly, but it was enough.

”Wigan survive this time,” the commentator said.

”And it has taken real quality to do it. Chelsea are really being relentless here!”

The pressing continued for two more minutes with Chelsea cycling through it with the stamina of a team that had been conditioned specifically for this.

On the flip side, Wigan matched it to the best of their abilities, refusing to break despite the press sometimes feeling like vomit that wouldn’t go away no matter how much you retched.

Eventually, inevitably, the running began to cost Chelsea something, and soon, the press pulled back fractionally as legs started accounting for what they’d spent.

That slight retreat relieved Wigan, and although the space it created was small, it was there, and at the moment, Wigan were thanking their stars for the break.

Still, there was no intent behind the passes they played.

It was almost like waiting for a slow and silent execution because the moment Chelsea recovered what they’d spent, they were certainly going to spur into action again.

Leo watched all this unfold, but with how things were going, he just didn’t see a way out.

And then to make matters worse, Chelsea, once Whatmough got the ball, read it and started again immediately, tightening around whoever was nearest.

Slowly but surely they ramped up the pressure until the intensity got back to previous levels, and as it did, Leo found the ball coming his way.

And when they saw that, the reaction of the opponents was instant, almost like they’d been waiting for just that.

Every Chelsea player within twenty yards seemed to sharpen the moment the ball reached Leo.

They had clearly been told about him during the week.

Not just who he was, but how he played.

Their manager had anticipated two situations that he expected from Wigan because of how they’d been pressing this season.

And currently one of those two situations was unfolding.

And with what had been drilled into them, it didn’t seem like it would be too hard to take the ball off Leo, who liked to hold onto the ball and loom in tight spaces.

Jackson arrived first, and he didn’t show any signs of slowing.

He accelerated straight at Leo the moment the pass travelled, sensing an opportunity to force a mistake close to goal.

”Jackson pressing aggressively here and Calderon needs to be careful—”

The warning never got to finish.

Leo waited until the last possible moment before shifting his weight.

He had been so caught up in what to do that he hadn’t even realised how close the Cameroonian forward had crept.

But he hadn’t been handed the keys to such an important role for appearances’ sake.

Like a sudden switch had been flipped, he got away, but it wasn’t a burst of pace that took him away.

It was timing.

Jackson committed himself, leaning forward to attack the ball, and suddenly found himself charging through empty grass while Leo slipped out of reach with a single touch.

The crowd reacted, mainly the Wigan fans who felt like pins were being run across their eyes.

They had expected Leo to lose the ball, but somehow he had gotten away and now, what was unfolding again, was painful to watch.

The ball had stuck to Leo’s feet, but right as he raised his head, he met the eyes of Palmer, which was locked onto him and the ball at the same time.

The former Manchester City academy product came from a different angle, cutting off the obvious escape route, almost forcing Leo back.

Or at least that was the idea because just like he’d done to Jackson, Leo rolled the ball under his foot, letting Palmer’s momentum carry him a step too far, then darted through the gap that opened for half a second and vanished just as quickly.

And as he did, the murmurs became something else.