Harbinger Of Glory

The winger poised himself before receiving it with his back to goal and a defender tight enough to feel.

There was no attempt to bring it fully under control.

Instead, he let the ball arrive and, with a delicate touch of his left foot, redirected it right centrally, and that was the best decision he’d made all game.

The touch took the ball away from pressure and into space, rolling perfectly into the path of Reyes, who was already moving onto it at speed.

From behind him, Edson Alvarez arrived at the same time, realising the chance to win the ball back, but a second later, all he saw ahead of him was Reyes leaping slightly over the ball while opening his legs, letting it run under him.

Alvarez, who had committed to winning it from Reyes, suddenly found that Reyes was no longer part of the equation, but his momentum still carried him through the space where the contest had been.

When he spun slightly, all he saw was a flash of blue and white grabbing the ball with the number 8 at his back.

”Nice touch from Ezra and a dummy to finish from Reyes. Beautiful interplay from Wigan here and now Leo has the ball at his feet,” the commentary came as Leo continued his run.

He had started it from deep before the ball had reached Ezra, reading the shape of what was developing.

And after seeing Reyes get on the ball, he stretched to take the loose ball into his stride without breaking it and pushed up the pitch as the DW found another gear in their roars.

After going a bit further, Leo raised his head towards the right, but Ezra hadn’t yet caught up after starting his run late.

Once more, he took another touch to settle himself and lifted his head to his left where a run was beginning to open up.

He looked at it and just long enough.

Coufal looked too, but Leo had already seen what he wanted.

He sent a pass, driven hard and flat into the channel behind the fullback.

Coufal reacted immediately, throwing himself into a slide, but all he managed was the faintest touch, which wasn’t enough to slow the ball nor stop it and right ahead of him, Carlo was already there.

”Beautiful football from Wigan,” the commentator said as Carlo curved onto the ball, the winger never having broken stride.

Without taking a single touch, he whipped a low cross first-time across the face of goal before West Ham’s defence could reset.

In the thick of it, Jake met it with Zouma glued to his back.

The two collided shoulder-to-shoulder in the middle of the box, neither giving an inch and for a second Jake looked as though he might try to turn and shoot, but in the next second, he felt the angle disappear.

So he improvised.

Instead of forcing the shot, he flicked the ball behind himself with the outside of his boot, hoping that someone could get onto the end of it, and someone did.

The pass rolled perfectly into the space at the top of the area, and running onto it as always was Leo.

”Oh, this is dangerous,” the co-commentator said immediately as Ward-Prowse charged toward him.

Leo’s first touch invited the challenge, but his second removed the invitation.

Ward-Prowse committed to the first movement, stepped in to win the ball, and found nothing but air as Leo slipped past him.

And the crowd rose uncontrollably as thousands of people started to see the same possibility at the same time.

”Calderón’s through!” the commentary came in, but it hadn’t accounted for Aguerd, who came flying across from the left.

The centre-back threw himself toward the ball, stretching to sweep it clear before Leo could shoot, but Leo slowed the ball and then moved the ball across his body in one smooth motion.

A la croqueta, from one foot to the other.

It was simple enough but devastating as Aguerd’s momentum carried him past the challenge he thought he was making, his arm briefly catching at Leo as he went by.

But Leo was already gone.

And suddenly the edge of the box had become open grass.

”Leo doing it again. Second player bypassed, and he’s on the edge and...”

Before the commentary could finish, Leo’s weaker left foot came through, as he had little time to switch.

Before Zouma could complete his slide, Leo touched it slightly, an effort miles away from the expectations of a heavy shot that many thought was coming.

The ball went low and slowly past Areola’s outstretched leg and into the net before the goalkeeper had finished the motion of going down, and the DW came apart completely.

”OHHHHHHHHHHHHH HE’S DIFFERENT, TIME AND TIME AGAIN.”

Leo laughed as his teammates caught him before he’d gotten ten yards, crashing onto him as more and more bodies piled onto the already existing pile.

”WHO ELSE,” the commentator said, and left it there for a moment.

”Who else but Leo Calderon. Wigan’s first home Premier League goal in a decade, scored by an eighteen-year-old who arrived at this club with nothing and has become everything. That is the story of this club right now.”

”Three goals in three Premier League games,” the co-commentator said.

”Playing primarily as a deep midfielder. Sometimes as a centre back. I’m running out of ways to contextualise what this boy is doing. Some strikers would take those numbers, especially in such early times of the season.”

”And that’s the thing,” the main commentator said.

”He’s not even supposed to be scoring. He’s supposed to be the one making other people score. And he’s doing that too.”

Back on the pitch, Leo came up from the pile and walked toward the Wigan end with both fists raised, and the crowd gave it back to him doubled, the scarves moving above the stands as he bumped his fists toward them twice and turned back.

”Leo, Leo Leo!”

”He’s our Italian magnifico.”

”He goes left he goes right, he turns defenders to shite.”

”He comes and goes like Franco Di Santo!”

The DW was still going as the players walked back to their half, the chants rolling down from the stands as the crowd found the song it wanted.