Harbinger Of Glory

Calvert-Lewin rolled the ball back, and Goodison Park came alive before either side had managed a meaningful touch.

The noise that had been there long before kickoff now followed every pass, every challenge and every loose ball.

Doucouré collected possession in midfield and immediately saw the lane open in front of him.

Normally, he’d have driven straight into it.

Instead, he checked himself.

Everton’s coaches had spent the week drilling one message into the players.

Don’t invite Wigan’s press through the middle.

Leo Calderon built their press around moments exactly like this, springing forward the instant an opponent tried to carry the ball through central areas.

Doucouré remembered, and so rather than charging into space, he turned his hips and played the safer pass across the pitch.

For the opening few minutes, neither team tried to force the game.

Everton monopolised the ball without rushing it, moving it patiently from side to side.

They weren’t probing for an opening as much as they were denying Wigan the chance to build any rhythm of their own.

For a while, it worked.

Seven minutes in, Doucouré exchanged a quick one-two with McNeil on the left flank of Everton’s attack, the return pass splitting Wigan’s midfield just enough to drag Darikwa out of position.

McNeil attacked the gap immediately and got to the loose ball cleanly, leaving Darikwa to chase after him.

The veteran fullback closed the gap, doing enough to even round McNeil.

Still, before he could pose a threat, the Everton man knocked the ball beyond Darikwa, burst around the outside and left the right-back scrambling to recover before whipping a low cross into the six-yard box with his left foot.

”It’s a dangerous ball!” the commentary called as bodies inside the box poised themselves to attack the ball, but their fantasies were cut short,

The Wigan goalkeeper stepped across his line decisively, not bothering with the pressure before towering above the Everton striker and then claiming the ball deftly.

Even so, the home supporters responded with warm applause.

Things could only improve from that point on, and they prayed that it would.

”Nicely done by McNeil but an even better reaction from the Latic shotstopper.”

”That battle is worth watching,” the commentator said as play continued.

”McNeil against Darikwa could shape this afternoon. McNeil’s looked bright already, and Darikwa knows he’s in for a real test.”

Wigan won the ball back for the first time inside the next minute and began working it around the Everton shape patiently and looking for the angle that would open something.

They tried but found nothing clean and were forced to recycle.

They recycled and recycled but each time found nothing really glaring that they could use against the Merseyside team.

They were compact, and they looked keen on keeping it hard for Wigan to do anything.

At least until Leo stepped into a loose touch.

With an excellent showing of individual brilliance, he whisked the ball past Doucoure and then found McClean on the left in one motion, the pass isolating him against Ashley Young.

”Lovely ball from the teenager in here,” the commentary came in as McClean got to the ball and tried to run at the other veteran, but Young stepped in with an almost eerily perfect tackle.

A display that only someone who had spent more than fifteen years playing at the highest level could manage.

”Oh, nicely done by Young,” the commentary came in as the right back transitioned from his tackle into a piercing run.

Leo, seeing the onrushing player, stepped up and tried to bait Young into going further than planned, but he wouldn’t still be playing at that high level if he fell for such an obvious trap without pressure.

The former Manchester United player slowed instead before glancing at the pressure building in the Wigan box and then sending the ball over him instead.

The ball climbed as high as it could before coming back down, right as Calvert-Lewin rose and got his head to it.

His effort was one under pressure, but he did enough and directed it toward goal with enough on it to cause a moment of alarm before it drifted past the post.

”Everton refusing to give Wigan anything,” the commentator said. ”Every time there’s a hint of space they play away from it. This is a very well-drilled defensive approach from Dyche’s side.”

Amos set the ball down for the third time in fifteen minutes and sent it long.

This time Leo climbed past Garner to win the header, and it fell to McClean who touched it immediately to Reyes.

Reyes shaped his body as though he was about to slide the ball into McClean’s path down the left, and he did so well that even the Everton players bought it.

Doucouré shifted across, and while he did so, Onana followed.

Even Garner leaned toward that side, anticipating the pass, but Reyes never played it.

Instead, he whipped the ball across his body and burst into the space they’d just abandoned, driving through the middle with long, powerful strides.

The gap disappeared almost as quickly as it had opened.

Two blue shirts closed him down before any white shirt could arrive in support, but Reyes slowed for half a second, and the second after that, his feet came alive.

One touch carried the ball across his body while the next slipped it between the two challenges, leaving both Everton midfielders reaching at empty air.

The opening that his effort had created lasted barely a heartbeat, but he didn’t need that much in the first place.

Drawing his leg back, Reyes struck through the ball with his right foot like it owed him money.”

”It’s opened up for Reyes!” the commentary came in on the gantry as the ball streaked towards goal.

The effort screamed toward the far corner before Jordan Pickford flung himself across goal, stretching every inch of his frame to palm it away.

”OH SAVED!!” the commentators called out as the ball bounced back into play, the rebound dropping kindly for Ezra.

He attacked it immediately, cut inside onto his stronger foot and drove a low shot toward the near post, but once more, Pickford was there, persistent and utterly brilliant.

He launched himself downward and strongly enough beat it away for a corner.

”That was top class from the shot stopper. Jordan Pickford is keeping Everton in this game!” the commentator exclaimed.

”Two outstanding saves in quick succession, and Wigan are beginning to ask some serious questions.”

Leo jogged over to take the corner, never appearing hurried.

Inside the penalty area, shirts tangled, arms tugged, boots shuffled for position.

When the referee’s permission came, Leo’s delivery curled toward the far post.

It looked like it might even go out at the last, but Ezra rose above his marker and glanced a firm header back across goal.

His effort was thunderous, but Pickford barely moved.

He simply stepped forward, caught it cleanly above his head and wrapped both hands around the ball.

It looked less like a save than a goalkeeper collecting crosses in training, and for a moment, he stayed where he was, cradling the ball against his chest.

He was in no rush to send the ball back into play.

He’d realised that for the past few minutes, Wigan had seized the momentum and so he wasn’t about to hand it straight back, lest that resulted in him conceding.