Harbinger Of Glory

The full-back immediately drove forward as Sander Berge slid across to meet him, stepping out of Burnley’s compact block right as Bennet slipped the ball inside.

Berge turned sharply to recover, but Carlo nudged the ball through the Burnley midfielder’s legs without breaking stride and burst into the space beyond him, drawing a ripple from the stands as he ventured right into the space Berge had left by pressing towards the right flank.

”Beautiful football,” the commentator said. ”That is absolutely brilliant.”

Carlo barely looked up before feeding the ball to Reyes.

The attacking midfielder, with his back to goal, let the pass roll right across his body instead of taking it first time.

For a moment it looked as though he’d misjudged it, but he spun after it, caught up in two strides and, with Burnley’s midfield still trying to recover, cushioned it straight back into Carlo’s path.

By then, Carlo was already running.

”The return ball... Carlo again...” the commentators called as the Italian skipped past one challenge.

A second Burnley shirt lunged in, but Carlo slipped right between them and then through a third as the commentary struggled to keep pace all the while.

”He’s still going... Carlo... still Carlo...” the commentators bellowed as the winger emerged beyond the arc with just enough room to pull the trigger, and he did.

Coiling his right foot back, Carlo’s effort curled low toward the bottom-right corner, hoping to place the ball right beyond Trafford.

Trafford reacted late but brilliantly, springing down to his left and getting a strong hand behind it and pushing the ball away toward the byline before the commentators had even finished describing the run.

”What a save!” the main commentator roared but couldn’t continue as Ezra arrived at the loose ball.

The right winger killed the ball with his first touch, lifted his head and, rather than forcing an immediate cross, waited half a heartbeat before he floated one into the area.

It wasn’t aimed at anyone in particular, but O’Shea answered that call.

The centre-back thundered in from deep, barging through his marker before launching himself at the delivery, and he met it cleanly, but the header flashed across goal, wide but barely.

All around, the home side of the stadium, or basically the whole stadium, groaned in one breath before breaking into applause.

”So close!” the commentator cried, finally getting a breath’s moment.

”Jason O’Shea timed that run to perfection, but he couldn’t keep his head in the right direction!”

O’Shea landed on both knees with his hands locked behind his head, staring at the turf in disbelief.

He stayed there for a second before climbing back to his feet with an embarrassed grin and jogging towards halfway.

Following that, Burnley’s structure still held.

They continued to crowd Leo and Tiehi whenever Wigan built through midfield, closing passing lanes before they could even appear.

But the longer the half wore on, the more Wigan began finding ways around it.

Sometimes it came through the wings.

Sometimes through quick combinations and sometimes through nothing more than individual quality.

In the thirty-second minute, Leo looked up from inside his own half and spotted Keane beginning his run, and the pass arrived perfectly, timed to perfection.

Keane burst through the middle with only Trafford ahead of him, and for one glorious second the away end was already rising.

Then Dalcroix arrived.

The Burnley defender recovered with outstanding pace, leaning into Keane just as the striker shaped to square the ball across goal.

The contact was enough, but not enough for a foul or penalty as Keane stumbled and saw the angle disappearing right before his eyes.

Still, he played it, but the ball drifted harmlessly past the goalpost.

”That is magnificent recovery defending,” the co-commentator said. ”He never panicked.”

Trafford gathered the ball and then sent it long after that, but ten minutes later Wigan came again, this time through the right flank.

Femi Seriki, after getting to the ball, slipped it right to Ezra before proving an option for the right winger, who played it into the middle for Seriki to run onto, only for him to dash ahead and receive the return ball from Seriki.

Ezra eventually ran out of room as he neared the byline.

With a single glance, he whipped a dangerous cross towards the far post.

It wasn’t clean, though, as it skimmed off a defender, but it still dropped invitingly for Carlo, who arrived at full speed and met it first time with his weaker left foot.

The connection was sweet for a weak-footed shot, but the direction wasn’t.

The volley rattled into the side netting, as Trafford breathed a sigh of relief while the effort drew another collective gasp from the home crowd.

”Oh, that wasn’t far away.”

Before the commentary could move on, the DW changed.

The sound shifted, showing a more dreadful tone as Wigan suddenly found themselves sprinting deeper into their half after Trafford’s long and quick effort.

Tiehi settled under the ball in the place he anticipated it would fall, but a wave of pressure from the Burnley players saw him step forward to intercept Trafford’s long clearance, but he missed it.

Suddenly Burnley were away.

”They’ve played through him!” the commentator shouted, trying to catch up as Leo suddenly found himself screaming more than he’d done the entire season.

”Drop! Drop!” he yelled, his voice carrying clearly across the pitch as he sprinted back towards his own penalty area.

Whatmough stepped up to confront the ball carrier, but one simple pass took him out of the game.

The ball was worked quickly into the space behind Bennet after that, and Luca Koleosho was onto it in full stride.

The winger barely broke rhythm before whipping a first-time cross towards the far post.

Leo tracked its flight hoping Amos could get to the ball, but then he saw Foster.

Lyle Foster charged into the space behind him with only one thought in mind, and Leo could see it coming from a mile away.

There was only one thing suitable for this, and if it wasn’t a volley, it couldn’t be anything else.

Leo, with all these thoughts in mind, didn’t hesitate.

He spun and threw himself towards the dropping ball.

Unluckily, Foster arrived at the same moment that Leo got there first and got his forehead to the cross, sending the clearance away, but right then, Foster’s boot crashed into the side of Leo’s head, and in football, it didn’t take too much to drop a man.