Harbinger Of Glory

The man, sitting in the away end, had spent most of the second half looking at the scoreboard, and every time, it told him the same thing.

3-1.

It wasn’t something he hadn’t seen before in such an unpredictable league as the Premier League, but coming into a game with so much belief and then having it be dimmed right at the start was never a good feeling.

While the game unfolded around him, he looked down at his feet, then back up at the numbers.

”This is it for me,” he muttered to himself.

Nobody in particular heard him, and it hardly mattered.

A moment later, he got to his feet and began making his way toward the steps.

A few heads turned towards him but then turned back, because there was nothing unusual about what he was doing.

Around him, others were doing the same.

One by one, then in small groups, Liverpool supporters began filing out of the away end.

Not in anger but because they had seen enough.

”Liverpool supporters are starting to leave now,” Tyler said from the gantry after seeing the growing trend in the away end!

”And you can understand why. Three-one down, and time is running out.”

Beside him, Gray gave a small laugh.

”I’ve been to plenty of grounds over the years, Martin, and Liverpool fans don’t usually give up on a game easily. They are one of the fans that stick around no matter what happens, but I guess being this down away from home will do that to any fan!”

The gaps in the away end continued to grow. Meanwhile, the rest of the DW noticed.

And every time another group stood up to leave, the home supporters found another reason to cheer.

Down on the pitch, Liverpool had stopped looking like a team trying to win and started looking like a team waiting for the whistle.

Their movement were reduced to the minimum, as they looked more like spectators.

And when they did win the ball back, the intent to do something with it wasn’t really there.

The spirit of the comeback had died somewhere around the eighty-fifth minute when the scoreboard hadn’t changed, and the legs hadn’t found anything more to give.

Wigan, on the other hand, were also eager to let them have the ball, since they weren’t doing anything dangerous with it.

And they also didn’t do anything risky, more than content to let the time run out.

The clock moved and eventually hit the 90th minute mark, and after that, the three minutes of added time came and went as quickly as it did when one side decided that they had had enough for that evening.

Eventually, the whistle of the referee brought the game to a close, and the DW came apart faster than it had done during any of the goals because of the anticipation of another three points in the bag.

The noise rolled around feeling more heightened than any previous home game, and that was because the fans now had something new to look after, and that was the eleven straight Premier League wins.

Down the pitch, the Wigan players turned toward one another as the result finally settled in.

A few smiled while others simply lingered, catching up with the rest of the stadium.

Leo was among the first to begin enjoying the win.

He hugged Reyes, then Carlo, then Ezra, each one brief but genuine before they moved on to the next player.

There was no need for much celebration between them.

They all knew what they had just done.

Across the pitch, the Liverpool players were making their way toward them.

Leo met a few of them along the way, shaking hands and exchanging a few quiet words before moving on.

The disappointment on their faces was obvious, but there was no hostility between the teams.

Near the touchline, Klopp was already walking toward Dawson.

He wore a small, tired smile as he approached, the sort that came from accepting the result rather than enjoying it.

Dawson stepped forward and held out his hand.

”Very good game, and I have no words,” Klopp said, taking Dawson’s hand.

”You played a very good game. Your team played a very good game.”

”Thank you,” Dawson said. ”Appreciate that.”

Klopp looked at him for a moment and then laughed quietly.

He shook his head afterwards and walked away as Dawson watched him go.

”And there it is,” Tyler said on the broadcast.

”Full time at the DW Stadium and it’s Wigan Athletic three, Liverpool one.”

”Liverpool came into this fixture as favourites in most people’s minds, and it wasn’t hard to see why. History, quality, experience and with Jurgen Klopp. All of that was real coming into today.

And yet here we are. Wigan have beaten Liverpool at home, and that makes it eleven consecutive Premier League wins, thirteen in all competitions, and they become the seventh club in the history of this league to reach that mark. And the first time in the history of Wigan Athletic.”

At that, Gray came in from beside him.

”Thirty-three points from eleven games. Their nearest competitor is Manchester City, six points behind, who beat Bournemouth six-one earlier today and were probably watching this result come in hoping Liverpool might close the gap a little.”

”Well, that hasn’t happened. Someone is going to have to do it themselves, or it isn’t getting done.”

”Speaking of which,” Tyler said, ”Wigan’s next fixture is not very far from home. In the next round of the English Premier League, they will be facing Erik Ten Hag’s Manchester United, and it will be a sight to see!”

The gantry went quiet for a moment as the two of them sat with what that meant.

”It’s hard not to think it,” Tyler said eventually.

”If Liverpool, with everything they have, came here today and lost three-one, what exactly is Manchester United going to do against this Wigan side?”

The broadcast camera moved down to the touchline and found Dawson standing alone, watching his players on the pitch, his hands in his pockets and his face showing very little of what was going on behind it.