Harbinger Of Glory

The Wigan players made their way toward the tunnel at the break, and as they did, one of the members of the club’s travelling staff caught sight of Leo coming through with Reyes and Fletcher.

”Good half,” he said, giving Leo an approving nod as they passed.

Leo looked across and returned it with a small smile.

It was convincing enough from a distance, but there was something missing in it that the staff member did not notice.

Leo’s expression had all the right pieces, yet none of their warmth quite reached his eyes.

He kept walking, his thoughts still circling the same moment from several minutes earlier as he kept up with Fletcher, who looked like he could use the bathroom any second.

There had been plenty that had gone right, and he knew that.

He had helped Wigan regain control after Arsenal took the lead, had carried the ball through pressure, had found Fletcher with the cross that nearly produced an equaliser, and had played his part in the corner that eventually did.

Yet none of those moments had erased the feeling that he had left something out there.

As the two teams reached the end of the tunnel, the players naturally began to separate.

Arsenal’s red shirts peeled away toward one side while Wigan’s blue and white moved toward the other, with the brief exchanges between opponents disappearing as quickly as they had begun.

A few players exchanged nods or words on the way through, but nobody lingered for long even if they wanted to.

There was too much at stake to be smiling at each other, at least until the game ended.

Leo followed the rest of the Wigan squad into their dressing room, where Dawson was already moving around before most of the players had even reached their seats.

The manager paced from one side of the room to the other, occasionally glancing toward one of the analysts who was standing nearby with a tablet in his hands.

”Go back there,” Dawson said, stopping beside him.

The analyst tapped the screen and brought something up.

Dawson leaned over his shoulder, watching the footage for several seconds before asking him to rewind it.

Whatever he had seen seemed to have caught his attention, because he remained there rather than immediately addressing the players.

The squad watched him as they came in, but nobody seemed particularly surprised by it.

Fletcher dropped into his seat and began pulling off his boots while Reyes took a bottle from the table beside him.

Away from the two, Whatmough sat back, still breathing heavily from the first half, while McClean walked past Dawson without saying anything and settled into his usual place.

Leo did the same and sat down among the others, resting his elbows against his knees as the noise of the room gradually settled.

Around him, conversations remained low, mostly limited to players discussing individual moments from the half, but Dawson continued to study the tablet before him.

A quarter of an hour later, the players began to emerge from the tunnel in twos and threes, the brief shelter of the Emirates giving way to the grey afternoon outside.

Arsenal came first, Wigan following behind them, and for a few seconds the two groups moved together again before naturally spreading apart as they approached the pitch.

Dawson and Nolan were several steps behind this, watching silently at all that was going on while keeping their words to themselves.

Through that, Dawson’s eyes had already found Leo.

The midfielder walked between Reyes and Fletcher, listening to the two exchange a few words about the first half, but Leo barely joined in.

He nodded once or twice when one of them spoke to him, yet his attention seemed to be somewhere else entirely.

His expression remained neutral, calm even.

But Dawson had spent enough time around him to recognise the difference between Leo being quiet and Leo having something occupying his head.

Nolan noticed his friend’s gaze, and just as Dawson let out a slow breath, he asked, ”What is it?”

Dawson shook his head, keeping his eyes on the players ahead.

”Looks like we’ll need to have a talk with him after the game.”

Nolan nodded, understanding what Dawson meant and looked ahead right as the players stepped out into the rain.

It had eased since the opening stages, but it had not stopped.

Fine drops continued to fall across the Emirates, settling on the already slick surface and darkening the shirts of anyone who had spent more than a few seconds standing still.

Leo tilted his head back as he walked, letting several drops hit his face before looking down again and glancing at his socks.

”I should’ve changed these,” he said, causing Reyes to turn towards him.

”What?” he asked curiously, having heard Leo’s murmurs, but the latter just shook his head.

”Nothing.”

The two separated as they reached their positions, and high above them, two people worked in tandem on the broadcast gantry, bringing it to life as the players bled onto the field.

”Well, welcome back to the Emirates,” the main commentator began, his voice carrying over the opening shots of the players returning to the pitch.

”And if you thought the walk back to the gantry was wet, you should see what these players are dealing with down there.

The rain has eased, thankfully, but the surface remains extremely slick, and that can change the way you approach almost every challenge.”

Beside him, his co-commentator laughed softly.

”It certainly changes how brave you feel when you’re trying to turn with the ball. We’ve seen players losing their footing, the ball skidding away from them, and goalkeepers having to judge everything a little earlier than usual.

Both sides have had their moments, but at one apiece, you suspect they’ll have to grit their teeth and find another level.”

”Arsenal will feel they could have had more from that first half.”

”They probably will. But Wigan have shown why they’re top of this league. They haven’t come here and sat there hoping Arsenal make mistakes. They’ve tried to play.”

”And that is the question for the second forty-five. Does the quality eventually tell, or can Wigan continue to make this look like an even contest?”

Down below, the players had already taken their positions, sparing no time to begin the half, and the referee agreed.

He quickly checked the readiness of both sides and then glanced toward his assistants, seeking the green lights from the two, and when they came, the whistle blew steadily, bringing the second half to life.

Right at the kick-off spot, the ball moved from Fletcher to Reyes, then across to Tiehi before Arsenal closed the space.

Right then, a shout came from McClean on the left.

”Time!”

Reyes released it, and the moment he did, the warning came from Leo a moment later.

Ben White had pressed up far, and with little time to think, McClean just did his best and found the best option he always had in Leo.

The midfielder received the return pass with his studs hovering just above the wet grass, taking the ball across his body instead of allowing it to run away from him.

Odegaard was already moving toward him, forcing Leo to release it early and calmly and from there, what happened was just an extension of the earlier movements.

There was no frantic opening of the two sides striving to establish control.

Arsenal tried to move Wigan from side to side, while Wigan refused to chase every movement and instead waited for the right moment to step forward.

Players called for the ball constantly, voices rising above the steady noise from the stands.

”Here!”

”On me!”

”Clear!”

”Leave it!”

Every touch demanded a little more concentration than usual.

When players planted their boots to change direction, they did so cautiously, sometimes digging their studs into the surface as though that extra fraction of grip might be enough to keep their balance.

The rain had reduced the speed of the drops, not the slipperiness of the pitch, and for almost ten minutes, neither side found a way through.

The player graphics before the match had made the difference between the two squads look substantial, but down on the grass there was little evidence of it.

Wigan’s players matched Arsenal’s intensity, Arsenal matched Wigan’s willingness to contest every loose ball, and whenever one side appeared ready to break, the other recovered its shape.

Then Wigan committed numbers forward.

Reyes carried the ball into Arsenal territory before finding McClean, who pushed it toward Fletcher.

Fletcher tried to turn, but Saliba stepped across him and forced the ball back, forcing Wigan to recycle possession, then switch play toward the opposite side.

It was enough to pull several Arsenal players away from their usual positions, but when the ball eventually broke loose, Arsenal reacted first.