Harbinger Of Glory

Arteta could only sigh as he watched the Wigan players celebrate.

For a moment, he remained where he was, hands resting against his hips as the noise from the away end rolled around the Emirates.

The work Arsenal had put into the game, the control they had fought so hard to establish, had disappeared in the space of a few seconds.

Before anything else, he felt Carlos Cuesta come up behind him.

”What do we do now?” the assistant asked.

Arteta shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the Wigan players as they began making their way back toward their positions.

”What we should have done a while ago.”

He turned then, finally looking directly at Cuesta.

”Bring him on.”

Cuesta understood immediately, and gave a short nod.

Then he moved towards the bench while Arteta turned back towards the pitch.

Down on the grass, Whatmough had already grabbed James McClean by the head and was pulling him away from the cluster of celebrating Wigan players before the winger could get himself into trouble.

”Come on,” Whatmough said, laughing as he dragged him back. ”We can win this.”

McClean was still breathing heavily, his face bright with adrenaline, but he heard Whatmough’s words, and he seemed to agree.

”We can win this,” Whatmough repeated, louder this time, turning towards the rest of the team.

”Everyone, get back. We’ve got the game where we want it. Just keep going.”

He brought both hands together, clapping once before pointing towards their half.

”Come on.”

The players began drifting back into position, but the away end showed no intention of calming down.

The broadcast picked up the noise as the commentators tried to make sense of what had just happened.

”What a turn of events here at the Emirates,” the main commentator said, almost having to raise his voice so it could get over the crowd.

”Wigan were behind, then they were level, and now Arsenal have conceded again after what looked like another promising attack of their own. This game simply refuses to settle.”

His co-commentator laughed softly.

”It feels like it’s never-ending. We’ve had the disallowed goal, the Arsenal lead, the equaliser, missed chances, controversy, and now another Wigan goal. And remember, there is still added time to come.”

While he said so, the camera briefly swept towards the Arsenal touchline where a figure had risen from the bench.

”And there’s movement over there as well. It seems Arteta is finally looking towards one of his men!”

The commentator paused as the camera followed him.

”That’s a man Arsenal could have done with before that Wigan equaliser, and they certainly need him now.”

His co-commentator immediately recognised him and then nodded.

”And what a player he has been for his country. One of the reasons they lifted the European Championship a few years ago after beating England in the final.”

”He is a man with a reputation for big games, and he could very well drag his team over the finish line today as well!”

The figure stepped to the side, and it was then that the main commentator finally put a name to him.

”Arsenal have a change, and it is none other than Jorginho, coming on for Arsenal, and Kai Havertz is the man making way.”

.....

[Oh...you thought!]

....

Havertz jogged towards the touchline, receiving a quick pat on the back from Arteta before stepping off.

Jorginho entered almost immediately, already pointing towards the spaces around him as he spoke to his teammates.

From his position, Leo watched the Italian slip into the midfield structure and begin making small adjustments, directing teammates into slightly different positions before the game restarted.

But it wasn’t just him, as Trossard was coming on too.

Martinelli came off, and Arteta watched both changes from the touchline with his arms folded, clearly gambling on experience and composure to see Arsenal through the final minutes.

After a while, the referee raised his whistle and blew once to settle the players, but the fans not so much.

Then the whistle went again.

Gabriel Jesus tapped the ball backwards and from there, everything exploded.

Arsenal immediately spread across the halfway line, like runners on the block, but it wasn’t just them.

Wigan also pushed forward at the same time rather than retreating into shape.

Neither side seemed interested in spending the final minutes protecting what they had.

The match had become too frantic for that and too chaotic for that.

Odegaard, seeing the pass from Jesus, let the ball go and, with his first touch of the game, Jorginho bent the ball across the field and towards Bukayo Saka on the right flank.

Saka brought it down and immediately caressed the ball with the outside of his boot as Bennet approached.

He nudged the ball forward in slight bits, but the expected one-on-one never came.

Instead, Saka laid the ball backwards into the space he had just vacated and with that, the ball caught Ben White who was already overlapping.

He took the pass in stride and accelerated forward, leaving Bennet caught between following him and staying with Saka.

For a moment, the full-back hesitated before turning and chasing White and right when he got there, White slowed just enough to make him think a cross was coming.

Then, when he got Bennett to inch a bit closer, he slipped the ball back inside to Saka, giving the winger time to receive the ball on the edge of the box, but he too immediately found himself facing Leo.

The latter stood astute, looking like he had no intention of letting Saka through.

Saka shifted once, twice, then played the ball through the narrow space between Leo and Bennet instead, and running right onto it was White, and when he got there, the full-back struck it first time across the face of goal.

”WHITE!” the commentator said, and the shout from the commentary box came almost at the same time as the ball flashed through the six-yard area.

”Is someone getting there? Anyone!”

As the ball flashed across the face of goal, Gabriel Jesus lunged at it but missed by inches, and for a moment, it seemed like it would pass, but Trossard arrived behind him, stretching desperately to reach the ball.

And by some sheer will, his boot made contact and instantly, the ball changed direction and slammed against the post.

Amos had barely moved.

For a heartbeat, the goalkeeper was rooted to the spot, watching the ball ricochet back across the six-yard area before Tilt threw himself towards it and hacked it away and right then, the Arsenal players turned in disbelief, and the commentary team could hardly believe it either.

”Oh my goodness, that was so close. So close! Wigan Athletic have gone onto the back foot again, and somehow Arsenal haven’t found the finish! They’ve had three bodies attacking that ball, and still it stays out!”

Whatmough got back to his feet and rightly beckoned his mates not to relax, but he couldn’t finish his words.

Arsenal took the throw quickly, trying to catch Wigan before they could recover their shape, but the ball was crossed almost immediately, and Amos stepped forward to claim it cleanly.

He gathered it against his chest and stayed there.

Then dramatically, he fell to the ground as more of the seconds began to tick away.

”Just four minutes of added time,” the main commentator said. ”That may surprise a few people given everything we’ve seen in this second half.”’