Harbinger Of Glory

Eventually, the game well and truly settled as both sides went at it.

It settled into exactly the contest it had threatened to become.

Everton enjoyed spells of possession, but then when Wigan won it back, they answered by almost scoring.

Neither side managed to hold control long enough to dictate the game, each forcing the other back before the balance inevitably shifted again.

Thirty-seven minutes in, the broadcast took stock.

"Interesting game," the co-commentator said.

"Very tactical. Very disciplined and very boring to be honest. But I’ll admit something... Leo Calderon hasn’t influenced this one the way we’ve become used to."

"You think he’s been quiet?" his colleague asked.

"I wouldn’t say quiet. He’s completed every pass he’s attempted, so that isn’t exactly what being quiet is."

While he went on in the gantry, he glanced down at the monitor.

"He also has a one hundred per cent pass accuracy. This means he hasn’t given the ball away once."

After saying this, the co-commentator shrugged.

"It just feels like those big moments haven’t come."

"I think that’s because people expect fireworks every time he touches it," the lead commentator replied.

"He’s playing as a defensive midfielder today, same as usual."

"Sometimes the correct pass is the spectacular pass. We’ve become so accustomed to him producing something extraordinary that when he simply controls the game, people mistake it for him being quiet."

While the commentators went at it on the broadcast, Garner tried to prove the point wrong almost immediately.

He skipped past Bennet down Everton’s right and shaped his body to whip an early cross into the area, but Leo arrived before the ball ever left his boot.

He slid across, hooked it away cleanly and was back on his feet before Garner had finished turning.

"Brilliant anticipation from Calderon," the commentator came in, cut-throat.

Without breaking stride, Leo, after winning the ball back, fired the loose ball wide to Ezra.

Ezra cushioned it on his chest, killed it with the sole of his boot and squared up to Mykolenko.

The full-back braced himself, but Ezra never came.

Instead, he rolled the ball inside and into space for what was to come.

Darikwa, already tucked into midfield, charged onto it, carrying play forward before feeding Leo just outside Everton’s compact defensive block.

Leo resisted the temptation to force it.

He took small, almost minuscule touches on the ball while going at the Everton defence without fully committing and then kept the home side thinking.

He kept Everton shifting from side to side, patiently waiting for the smallest crack to appear, and when it finally did, Leo needed only half a yard.

He struck the ball first time as the shot climbed before dipping viciously toward the bottom-right corner, looking like a goal in the way.

Pickford saw it late. But the same couldn’t be said for his almost superhuman reactions.

He sprang low and got both gloves behind it, beating the effort away before it could sneak inside the post.

"Darikwa’s onto the loose ball!"

The right-back reacted instantly, grabbing it for a quick throw.

Reyes flicked it around the corner with his first touch, releasing Darikwa down the flank once more.

The cross arrived early, and for that, Will Keane met it first time.

The Wigan veteran who sought to break the deadlock for the match and pull his team ahead, climbed and got his head onto the ball, but his effort met a strong diving hand by the Everton goalkeeper.

The ball pingballed almost through the bodies until eventually, it settled on the edge of the box.

"And the follow-up...?"

The rebound bounced straight toward Leo on the edge of the area and with bodies around him, he didn’t hesitate.

His right foot thundered through the ball, but halfway to goal it struck Onana’s outstretched arm and instantly, the flight changed.

Before anything else could happen, Leo’s arm shot into the air as he turned to look at the match official, but he had barely done so when the referee’s whistle pierced the noise around Goodison.

"Penalty!" the commentator affirmed as the home side erupted in outrage.

"There it is? A chance for Wigan to pull ahead in this tie and finally have some breathing space."

The away crowd instantly shot to thier feet in celeberation, their voices climbing louder in the midst of enemy territory but they didn’t mind.

For the rest of Goodison Park, though, they thought otherwise as the fans complained about the ball not being a foul or a penalty and then finding ridiculous ways to justify it.

Stiil that didn’t change

"Handball from Onana," the commentator said.

"And I think it’s the right call. His arm is in an unnatural position, and the ball strikes it clearly. Wigan have a penalty."

"I thought this half was heading toward goalless," the co-commentator said. "And now suddenly Wigan have the chance to take everything into the break."

Everton surrounded the referee almost immediately.

Not because they expected him to change his mind, but because players argue decisions like these out of instinct as much as hope.

Hands pointed while heads shook.

The referee on the other hand let them finish.

Then, with the calm certainty of someone who had made his decision, he ushered them away and pointed once more to the spot.

The protests died there.

Will Keane already had the ball tucked under his arm.

He placed it carefully on the penalty spot before taking several measured steps backwards, never once looking at Pickford.

Around him, Goodison held its breath.

The home supporters whistled, and in response, the away end answered with songs.

The referee took one last glance around the box, making sure nobody had wandered in early.

Then the whistle came.

"This is it for Wigan. The chance to make go up!"

Keane was moving before the sound had finished echoing.

Pickford waited...

...waited...

...then exploded to his left as Keane struck the ball with absolute conviction.

Pickford guessed correctly and got a strong hand to it and for a split second, it looked enough but it wasn’t.

The shot carried too much pace as the ball burst through his fingertips, crashed into the side netting and rippled the goal before rebounding back across the line.

"HE’S SCORED!" the commentators roared as the away end erupted.

Keane wheeled away, one fist already punching the Merseyside air as the relief finally reached him.

His teammates caught him before he’d made it halfway to the corner, shirts tugged, heads grabbed, bodies piling around him as the travelling supporters celebrated ahead of them.

"Wigan Athletic lead at Goodison Park!" the commentator roared.

"Will Keane from the spot! Pickford guessed the right way, even got a hand to it, but there was simply too much behind the strike!"

"That’s more like it from Shaun Dawson’s side," the co-commentator added. "

They’ve weathered Everton’s pressure, grown into the game minute by minute, and right on the stroke of halftime they’ve landed the first blow."

The camera found Dawson on the touchline, who simply clenched both fists once, nodded to himself, and turned toward the halfway line.

The whistle for halftime couldn’t come soon enough now.

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