Harbinger Of Glory

Two days after Burnley, the dressing room had already settled back into routine.

The celebrations were over, and the league table still had Wigan sitting at the top, but nobody seemed particularly interested in looking at it anymore.

Music drifted from one corner of the locker room while players finished pulling on training gear.

Jake, as always, spent the entire time doing something other than preparing.

He stood, trying to convince Carlo that his volley against Burnley had been going in before the post "rudely interrupted history," a claim Carlo dismissed with a laugh.

The players had earned the jokes and the relief that came off the back of that many successive victories.

A moment later, Dawson walked in with Nolan a step behind him.

The conversations died naturally at that as their players looked to their manager to see what he had for them.

Dawson, on the other hand, looked around the room for a moment before resting his hands on the back of an empty chair.

"We’ve enjoyed the result long enough. You should enjoy winning, as that is the reason why we strive so hard.

What matters now is understanding why the game became as difficult as it did when it wasn’t really supposed to."

His eyes searched the faces of the players who looked like they found that same matter intriguing.

"Burnley couldn’t win against us, but we were exposed in that game!"

Several players exchanged glances as the manager went on.

"They accepted they weren’t going to stop us everywhere. So they stopped trying," Dawson said as he walked over to the tactics board and picked up a marker.

"They identified where our attacks usually begin."

A few quick strokes sketched the midfield as it all led him to circle Leo’s usual position.

"They crowded this space," he said as he circled another position.

"They blocked the passing lanes that we normally use in progressing, and so although we had the ball and had the lion’s share of possession," he said, stepping aside slightly, "we weren’t moving them."

Now the room was completely silent.

"This isn’t criticism, but it is information that I am giving you. The league has seven matches of footage now," he said as he looked around at every player.

"Burnley won’t be the last side to try this."

He tapped the board once.

"And if another team succeeds, we can’t keep waiting for Leo or someone else to bail us out like last time."

Leo folded his arms, not really liking being used as a sort of whip to use on his mates, but he didn’t complain since he knew it was necessary if Dawson was doing it.

"The goal he scored..." Dawson continued.

"...doesn’t change the fact that, for long periods, they succeeded in disrupting us."

He looked directly at Leo.

"That’s not on you."

Then he looked back at everyone else.

"That’s on all of us."

"So..." he whispered, almost, as a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth,

"...while Leo’s over there trying not to reopen the side of his head..."

Before Dawson finished, Jake snorted and then tried swallowing it, but that only made it worse.

The laugh escaped anyway as every head turned toward him, who immediately straightened in his seat.

"...Sorry," he mouthed as Reyes shook his head.

"Idiot."

A few quiet laughs spread around the room, and Dawson waited until they settled again.

"As I was saying..."

"We’re going to spend the next couple of days finding different answers."

He erased the circles around Leo before setting the duster down.

"I want attacks that start on both flanks."

"I want combinations that don’t involve Leo touching the ball, and I want Burnley to become the last team that thinks shutting one player down is enough."

He put the marker back as he began addressing his men wholly again.

"The best sides in this league don’t rely on one solution. They create countless ones and then recycle them until one eventually breaks the setup for them."

Then he clapped once.

"Lads.....," he said as he looked around the room.

"Boots on. Including you, Jake," he added as all eyes found the feet of Jake that were only clothed with socks.

"Hehe," Jake chuckled while scratching the back of his head as the rest of the players rose almost together.

Behind them, Dawson watched the group disappear before Nolan stepped beside him.

"What really is the game plan?" he asked as Dawson shrugged.

"My guess is as good as yours, but..." he continued, smiling as Nolan pulled ahead a bit, " I will make sure that they prepare for the wrong version of us."

...

Away from Lancashire and in a meeting room in North London, Ange Postecoglou sat at the head of a table with his coaching staff arranged around it and a tactical board at the far end covered in magnetic pieces.

It had almost been an hour since they sat there, but they hadn’t really progressed.

After a long stretch of silence, one of the coaches leaned forward.

"Burnley found something," he said. "If we employ the same approach, isolate the midfielder, cut off the passing lanes—"

Ange made a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh.

"If the Wigan coach could be beaten with the same tactic twice in a row," he said, "he wouldn’t be a Premier League manager. He’d be somewhere else entirely."

He looked at the board before shaking his head.

"Dawson will have spent every hour since that game thinking about exactly what Burnley did and how to answer it. If we walk in there trying the same thing, we will walk out of their home stadium feeling sorry we ever came."

"I really understand the incomprehensiveness that comes with surprises like Dawson and his side, but I won’t be underestimating them. That’s the last thing I will do, lest I end up or we end up like the other teams!"

He looked at the magnetic piece at the centre of the Wigan shape.

"What do we do about him?" one of the staff said, pointing at it.

Ange looked at the piece with Leo’s name on it and exhaled slowly.

"We’ve got a few days," he said.

"First we work out what the lineup Dawson puts out could look like. Then we work out our answer." He looked back at the table. "Let’s not get ahead of ourselves."

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