Harbinger Of Glory

......

Further along the approach, several hundred Tottenham supporters had gathered outside the away entrance.

They watched the sea of blue surrounding the stadium with a mixture of admiration and caution.

"You can see why teams hate coming here," one of them said as his friend nodded slowly.

"It isn’t even about the size of the place," he said, gesturing toward the home crowd.

"They make it sound twice as big. If this is how it is for teams, then they’ve got every reason to be top."

Before anyone could answer, a roar erupted further down the road and heads turned almost instinctively.

The Wigan team coach rounded the corner, and as if it wasn’t already loud enough, the volume doubled.

Players could be seen through the windows, waving back as the Wigan team bus edged toward the players’ entrance near the parking tunnel.

The doors folded open as Dawson climbed down first.

When he did, a member of the club’s operations staff was already waiting.

"Good day, boss," he said as Dawson reached out to shake his head.

"The media team wanted to check something with you. They’re holding, as usual, the short pre-match interview before kick-off. They’d like you... and if possible, Leo."

At that, Dawson’s eyes drifted back toward the coach, where Leo was making his way down the steps behind the others.

The fresh medical dressing still covered the side of his head, impossible to miss against his dark hair.

Dawson watched him for a second before looking back at the staff member.

"I’ll do it, but as you can see, I have to bring someone else."

The staff member followed Dawson’s gaze, immediately understanding.

"No problem."

The conversation ended there as Dawson clapped Leo lightly on the shoulder as he passed.

"Straight inside."

Leo nodded and joined the stream as the players disappeared beneath the stand while the crowd outside continued singing.

Inside the stadium, every minute brought another wave of supporters through the turnstiles.

By the time both teams emerged to warm up, the stands were almost full.

Songs gave way to applause before applause became whistles for the away side.

Then the whistles became cheers as the home group of players appeared.

Near the front of the South Stand, a family had found their seats early enough to watch both teams warm up.

The two children leaned over the barrier, following every movement on the pitch with the complete concentration only football could demand from them.

Son Heung-min drifted past during a passing drill, and the kids just couldn’t help themselves.

The older boy nudged his younger brother before pointing.

"That’s Son."

"I know."

"I want to play like him."

A few yards away, Richarlison brought a dropping ball under control with one touch before flicking it effortlessly to a teammate.

Seeing this, the younger boy also pointed.

"Him."

Van de Ven sprinted across the width of the pitch a moment later, covering forty yards with startling ease.

"...And him."

Watching everything from behind, their father chuckled.

"What about Leo?"

Both boys turned toward the opposite half where the Wigan players were warming up.

"He’s younger than almost everyone out there."

"And he’s top of the league," the father added.

The brothers looked at one another, and as if on cue, they went at it.

"I was Leo first."

"No, you weren’t."

"I always pick Leo."

"You picked Son!"

"I changed my mind."

Their father laughed as the argument gathered pace, deciding it was probably wiser not to get involved.

Down the pitch, Leo emerged from the tunnel a few moments later.

Unlike the rest of the squad, he wasn’t in training gear.

A thick navy puffer jacket covered his training gear, and the white dressing running along the side of his head stood out immediately beneath his dark hair.

He crossed the edge of the pitch while his teammates continued their warm-up around him and right across the field, Ange Postecoglou happened to look up.

Their eyes met, and when they did, the Spurs manager gave a small nod.

Leo returned it with one of his own before offering a polite smile and continuing.

"Leo."

Hearing his name, he stopped and found Destiny Udogie, who was jogging over with Carlo following a few steps behind.

"I thought they’d stitched you together properly."

Hearing that, Leo couldn’t help but laugh.

"They did."

Udogie tilted his head, looking at the dressing.

"Doesn’t look like it."

Leo touched the bandage lightly.

"It feels better than it looks, but I have looked better"

"You’ve definitely looked better."

They both smiled as Udogie folded his arms.

"I was looking forward to playing against you."

"So was I."

"Yes, but now you’ve ruined my afternoon."

"Fair enough."

For a second, neither of them said anything.

Then Udogie glanced toward the Tottenham technical area.

Postecoglou was already watching.

"Right..."

He pointed back toward his teammates.

"I should probably stop talking to the enemy."

"You probably should," Leo responded as they exchanged one last grin before Udogie jogged away.

Carlo waited until he was out of earshot.

"Comfortable seat?"

Leo gave him a flat look.

"I’ll save you one."

Carlo laughed before turning back toward the warm-up.

"Don’t. I already got my place on the wings."

He jogged away, still smiling while Leo remained where he was for a second longer before turning toward the dugout.

On the opposite touchline, one of Ange Postecoglou’s assistants walked over carrying a tablet.

"The confirmed team."

Ange took it, and his eyes moved down the Wigan lineup almost automatically.

Goalkeeper.

Back four.

Midfield.

Then they stopped.

Sitting at the base of the midfield was Max Power with Tiehi, not Leo Calderon.

His gaze shifted to the substitutes’ bench where Leo now sat, jacket zipped up against the autumn breeze.

The slight tightening around Ange’s jaw said everything.

Four days of preparation had revolved partly around a player, but he wasn’t even going to play.

He handed the tablet back before looking at his assistant.

"We’ll need to rethink a few things."

His assistant nodded, taking the tablet back in hand.

Ange’s eyes drifted back toward the Wigan bench one last time.

Whether Leo started or not...

...he wasn’t about to assume the problem had gone away.

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