Harbinger Of Glory

The camera swept across the home supporters.

This was what nobody had wanted.

They had accepted that the run could not last forever.

They had known eventually someone would take points from Wigan.

But knowing it would happen someday was different from watching it happen in front of them.

Thirteen victories had stopped feeling like a streak weeks ago.

It had become part of the identity of the season.

Now, with Wigan down to ten men and Brentford pressing forward, it looked as though that identity might finally change.

Back on the pitch, the referee restarted play, and Brentford immediately pushed forward, sending Wigan into another retreat in their attempt to salvage at least a point, all while the away supporters found their voices again, sensing that the opportunity was real.

Eventually, the attack came to nought as Brentford’s Bryan Mbuemo found his effort going wide of the target.

At that, the home side breathed a sigh of relief, thanking whatever had decided to interfere with Mbuemo’s shooting.

Then, suddenly, a slow rumble came from somewhere behind the pitch.

It cut straight through the noise and then began to rub off on more and more people as the rumbling began to turn into something more physical.

The Brentford supporters stopped singing, and their players looked toward the stands.

The broadcast camera turned and found one section of the Wigan crowd had risen, but then it began to act like an infection spreading from stand to stand as fans got to their seats.

The sound spread rapidly through the stadium, gathering volume with every passing second, so much so that the commentary also went silent on the broadcast.

Then the camera finally reached the Wigan bench where Dawson was standing, and beside him, Leo Calderon had taken off his tracksuit and suddenly, the reason for their chants became so obvious was suddenly obvious.

The fourth official was already holding the substitution board, confirming that what they were thinking was just the thing that was about to happen, but still, the home side couldn’t keep themselves still.

For most of the match, it had seemed unlikely that Leo would make an appearance at all. Dawson had once again chosen to protect him, leaving his eighteen-year-old midfielder on the bench while Wigan tried to deal with Brentford themselves.

But now, with seven minutes remaining and Wigan down to ten men, that decision had changed, and it didn’t go unnoticed by the broadcast gantry.

"Well, this is another twist in the tale," the main commentator said, and as he did, the camera stayed on the Wigan bench where Leo had removed his tracksuit top.

"It looked for most of the afternoon as though Leo Calderon might not make an appearance today."

"But Dawson has decided that this is the moment to bring out his most effective soldier now that the game hangs in a very uncomfortable balance!"

The word soldier seemed appropriate.

Leo had spent the season appearing whenever Wigan needed something changed.

Sometimes it had been a goal.

Sometimes an assist.

Sometimes it had simply been his ability to take control of a match before the opposition realised what was happening.

And now Wigan needed something.

The game had become increasingly favourable to Brentford.

Their attacks were arriving more frequently.

Their numerical advantage was becoming obvious.

Another few minutes like this and it was difficult to imagine Wigan holding out.

"It’s a good call from Dawson," the commentator continued.

"Because this isn’t really about managing the game anymore or managing minutes. Wigan are trying to rescue something from it."

The camera cut toward the giant screens around the DW where Leo’s face appeared across the jumbotrons, and once more, the reactions from the crowd were anything but civil.

They cheered, even louder than they might have cheered for a goal.

That was where Leo was at in his Wigan career, and before he could even finish changing, the chant came.

"LEO! LEO! LEO! LEO!"

"CALDERON! CALDERON, OLE, OLE, OLE!!"

It grew louder with every repetition, and in reaction to that, the away side also began to boo, knowing who exactly was coming on.

Max Power stood near the touchline, waiting for the substitution, and when his number appeared, he jogged toward Leo, knowing that his time was up the moment Leo stepped to the side.

The two met just beside the technical area, with Power extending his hand first as Leo clasped it.

Afterwards, Power pulled him closer for a brief embrace before giving him a couple of firm pats on the shoulder.

Then he stepped away as Leo crossed the line.

The applause became deafening as Leo jogged onto the pitch, pointing in some areas and gesturing for his teammates to fill.

Afterwards, he called something toward Carlo before turning toward another teammate and gesturing for him to move higher.

There wasn’t anything dramatic about it. He simply got involved, and the match was already waiting for him.

"And there he is," the main commentator said.

"Leo Calderon enters the game with seven minutes plus stoppage time remaining."

His co-commentator watched the players reorganise.

"Dawson is clearly hoping his best player can salvage at least a point here."

"Because Brentford have been getting closer with every attack."

"They have. You almost feel that if this continues, the second goal is coming," the main commentator agreed as a replay showed Brentford’s latest opportunity.

"But now Wigan have Calderon."

The commentator paused.

"And as things stand, Wigan are finally dropping points in the league."

That sentence alone seemed strange.

Finally.

After thirteen consecutive victories.

After thirteen matchdays without a single draw or defeat.

The perfect record was finally under genuine threat.

And football fans everywhere had noticed.

Across social media, the reaction had already begun.

Supporters from rival clubs were watching the clock.

"Surely this is where it ends."

"Thirteen wins was ridiculous anyway."

"Ten men. There’s no way they’re holding this."

Another post appeared.

"We’ve waited thirteen games for Wigan to look human."

Then another.

"One point would still be an unbelievable thing to take from the game, but all I want is the streak gone."

The comments kept coming.

Some were amused, some were openly celebrating, and many had spent weeks waiting for exactly this moment.

Then one comment appeared beneath the rest.

It was shorter than all of them, and yet it seemed the most impactful!

"But Calderon has come on."

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