Chapter 81: The Premier League Beckons

"Wigan’s supporters in the away end are in tears." The moment Villa scored their second, the home crowd erupted like a volcano, while across the ground, Wigan’s own fans stood devastated.

Because at the exact same moment, in another stadium entirely, Watford had just scored their second goal against Derby.

2-0. Home side ahead, Derby behind.

Relegation. At this moment, that word had settled squarely over Wigan’s away end like a genuine storm cloud.

Almost simultaneously, in a third stadium, a mid-table side hosting Norwich had just pulled level, 1-1, after conceding early.

"Good grief... this final round is genuinely unbelievable." Watching all three results unfold at once, nobody could quite process the scale of the drama.

That’s football, though, the game’s entire appeal rests on exactly this kind of chaos. Coincidence and miracle sit right next to each other in this sport, sometimes in the very same afternoon.

On the pitch, Wigan’s players picked up on their own supporters’ reaction almost immediately, and on the touchline, their manager; a genuine former England international, had no response left but a muttered curse.

Fortune had well and truly abandoned Wigan. Barely had they recovered from Villa’s equaliser than a second body blow landed from an entirely different stadium.

Crushed. Genuinely crushed. Whatever belief Wigan’s players had rebuilt after the restart evaporated completely between Villa’s second goal and the news from Watford’s ground.

They weren’t alone in that collapse, either. Derby, who’d led their own division for the better part of the season, were being crushed by exactly the same dynamic in real time.

Because in a fourth stadium, their title rival was cruising to a positive result of their own.

3-0. That same rival’s opponent; already rock bottom of the table, had their fate sealed early, confirming their own relegation before this round had even finished.

Drama, in the fullest sense of the word, genuinely the only way to describe this Championship season’s final round. And even with matches still ongoing, "most dramatic in years" already felt like an understatement.

But as long as the referee’s whistle hadn’t gone, the match continued regardless of how it looked on paper. Even Wigan, hope all but extinguished, had to keep playing it out, same as Derby, two goals down elsewhere with no guarantee their own title challenge was mathematically finished yet.

So when play resumed, Wigan’s morale had cratered almost entirely, every face on that pitch carrying something closer to resignation than fight.

Given the state of things, there wasn’t much genuine suspense left in what followed, and Villa delivered exactly what the moment demanded. Sixty-fifth minute, four minutes after the equaliser.

Peña’s cross from the flank found Loach rising once more in Wigan’s box, powering another header goalward.

"Villa go ahead! Four minutes after levelling it, Villa complete the turnaround!"

"Loach! Villa’s undisputed hero of this match, two goals and an assist now, a centre-back thrown forward on a gamble delivering a performance nobody could have predicted."

"Villa genuinely owe something to Ventham here, whatever else gets said about him. Whatever went wrong under his management, both Loach and Whitfield came through his signings, and without either of them, this comeback simply doesn’t happen." 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

Somewhere in the United States, Terry Ventham hurled a remote at yet another hotel television the moment those words reached him.

Ventham, understandably, wasn’t inclined to believe a word of that generous framing. Whatever damage he’d done steering this club toward relegation, there was some truth buried in it too, Loach and Whitfield had both arrived on his watch, and both had become genuinely indispensable to what Villa were building now.

Loach remained the backbone of Villa’s defence without question. Whitfield, similarly, had become the one piece Villa’s midfield simply couldn’t function without.

"Premier League! Lads! We’re going up!" On the pitch, Saint had already sprinted nearly a hundred yards to reach his celebrating players.

"No... hold on, this isn’t finished. We can’t get ahead of ourselves. One goal is the most fragile lead in football." Catching himself almost instantly, Saint reined it back in.

The bigger the moment, the more composure it demands.

But no sooner had Saint said that than a fresh wave of noise erupted from the stands, and moments later, Cadman came sprinting over from the touchline.

"Boss... Watford have just scored again! 3-0 now, and Derby’s title hopes are essentially finished!" Word had reached the bench that the mid-table side hosting Norwich had scored again too, now leading 2-1.

Norwich’s opponent hadn’t held up under the weight of that pressure, having pulled level, the shock of conceding again had clearly rattled something loose in their composure.

"And Wigan’s own relegation rival, 0-3 down, in case anyone needed reminding." Cadman couldn’t resist landing one more dig, even now.

Wigan’s own supporters, in fact, had received that exact news at almost the same moment Cadman relayed it, devastation compounding devastation in the away end.

"Everything’s currently breaking our way, but the match isn’t over yet. There’s still the better part of half an hour left before this becomes the Premier League. I don’t want a single lapse in that time." Cadman’s tone shifted fast, and the players heard it clearly; even in this position, Saint needed the urgency restored.

"Boss, how do you actually do this?" On the walk back to the technical area, Cadman finally asked, genuinely serious.

"Do what?" Saint gave him a level look.

"Stay this composed. We’re on the verge of the Premier League right now, and you’re barely reacting." Months of working alongside Saint, and Cadman still found himself genuinely thrown by it.

"No idea, honestly. Maybe I was just born with an unusually steady heart." Saint answered with real thought behind it, though not the full truth.

Because the actual answer would have sounded genuinely unhinged spoken aloud. From the very beginning of his coaching journey, Saint’s real ambition had never stopped at one club’s promotion. He wanted the very top; to be spoken of alongside Ferguson, Wenger, Mourinho, and eventually to beat every one of them at their own game.