"Dawson's not happy," the commentator added as the whistle went again.
"And you can see why, but his team's got a fight on their hands now. One-nil to Boro, thirty-eight minutes gone, and it's getting tense."
On the sides, Leo stood, a mix of tension and readiness in his body as he took the shirt from the kitman.
His fingers trembled slightly, something that had always happened since he began gaining more and more minutes on the pitch.
On the pitch, the Wigan players were walking back to their positions after a quick huddle near the halfway line.
The away fans were still singing, red scarves flashing in the stands like streaks of victory.
Dawson turned toward Leo, his expression firm but not harsh.
"Take it easy," he said, voice low but audible above the hum.
"Grow into it and don't rush yourself. Just play what's in front of you."
Leo nodded, eyes flicking once toward the pitch, before stepping right onto the line.
