Tottenham restarted with a goal kick, and almost immediately they began imposing themselves again.

By the twenty-second minute, Maddison had drifted into the pocket between Wigan’s midfield and defence, receiving on the half-turn before sliding a perfectly weighted pass into Richarlison’s diagonal run.

The Brazilian carried it confidently toward O’Shea as the centre-back gave ground.

Only when O’Shea finally committed did Richarlison slip the ball wide to Kulusevski.

The winger didn’t hesitate.

His cross came in first time, curling viciously toward the near post, the same routine.

"Danger again for Wigan..." the commentator warned as Son met it with a deft glance toward goal, but this time Ben Amos had judged the flight perfectly.

He gathered the effort cleanly against his chest before the South Stand answered with appreciative applause.

"Good handling," the co-commentator said.

"Exactly what his defenders needed there."

The pressure refused to ease.

Four minutes later, Bissouma rose highest to win an aerial duel inside Wigan’s half, and Spurs recycled possession before the home side could recover their shape.

Sarr switched play quickly into Pedro Porro, who was already racing beyond Carlo down the right.

Without breaking stride, the Spaniard wrapped an inviting cross toward the back post.

Richarlison climbed above Femi Seriki and nodded it back across the face of goal.

For a split second, Maddison looked certain to have a tap-in, but then Whatmough arrived.

Throwing himself across the six-yard box, he blocked the effort with his shin before scrambling back to his feet as the ball bounced harmlessly behind for a throw-in.

The roar that followed felt more like relief than celebration.

"Brilliant defending," the commentator exclaimed as Whatmough caught his breath.

"That’s every bit as valuable as a goal."

Tottenham kept coming, and in the twenty-ninth minute, Maddison once again found space just outside the penalty area.

Power charged out to meet him, but Maddison simply shifted the ball across his body, letting the challenge slide past before rolling a measured pass into the path of the onrushing Sarr.

The midfielder struck it first time.

The ball skidded through a crowd of bodies, arrowing toward the bottom corner as Amos reacted late...but reacted well.

He flung himself low to his left and managed to get both hands behind it, pushing the ball around the post as the DW applauded instinctively with the gratitude reserved for a goalkeeper keeping his team alive.

"Ben Amos again," the commentator said.

"Tottenham have been asking all the questions over the last ten minutes."

"And Wigan need to find a way of slowing this game down," the co-commentator replied.

"Because right now Spurs are dictating both the tempo and the territory."

Not long after that effort, Tottenham won the ball back again after a failed Wigan attempt.

Bissouma played it toward Kulusevski, looking to replicate another attack, but right at the last, Max Power stepped across the line and took the ball cleanly, and the ball went immediately to Carlo on the left flank.

"Wigan break," the commentator said, catching up as Carlo touched it into the middle of the pitch, where Reyes received it with Sarr approaching from behind.

Without looking, Reyes let the ball roll through his legs as Sarr’s leg came through to intercept it and found nothing.

Then Reyes turned and played it diagonally back to Carlo, who had kept running.

Carlo reached it with Romero tracking and accelerating beside him.

Still, the winger pushed forward and got there first.

He pushed the ball past him, looking to go with the ball, at least before Romero’s foot came through the air and caught him, sending Carlo down clutching his leg as the whistle came.

The Wigan crowd showed their dissatisfaction at the chance stopped as the referee came and showed Romero the yellow without much deliberation.

Carlo, straining his expression into something that wasn’t quite composed but was trying to be, got to his feet.

Reyes reached him and put a hand on his back, asking if he was okay, to which Carlo shook his head.

"I’ll be fine!" he said before walking away as Reyes grabbed the ball.

Ahead of him, the wall went up with three Spurs bodies.

Reyes stood behind the ball until the referee’s whistle came.

When it did, the midfielder ran up and hit it, and the ball rose sharply.

Vicario, standing in his goal, watched the ball come in unpredictably, and for a second, it looked like it might go into the net behind him, but then the ball struck the crossbar and came back down into a box of bodies competing for the loose ball, arms and shoulders and heads all trying to get there first.

Vicario, reacting a second later, still pushed through all of it, rose above everything and got both hands to the ball, claiming it right before heads could get to it.

He landed, and without waiting, tossed it wide for Son, who was already moving.

"UH OH, IT’S TOTTENHAM ON THE BREAK."

The commentary followed as Son took Seriki’s challenge on the outside and moved past it with the acceleration that had been doing this to right backs for fifteen years.

On the other side, Richarlison ran parallel with the remaining Wigan players who hadn’t gone for the free kick, keeping them pinned between two problems, and neither of the two could fully commit to either of them.

Eventually, Max Power stepped up as Son shaped to play Richarlison, reaching out toward the pass lane, but the winger swept his body over the ball in a fake that stopped Power’s feet dead, looked up again with Richarlison still waiting, but then decided to go at it alone.

He opened his body as though he was going to pull the ball back across the six-yard box and Amos shifted with him, adjusting for whatever effort was to come, but that was all Son needed.

With the slightest adjustment of his hips, he wrapped his right foot around the ball and drove it low toward the near post instead.

It was a finish that almost defied the angle.

Amos reacted instinctively, throwing his leg across to close the gap, but the shot squeezed underneath him before he could get enough behind it and the ball rolled over the line.

For a heartbeat, the DW fell silent.

Then the away end erupted.

Son sprinted toward the corner, crouched in front of the travelling supporters and formed a rectangle with his fingers, smiling into an imaginary camera as his teammates rushed over to celebrate with him.

The commentator almost laughed in disbelief.

"Oh, that’s outrageous!"

"Son Heung-min has somehow scored from there! It is looking grim for the Latics here!"

"Two-nil Tottenham. It looked as though he’d run out of room, but one tiny shift of the body, one glance at the goalkeeper, and suddenly he’s found a finish that simply shouldn’t exist from that angle."

"That’s why he’s one of the Premier League’s elite finishers," the co-commentator added as the replay unfolded on the broadcast.

"Most forwards try to force the cross there. Son saw Amos commit his weight for a fraction of a second and punished him immediately. That’s world class."

As the commentary went about their job, the broadcast graphic flashed across the screen.

Shots on target: Wigan 4. Tottenham 4.

"Look at those numbers," the lead commentator said.

"Four shots on target each. Wigan have had a goal ruled out by the narrowest of margins, Tottenham have converted both of theirs."

The co-commentator finished the thought.

"That’s the difference between a side that’s threatening... and a side that’s clinical."

The camera drifted across the Wigan players as they slowly made their way back toward the centre circle.

There was frustration on every face.

But more than that, there was the shared understanding that the next few minutes could define not just this afternoon... but how the rest of their season would be remembered.