Meanwhile, Whatmough, back on the pitch, unclipped the captain’s armband, trying to hand it over to Ben Amos, who was leaning beside the medics.

Without a second’s thought, Whatmough held it out.

"You take it."

Amos looked at the band, then shook his head.

Whatmough frowned but relaxed when Ben Amos spoke.

"I can’t organise the players from back here."

"Let’s have someone else take it!"

While he said that, Amos glanced across the pitch until his eyes eventually settled on Leo, who at the moment was the youngest player out there.

But at the same time, aside from Whatmough, who was now out and Ben Amos in goal, was the player who had been with the senior team the longest out of all the players on the pitch at the moment.

Without waiting another second, Ben Amos called out.

"Leo!"

The midfielder turned and walked nearer, but before he could say anything, Amos wrapped the armband around his left arm and fastened it securely.

Leo raised a brow seeking an explanation, but he didn’t get any.

Amos gave his arm one firm pat before he looked at Leo and then turned towards his goal.

The Wigan crowd watched this all unfold and then began to clap a moment later, though one wouldn’t know what it was for since Whatmough was also being led off the pitch.

"Well..." the commentator said warmly, "that feels significant."

"It’s something you don’t see every day," his partner replied as the match threatened to resume.

"At just eighteen years old, Leo Calderon is wearing the captain’s armband for Wigan Athletic. That is certainly something you don’t see every day and certainly not in the Premier League," the main commentator added as the referee restarted play with a drop ball, despite calls for a foul from the Wigan crowd.

When Leo collected it, the noise died down.

The midfielder looked up once and instantly saw Richarlison charging, perhaps fueled by his goal being disallowed.

Replicating Richarlison’s press, Maddison closed from the opposite side.

Leo shaped to pass, forcing both to commit, but right as they did, he faked.

]

Instead, he dragged the ball across his body with the faintest movement of his boot and slipped effortlessly between them.

The crowd roared as Leo began to drive into the Tottenham half with his head up.

Richarlison chased from behind, while Maddison recovered from the wrong side, but neither could get close enough to make a challenge.

"Calderon’s wriggled away from both of them!" the commentator said, his voice rising with the tempo of the match.

"He’s carrying Wigan forward again, and time is running out!"

Leo reached the edge of the centre circle before slipping a firm pass into Reyes’ feet.

Reyes felt a defender tight behind him but didn’t try to turn.

Instead, he flicked the ball first time down the left channel, where, similar to all that he’d been doing the whole game, Carlo was already moving.

He burst onto it in stride and, just as Pedro Porro stepped across to meet him, nudged the ball into the space ahead.

Leo this time, though, hadn’t stayed back.

He had sprinted from deep to support the attack, and it didn’t take too much for Carlo to spot him.

The winger flicked the ball with his right foot behind his standing left leg, right as Leo claimed it with the leg he’d left behind.

"Calderon’s through!" the commentator spat as Pedro Porro committed.

The full-back launched himself into a slide, stretching everything to cut out the pass, but Leo saw it coming.

At the very last moment, he shaped his body as though he was about to push the ball beyond the Spaniard, whose momentum carried him across the turf.

But Leo calmly checked his stride and touched the ball back into Carlo’s path as Porro slid harmlessly past and the winger needed no invitation.

With one touch, Carlo wrapped his foot around the ball and threaded it into the gap that had opened between Porro and Romero.

It was weighted perfectly right into the run of Leo again, who immediately began accelerating once more.

Every supporter inside the DW Stadium could see the race unfolding as

Leo raced against Romero to get to the ball that had been slightly overhit.

It rolled toward the edge of the penalty area as Romero stepped across, but eventually, Leo reached it first.

With the outside of his right boot, he knocked the ball around the Argentine defender and immediately tried to burst beyond him and for a split second, he was through.

Romero knew it too, and so without hesitation or without even looking at the ball, the defender’s arm shot out.

His hand grabbed a fistful of Leo’s shirt, tugging him back like a game.

With a single pass that was certain to lead to a goal sitting in front of him, Leo pushed his way through, or at least tried to, but his stride got broken.

He tumbled onto the turf just outside the penalty area, and before he could properly settle on the ground, the whistle came instantly and with it came the fury of the home crowd.

Thousands of arms shot into the air and instantly, the Tottenham players froze.

"Penalty.....or freekick!" the commentator shouted and then corrected himself.

"Leo Calderon was away there!"

After coming to his senses, Romero immediately turned toward the referee and spread his arms, trying to explain himself.

"It was nothing!" he began to say, but the referee wasn’t interested.

He was already reaching into his pocket.

The yellow card appeared as Romero nodded once, almost absent-mindedly.

Then his expression changed as the colour drained from his face as he remembered that he was already on a yellow.

Before he could conclude, the referee reached into his opposite pocket and out came the red as the stadium exploded.

"He’s off!" the commentator roared.

"Cristian Romero has been sent off! Tottenham are down to ten men as well! What a game this is turning out to be!"