Boxing Day came with that familiar mix of stiffness and quiet excitement.
The players filtered onto the bus in layers and headphones.
Dawson stood near the front, hands on his hips, scanning the seats.
"Anyone still full from yesterday?" he asked. "Be honest now so I can drop you from the squad."
A few groans went up, coupled with laughs as the players entered.
McClean leaned across the aisle, grinning.
"Gaffer, we'll be fine. We're not ending the year with a loss."
Max Power nodded along.
"Yeah. Christmas calories get burned today."
Dawson laughed. "That's the spirit," he said, before taking his seat as the engine rolled to life.
The bus pulled away, heading toward the DW, where the streets were already dotted with fans wrapped in scarves and Santa hats.
Red and white, mixed with a bit of the usual Wigan blue, bobbed along pavements, festive shirts layered under coats.
By the time the broadcast cut in, the stadium was alive.
