When Jordi Gomez stepped up to take his free kick in the 65th minute of Saturday's game against Wolverhampton Wanderers, the DW held its collective breath and allowed itself to dream.
We dreamed about Saint George (Jordi), the Patron Saint of Catalonia come to slay not a dragon but Wolves. We dreamed about him leading us on his white charger away from the mire of the relegation zone and into the safety of mid-table.
We dreamed of the DW being lit up by a moment of skill which wouldn't have looked out of place in that beating heart of Catalonia, the Camp Nou, home of Barcelona.
We dreamed this match which had been characterised thus far by niggly foul after niggly foul after one particularly dreadful foul might be transformed by a moment of transcendence through which fans could dare to believe again.
We dared to dream that the war of attrition (and occasional complete and utter collapse) which has been Wigan's home form thus far this season could be changed, could be overwhelmed and that we might see glory on that green sward once again.
We made St. Jordi's crosses of our fingers and toes, and then quickly reassessed because sometimes crossing more than one thing can bring bad luck as well as good. So we crossed just our fingers. A young girl somewhere near the back of the Springfield Stand screamed a prayer into the October air.
And Gomez started his run-up. And this was no flagrant charge but a loping, confident approach. He had seen the target, frozen it with his eyes. One step, two step, three steps and then the gentlest of caresses on the ball. It lifts up, over the wall. Ten thousand Wigan mouths widen into great big O's as we watch its progress up, over and then down. Dipping...
It's going to go in... It's going to go in...a magic moment from a player with magic in his boots.
Disclaimer: The views in this article are that of the writer and may not replicate those of the Professional Footballers' Association.