July 12th, 2017
The air in the classroom at St. George's Park was stale, thick with the dry, academic language of football theory.
I was trying to focus, I really was, but the lecturer's voice was a monotonous drone, a background hum to the frantic, silent countdown that was happening in my head. My phone lay face down on the desk, a small, black rectangle of potential energy. Any second now. Any second.
It buzzed once. A text from Dougie Freedman. "It's done. Papers signed. Announcement at 6 pm."
I glanced at the clock. 5:55 pm. Five minutes. I took a slow, deep breath, the air catching in my throat. This was it. The moment the whisper became a roar.
At exactly 6 pm, my phone began to vibrate. Not a single, polite buzz, but a continuous, frantic tremor, as if the device itself was having a seizure. A split second later, another phone buzzed. Then another.
