That evening, Steve Parish had booked a private room at a restaurant in the West End. The whole coaching staff was there. Sarah, my assistant coach, who had been with me since the U18s, and whose tactical mind was sharper than she ever got credit for.
Rebecca, our head of sports science, had transformed the players' physical conditioning over the summer. Kevin Bray, the set-piece coach who ran his sessions with a military precision that bordered on obsession.
Michael, the goalkeeping coach, whose booming laugh could be heard three rooms away. Marcus Reid, the lead analyst, whose data-driven scouting had unearthed Jarrod Bowen and a dozen other targets we were still tracking.
And Dougie Freedman, the sporting director, whose face was wreathed in a permanent, satisfied grin the grin of a man who had spent the entire summer executing a transfer strategy that the football world was still trying to understand.
