Sky Sports News was running the highlights on a loop. The twenty-six-second goal. The dummy. The chip. The final whistle. The scoreline filling the screen: Crystal Palace 6-1 AC Milan. And then, the press conference.
My press conference. The one I had given last night at ten-fifteen, forty minutes after the final whistle, in a room packed with cameras from BT Sport, Sky Sports, BBC, ITV, RAI, Mediaset, Canal+, beIN Sports, ESPN. Standing room at the back. The Italian press contingent alone had been twelve people.
Emma shifted beside me, pulling the duvet up, her coffee in her hands, her legs tucked beneath her. She watched the screen. I watched myself on the screen. The particular, dislocating experience of seeing your own face say words that you remembered saying but that sounded, twelve hours later, like someone else had said them.
The replay showed me walking in. The mask in place. Twelve minutes. Composed. Professional.
