The dressing room was wet and loud as we had just won the first round of 16 match in Palace's history. Sakho was on the bench with his head on Konaté's shoulder.
Rodríguez was tying his bootlaces with the slow careful concentration of a man who had just left everything he had on a pitch and didn't yet know how to be in his body again. Pato was singing in Portuguese. Bray was hugging Rebecca. Steele was hugging everyone.
I waited until they were looking at me. Took a second longer than usual.
"You should be proud of yourselves. Don't think about that team in too many big nights of football. Won't see one like that again for a while. Eleven goals in twenty-six and we got three in ninety."
A cheer. Sakho thumped Konaté on the chest.
