[The Dressing Room. Half-Time. Crystal Palace 1-2 Arsenal.]
Konaté was sat in the corner with his head down and his fists on his knees, and nobody had taken the seat next to him, because the lads could read weather.
I crossed the room and took the seat next to him.
"Gaffer." Jaw tight. "The bounce. I had it. Half a boot."
"You scored one and you missed one bounce. Do the maths on that, lad. The maths says you're winning."
"The maths says one-two."
"The maths says forty-five minutes." I stood up and said the rest to the room. "Listen. All of you. Heads up. Look at me."
Heads came up.
"They have scored twice from two moments. One ball nobody else in their team can hit, and one run we tracked for sixty yards and lost for five. That is not a team beating us. That is two moments. And here's what I know about them that you can't feel yet because you're in it. They've stopped."
Wilf looked up, sock tape in his fist.
