78,000 people in that stadium and at least 4 billion watching and not one of them saw a thing.
Rebecca stood up on the touchline behind me.
She did not shout. She did not signal. She stood up out of her seat with her arms folded and stayed standing, and that was the whole message.
I did not look at her. There were 3 cameras on our technical area and a man in a Netflix bib on the far touchline who would put anything I did on a screen in 4 weeks.
So I looked at the pitch and let my top scorer run around on a leg with an hour in it.
I had lost my voice somewhere around the half hour and had not noticed. I found out when I tried to shout at Mendyl and what came out was air. My jacket had gone through to the shirt and through the shirt to the skin and I did not know that either until I stopped moving.
"DIMA MAGHRIB!" They were singing again by then. They had decided to sing whatever happened.
44 minutes.
