"Danny. You've never lost one before, have you?"
I did not answer him.
I have thought about that since. Bray was owed an answer and I did not have one, and what I had instead was about 60 seconds while every man I owned was still in one place, and after that they would be gone into the arms of families and cameras and the rest of their lives.
So I used the 60 seconds.
"In. In. Everybody in. Come here."
Shhk. Shhk.
Studs dragging across wet grass, because not one of them could lift his feet properly. Bray got an arm round Ziyech and steered him in like a man moving furniture. Benatia came in off the bad leg with a hand on Steeley's shoulder. Somebody's head went into my back and stayed there.
"Boss, he can't stand."
"Then hold him up. Hold him up and get him in."
We stood in the middle of a World Cup final pitch in a ring with our heads down while France celebrated round us, and 78,000 people watched us do it, and behind me the green was still going.
