I had no vote on the next manager of that country. I had no say in who plays, who is called up, who gets a contract, who goes to a European club in August and who does not.
Not one of those 23 men was mine to help after Thursday. Achraf will be sold or he will not. Youssef will get his leg right or he will not. Somebody will pick Badr again or nobody will, and I will read about all of it on a phone in Croydon like everybody else.
6 weeks is 6 weeks. That is what I signed and that is what they got, and a man who tells 23 professionals otherwise on his way to an airport is lying to them to make himself feel better.
So I did not.
Benatia last, because I am a coward.
"Coach."
"Skipper."
"No." He shook his head. "Not any more. That word is finished."
He got hold of the back of my head with one hand, the way he has done to about 9 of them on grass in the last 6 weeks, put his forehead on mine, and said 4 words in Arabic that I have never had translated and never will.
