Even with them out of the rain, the residual rainwater dripped from the players' sleeves as they filed into the locker room, with the boots of some players squeaking on the tiled floor.
A few dropped straight onto the benches, heads tilted back as they drank deeply from their bottles.
While others stood by their lockers, pulling off wet shirts and muttering under their breath about moments that had slipped away in the first half.
When the door opened again, Dawson stepped in first with Nolan just behind him.
A second later, the latter clapped his hands once, cutting through the chatter of the locker room and bringing the attention of the men to the gate.
"Alright, settle down, lads. Give him a minute."
A couple of players were still tugging fresh shirts over their heads when Dawson moved toward the middle of the room.
"You're not doing badly," he began calmly, while from behind, an analyst entered the room.
"Considering the mismatch."
A few players exchanged looks at that.
