Saturday morning arrived with the same 5:30 am alarm, but the exhaustion that had been clinging to me all week felt different.
It was sharper, laced with the familiar pre-match anxiety that was both a torment and a comfort. I pulled on my running gear, the fabric cool against my skin, and headed out into the darkness.
The past two days, Thursday and Friday, had been a relentless cycle of work, the kind that left you physically drained but mentally wired.
We'd drilled the pressing system until the lads were sick of hearing the word "trigger," run through tactical patterns against Brighton's 4-3-3 until they could do it in their sleep, and spent hours in the video analysis room breaking down every weakness in their defensive shape.
Eze had been in the gym with Rebecca every morning at 7 am sharp, his commitment to the strength program unwavering even when I could see the exhaustion in his eyes.
