I looked at Eze, who was staring at the floor, his chest heaving.
"You're tiring. The physicality is getting to you. I'm giving you ten more minutes in the second half. Make them count."
Then I turned to Semenyo, who was sitting on the bench, looking small and overwhelmed, his eyes wide. "You're coming on at 50 minutes for Tom. I want you to stay wide. Don't drift inside. Use your pace. Run at their full-back. Simple decisions. Can you do that?" He nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, boss."
The second half was more of the same, a tough, physical battle with very little quality, the kind of match that's painful to watch and even more painful to coach. Eze lasted five minutes before I had to take him off, his legs gone, his confidence shot, his body language screaming exhaustion.
