The old doubts started to creep back in, the fear that we were still the same team, the same collection of individuals who couldn't defend, who couldn't see out a game. I looked at Sarah, who was standing next to me on the touchline, her face a mask of frustration.
"We need to hold," she said, her voice tight.
But I shook my head. "No," I said. "We attack. We don't sit back. We go for the win."
She looked at me like I was crazy, but she didn't argue.
This time, we didn't crumble. This time, we fought back. Eze was tiring, the physical toll of the match starting to show, his movements slower, his touch less assured, but he stayed on, his determination unwavering.
I could see the exhaustion in his eyes, but I could also see the pride, the refusal to give up. At 48 minutes, Semenyo had his moment. He received the ball on the right wing, in the same position he'd been in against Brighton.
