6-0.
The stadium didn't just cheer. It ascended. It was a moment of pure, transcendent genius. The kind of goal that makes you fall in love with football all over again. Eze slid on his knees towards the corner flag, his arms outstretched, a picture of pure, unadulterated joy. I just stood there, laughing. It was ridiculous. It was sublime. It was Eze.
I looked at Marcus, who was standing beside me with his tablet, his mouth hanging open. "Put that in the analysis package," I said. "I want every player in the country to see that."
"Already clipping it," Marcus said, without looking up.
Even after that, we didn't stop. The hunger was insatiable. In the seventy-second minute, Kevin Bray's meticulous set-piece work paid off. A corner from the right, whipped in with the pace and precision that Kevin had drilled into us for weeks.
