On the other touchline, Mourinho was a storm of black-coated fury. He wasn't watching the celebration; he was turning to the fourth official, his face a mask of theatrical disbelief, his arms spread wide in a gesture of pure, manufactured outrage.
He was playing to the home crowd, feeding their sense of injustice, and they responded in kind. A low, guttural roar began to build around the stadium, a wave of collective anger directed not at their own team's failings, but at the referee, at us, at the world.
The goal, however, was the spark that lit the powder keg.
As Eze wheeled away in celebration, his arms outstretched, his face a picture of pure, youthful ecstasy, a frustrated Paul Pogba, the world's most expensive player, needlessly shoved him hard in the back. It was a moment of petulant, childish anger. And it was a catastrophic mistake.
Scott Dann was there in a flash, his face a mask of cold, protective fury as he stepped between Pogba and Eze.
