Leon stood in the war room. He was just staring at the whiteboard.
On it, Walter Samuel had written their schedule.
Spennymoor Town (Away).
Sunderland (Away).
But Leon was not looking at the names. He was looking at the number in the top corner. A big, beautiful, angry number.
Minus Three.
They were so close. So, so close to zero. After starting at minus fifteen, zero felt like winning the league. Zero was the real summit. Zero meant they were finally in the race.
"It is beautiful, compadre," Biyon G. said from his golf cart. He was not looking at the number. He was sketching on a notepad. "I am designing our special FA Cup kit. I am thinking… flames. Or maybe a giant, angry badger. What do you think?"
Leon did not answer. He was too focused.
Walter Samuel just grunted. He was studying a printout of Spennymoor's team. "They have a tall striker," he rumbled. "He wins… headers."
