"This game cheats," Phil complained. "My virtual player is too slow. I am much faster in real life."
"Maybe your virtual player ate too much pasta," Alex suggested.
Phil laughed. "Speaking of pasta. Italy tonight. Are you ready, Professor?"
"I am ready," Alex said.
He was nervous. Beating Brazil was a dream. But Italy was a nightmare. Italy was the team that broke hearts. They were the masters of the Catenaccio. The Door bolt. The Lock.
Gareth Southgate stood at the front of the bus. He looked serious.
"Listen up," Gareth said. "Brazil was a party. Italy is a job. They do not want to dance. They want to stop you from dancing. They want to step on your toes and apologize while they do it."
The bus turned into Wembley Way.
The fans were there. Thousands of them. They were wearing plastic ponchos. They were wet. They were cold. But they were singing.
"It is coming home!" they sang.
Alex felt a shiver. It was not the cold. It was the hope. Hope was a heavy thing to carry.
