The ball hung in the air, a spinning, hopeful prayer against the dark, furious backdrop of the Millwall crowd.
Michael was on his feet, his heart in his throat, his entire body rigid with tension. Finn's shot had been saved, a moment of brilliance met by an equal one. But the rebound... the rebound was everything.
Danny Fletcher [PA 91] was leaping.
He had read the play, his footballing brain a supercomputer calculating the arc of the ball, the position of the keeper, and the desperation of the moment. He saw the injustice of his stolen goal, the exhaustion of his teammates, the fury of his manager.
He put it all into this one, perfect leap.
He met the ball at the absolute peak of his jump, a foot higher than the two lumbering defenders who were still flat-footed.
A powerful, precise nod that sent the ball back across the goal, past the scrambling, helpless goalkeeper, and into the one place he couldn't reach.
The net bulged.
2-2!
