Michael stood in the director's box at Pride Park, a tiny, isolated island of red in a vast, roaring, 30,000-seat ocean of black and white. T
he noise was deafening.
In his ear, the live radio feed crackled to life, the commentator's voice already giddy, barely audible over the din.
"WELCOME, ladies and gentlemen, to a pulsating Pride Park for what is, without a doubt, the 'Game of the Century' in League One! It's number two, Derby County, the 'Benchmark' of the division, taking on the 'Barnsley Braves,' the 'Kid Genius' Michael Sterling's team of giant-killers! The atmosphere in here... I can barely hear myself think! It is absolutely electric!"
Michael's heart was a frantic, pounding drum. He remembered the tunnel, just five minutes ago.
His "Braves" had walked out, their faces pale but set in a mask of grim, warrior-like determination.
They were feeding off Arthur's "war" speech.
