Outside the Emirates, the night had its own rhythm.
Phones lit up in hands outside pubs, at bus stops, on street corners where people had given up on finding a ticket hours ago.
People refreshed their phones and then paused, taking a huge breath.
"Two-Two," someone muttered, tilting his screen so his mate could see.
"They've done it again."
A few groans followed as a man in a rival shirt shook his head slowly, lips pressed together.
"Course it's him," he said. "Who else?"
Another glanced down, scrolled, then snorted.
"Izan again. This team's got nine lives because of him, I swear. They are lucky as hell. I mean, people should have figured that out after the Champions League Final, where they always pulled into the game each time it looked like they were going out."
"They are just very lucky and in form," a fan said, but no one really believed the luck part.
