He came on in the 75th minute. The crowd roared, a sound of hope, of belief, of a last, desperate prayer. The Salford players looked at him, a flicker of anxiety in their eyes. They knew who he was. They knew what he could do.
His first few touches were rusty. A misplaced pass, a heavy touch. But then, he started to find his rhythm. He started to feel the ball at his feet. He started to remember who he was.
And then, in the 88th minute, it happened. A moment of pure, breathtaking, undeniable genius. A moment that would go down in the folklore of this club, of this league, of this community. A moment that I would never, ever forget.
We won the ball back deep in our own half. Scott Miller, our midfield maestro, played a simple, ten-yard pass to JJ, who was lurking just inside his own half. He took one touch to control the ball, and then he was off.
