The morning of April 22nd felt different.
The raw, chaotic energy of the previous day's training session had been replaced by a tense, focused silence. The media storm still raged outside the gates, but inside, something had shifted. The open mockery was gone, replaced by a grudging curiosity. I had their attention. Now, I had to earn their trust.
The day was dedicated to meetings. One-on-one conversations in my office, the smell of Pardew's expensive aftershave finally starting to fade, replaced by the scent of freshly brewed coffee and tactical possibility. First up was the captain, Scott Dann.
He sat opposite me, his posture professional, his expression unreadable. He was a club stalwart, a man who had seen managers come and go. I didn't waste time with pleasantries.
