The meeting ended. The players filed out, a buzz of conversation filling the corridor. I had thrown a grenade into the hierarchy of the dressing room. I had challenged their seniority, their status, and their comfort. I had put my faith in a 19-year-old kid to make his debut at one of the most intimidating stadiums in the world.
Just as the players were about to board the bus, the club's press officer, a perpetually stressed man named Julian, rushed over to me. "Gaffer, the press conference. It's mandatory. Premier League rules. We can't skip it."
I had been hoping to avoid it, to shield the players from any more noise. But he was right. It was a non-negotiable obligation. I looked at my players, at the mix of fear and hope in their eyes. I couldn't hide. I had to face the storm. For them. To show them I wasn't afraid.
"Alright," I said, my voice calm. "Let's get it over with."
