The familiar dread stirred. Everton at home. Chelsea. The pattern of taking leads and failing to hold them, the crack in the machine that the autumn had exposed.
I could feel it in the crowd, in the body language of the players, in the way Neves's head dropped slightly not in defeat, but in recognition that this team had been here before and the ending hadn't always been kind.
I stepped to the edge of my technical area. "PUSH! Don't sit back! We go again IMMEDIATELY!"
And this time, the response was immediate.
In the sixty-second minute, Zaha collected a long diagonal from Neves on the left touchline the same pass, the same switch, the same system and drove at the Watford right-back. One step-over. Two. The defender bit, lunging in, and Zaha was past him, to the byline, the ball on his right foot. He looked up, saw the near post, saw the body arriving, and cut the ball back.
Andros Townsend. The veteran.
