At Beckenham, the mood was electric. The players who hadn't been at Wembley the Roma squad, the youth players, and the injured had watched on television and were buzzing.
Paddy McCarthy showed me a video on his phone: Olise, watching the match at home with his family, leaping off the sofa when Eze scored, his sixteen-year-old composure completely abandoned, screaming at the television like a fan. "Even the quiet ones lose it sometimes," Paddy said, laughing.
In the canteen, I found Eze sitting alone at a table, his phone face-down, a cup of tea untouched in front of him. He looked different from the player who had stared down the Spurs fans forty-eight hours ago. Quieter. More reflective. The adrenaline had drained and left behind something thoughtful.
I sat down opposite him. "How are you feeling?"
He was quiet for a long moment. "Weird," he said finally.
