Pweeeeep! Pweeeeep! Pweeeeeeeeeeeep!
The whistle had not finished dying when the whole bench emptied. Every last one of them, the subs, Steeley, Rebecca, the kit lads, off the touchline and sprinting onto the pitch before the sound had left the referee's mouth.
WHRRRRRROOOOOOAAAAAAAR!
It hit like a physical shockwave. 78,000 people reacting at exactly the same second, a colossal, stadium-shaking collision of sound.
50,000 Russian hearts breaking at once, a gut-wrenching groan rolling down from the upper tiers, swallowed whole by the piercing shrieks of 30,000 Moroccans.
The eleven turned and ran to meet them, and the two waves hit in the middle of the pitch. Tracksuits and towels and water thrown up into the blinding floodlights, coming back down like rain. I never stood a chance.
