The tunnel was a narrow, concrete throat that swallowed the players as they left the pitch. It was a place of echoes and raw nerves. The air here was cooler than the humid evening outside, but the heat between the players was rising.
Will van Drunen marched toward the away dressing room, his neon green jersey stained with grass and dirt. His face was a mask of pure frustration. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the referee's finger pointing to the penalty spot. He saw Marcus Price's theatrical tumble.
"That was never a penalty!" Will shouted, his voice bouncing off the damp walls. "I didn't even touch his standing leg! It was all ball!"
Walking just a few feet behind him, Marcus Price let out a short, sharp laugh. The Hastings striker was the picture of confidence. He didn't look like a man who had just been "viciously tackled." He looked like a man who had just won a bet.
