Michael didn't even go down the tunnel. He just stood in the director's box, his hands on his head, his heart pounding a wild, joyous drum solo against his ribs.
He was laughing. He was actually, genuinely laughing.
His team were down in that tiny, ugly, "insulting" green room, 1-1 at halftime against the champions of Europe, with both teams down to 10 men. I
He finally forced his legs to move, walking into the private lounge, his hands shaking so hard he could barely pick up a bottle of water. He needed to see Arthur. He needed to see them.
He sprinted down the stairs and pushed open the door to the locker room.
"I'M TELLING YOU, I DIDN'T EVEN SEE IT!" Finn Riley was screaming, his face bright red, his 'Wild Fox' energy at a fever pitch. He was re-enacting the free kick, badly. "I just heard this fwoosh sound, and then I looked, and the ball was... like... bending! Like in that movie! With the... the... magic!"
