Michael Sterling stood on the sacred, muddy, beautiful grass of Oakwell, and he couldn't breathe.
He was being hugged. By everyone.
One second, he was being lifted into the air by a giant, sobbing, season-ticket-holder who just kept screaming, "YOU DID IT, LAD! YOU DID IT!"
The next, he was being kissed on the cheek by a grandma in a red-and-white scarf who was crying too hard to speak.
The pitch invasion wasn't a "riot." It was a party. It was a single, joyous, 25,000-person hug.
Michael, his suit ruined, his hair a mess, just... laughed.
He saw, through the sea of red-and-white bodies, his family.
His mom, Catherine, was just... beaming, her Parisian-chic look completely gone, replaced by the wild, windswept, joyous look of a true football fan.
His sister, Jessica, was laughing, actually laughing, as a fan, who had no idea who she was, tried to hand her a bottle of beer.
And his dad...
