Time is a funny thing in football. Sometimes ninety minutes feels like ten years. And sometimes three months disappears in the blink of an eye.
February went by in a blur of mud and sliding tackles.
March flew past on a wave of last minute goals.
April was a marathon of sweating and shouting.
And now it was May.
The sun was finally shining over Yorkshire. The grass at the Sterling Era Training Complex was green and lush. The air smelled of cut grass and hope.
Michael Sterling stood on the balcony of his office. He looked down at his empire.
A lot had changed in ninety days.
The team that started the season as a group of misfits and scared teenagers was gone. In their place was a machine. A red and white machine that had rolled over the Championship.
Arthur Milton walked onto the balcony. He was not wearing his heavy winter coat anymore. He was wearing a new club tracksuit and he held a tablet in his hands.
