An utterly brilliant game, spoiled by the view.
BY ASHLEY GREB
“Can you get down from there?”
It wasn’t really a question. His stern lilt definitely hinted at an even firmer instruction.
Somewhere over to the North East, a fantastic match was quickening apace in the chill night air; below us, to our left, a determined steward – just out of the floodlight’s glare – was trying to be heard above the partisan hullabaloo. Momentarily staring back, I wondered if this possible void of intuition was real. Of course I could get down; I’d clambered up safely enough. We all had.
Glancing to my right, it was fairly obvious the others wouldn’t be paying him any heed but me… I was closest, I was the one whose eye he’d caught and I, not for the first time, couldn’t help but respond. “No!” I yelled back, as another roar from the away support signalled my attention needed elsewhere.
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