On Friday morning Marcus was up a stepladder in the canteen with a mouthful of drawing pins.
He had taken City down. All of it, the 2 legs, the heat maps, the photograph of Mahrez's hip that Chilwell had circled in red biro. It was in a pile on the table under the ladder with an elastic band round it.
He came down, moved the ladder 2 feet along and went back up.
Clack.
The Atlético sheets had been at the far end of the wall since the middle of January, next to the fire door. He was moving them into the middle, 1 sheet at a time, and every time he pressed a pin in he stepped back down the ladder to look at it from the floor.
Tk.
I asked him if he wanted a hand.
He took the pins out of his mouth.
"No," he said. "Thank you. They go in an order."
The order was Oblak first, top left, with every penalty he had faced since August. Then the back 4. Then the 2 in the middle.
