By the time we finished, it was evening. I sent Jamie home to rest. "Get some sleep," I said. "Tomorrow is the biggest day of your life."
He nodded and left. I stayed at the training ground, staring at the pitch, at the cones and markers still scattered across the grass. I was about to play a 17-year-old kid, who had learned a role in a single day, in the most important game of the season. It was insane. It was reckless. It was either genius or madness.
Frankie Morrison found me there. He sat down next to me on the bench. "You really going to do this, Gaffer?"
"Yes."
"You know it's crazy, right?"
"Yes."
"You know if it goes wrong, you'll be finished, right? Terry will sack you. The fans will turn on you. You'll be a laughing stock."
"Yes."
He was silent for a moment. Then he smiled. "Good. Because if you're going to go down, you might as well go down swinging. And this, Gaffer, this is one hell of a swing."
I smiled back. "Thanks, Frankie."
