There is a version of football that never makes the highlights. It doesn't trend on Twitter. It doesn't get dissected on Monday Night Football. It doesn't produce viral goals or standing ovations or post-match speeches that journalists quote for weeks.
It is the version of football that happens in the grey middle of the season, when the initial euphoria has faded, and the climax is still months away, and all that's left is the grind match after match after match, the relentless, unsexy, absolutely essential business of collecting points that nobody will remember but everybody will count.
This was that version. And it might have been the most important week of our season.
I addressed it head-on in the Friday meeting. "I've read the articles," I told the squad, standing in the centre of the dressing room at Beckenham.
"I've heard the pundits. They say we've hit a wall. They say the schedule has caught up with us. They say the honeymoon is over." I let the silence work.
