Michael stood in the director's box, his heart a cold, heavy stone.
The Oakwell crowd, which had been so full of defiant hope, was silent, stunned by the sheer, brutal quality of the opposition.
The whistle blew.
The Wolves players, their faces hard and focused, kicked off. They were, as Michael had feared, their full-strength, A-list, £500-million-pound squad. And they were angry.
João Veloso, the £60 million Portuguese star, looked like he had a personal vendetta against their interim manager.
The first thirty minutes were not a game. It was, as the commentator would later call it, a "possession carousel of pure torture."
The ball was a little yellow blur, zipping between the gold-shirted Wolves players. Tiki-taka, but played with the speed and power of Premier League athletes.
Michael watched the possession stat on the tiny monitor in his box:
80% - 20%.
His "Barnsley Braves" looked like what they were: a small, terrified, third-tier team.
