Finally, the whistle. The explosion. Hayes raises her arms, looks skywards, lets out a roar. It is, perhaps, the only moment of personal indulgence she will allow herself. While her victorious players are dancing in a huddle, Hayes has no interest in thrusting herself into the middle...
...an utter, unshakeable faith in their work, even when the walls are burning down and the fume of a million armchair fans feels like it has broken through the smartphone screen and is rattling the gates of the Parc des Princes.
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