The referee, Michael Oliver, raises the whistle to his lips. The sound is a sharp, clean cut through the roaring cacophony of the Etihad.
It is the sound of the beginning, the single note that starts the symphony of battle. And as the sound reaches my ears, standing on the precipice of my technical area, the world seems to fracture, to fold in on itself, and for a fleeting, disorienting second, I am not here at all.
I'm back in my room at The Lowry Hotel, just a few hours ago. The pre-match meal is a warm, settled feeling in my stomach, the tactical briefing complete, the players in their rooms going through their final private rituals.
There is a nervous energy thrumming through the hotel, a low hum of anticipation. But in my room, it is quiet. I am alone, the television on, the volume low. Sky Sports, the Monday Night Football pre-show was in full swing.
