Lazio 3–2 Crystal Palace. Immobile. 67 minutes.
We were losing. In Rome. Against a team that had found its fury. The Olimpico was deafening, the noise no longer vast and ambient but sharp and directed, Eighty thousand people screaming their team forward with a desperation that was almost physical.
I looked at my bench. Pato. Eze. Connor Blake. I had twenty-three minutes. I could protect bodies for Arsenal in forty-eight hours, or I could try to rescue a point in one of the most iconic stadiums in world football.
The competitor in me didn't hesitate.
Pato for Abraham in the Seventy-first minute, the Brazilian's movement against tiring Italian centre-backs who had already been running for almost eighty minutes. I put my hand on Abraham's shoulder as he came off. "Brilliant, Tammy. That header was special." His face was a mixture of exhaustion and pride.
