It’s only in the minutes after the final whistle blows, when you lean back from the edge of your seat, mute the TV and take a deep breath, that you realise how fast your heart is beating. Very briefly you consider whether this kind of carry-on is doing any long term damage to your health.
As you wait for the after-match interviews — your reward of sorts, a few moments both to bask in the glory and suck in the big ones — the rhythm slows, although it will be some time before your heart gets back to its normal resting speed.
The two points are in the bank, the camera focuses in on Monty Betham’s shiny head and you soak in the highlights. Rewind. Play. Pause. How did he do that? Play. You beauty! Rewind. Play. Rewind. Play.
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