Phones were out, lights glowing against the low London sky.
Everyone was filming, live-streaming, or just yelling into microphones shoved in their faces.
A teenage boy in a red windbreaker shoved his hand into the air like he was holding a mic himself.
"Bro, if I'm Cuenca?" he barked, eyes wide.
"I'm calling in sick for the rest of the season. I don't care if we've got Liverpool next. I'm putting my phone on airplane mode till August."
Laughter rippled behind him as a girl in sunglasses — at night — leaned in, still playing the replay on her phone.
"Look at this. Look." She tapped the screen and froze the moment Izan slipped it through Willian's legs.
"I've always seen Willian do it to others, so now I know he gets how those players felt when he did it to them."
Further down, two university mates argued like they were on a panel show.
"I swear, it wasn't even the spin. It was the calm. He spun and paused like he was waiting for someone to say 'Action.'"
