Pep let out a slow breath and rubbed a hand over his scalp, eyes still locked on the pitch.
"There goes trying to keep him from cutting inside," he said quietly.
One of his assistants glanced at him, then back at the screen mounted near the bench, but Pep did not look away as the replay rolled again.
"We wanted him crossing," Pep went on, more to himself now.
"Pin him there. Let him send balls in. He stays on the line instead. Keeps it. Keeps it. And then that."
He shook his head once, sharp and quick.
"He stayed on the byline the whole way. Whole way," he repeated, as if that detail annoyed him most.
"Impossible angle. And he still finds the roof."
"Am I or is anyone at fault here?" he suddenly turned towards his assistant with the question, while the latter just stared at him, like he was looking at a different persona of Pep.
The latter then sighed before settling back into his seat.
He sat back for a second, eyes unfocused, thoughts racing.
