I spent the weekend locked in my flat, a man on a mission. After two consecutive defeats and with JJ out for six to eight weeks, I had no time for self-pity. I had a tactical problem to solve. I didn't answer my phone. I didn't reply to the worried, sympathetic texts from Emma.
I just immersed myself in the world of football, in the world of the system. I watched hours of footage of our recent games, my eyes glued to the screen, analyzing every mistake, every misplaced pass, every tactical error.
I spent hours on the system's tactical board, experimenting with new formations, new player roles, new strategies. I was a footballing scientist, a tactical detective, searching for the formula, for the clue, that would lead us out of this crisis.
