I stared at the list, a tangible summary of an impossible journey. From jumpers for goalposts at The Railway Arms to a muddy park in Moss Side to this. Two national trophies in my first season of professional football. It was insane.
Just then, Gary Issott walked in, his face split by a grin so wide it looked like it might be permanent. He was holding a thick, formal-looking envelope.
"Speaking of achievements," he said, his eyes twinkling as if he'd seen the screen only I could perceive. "I've just come from a meeting with the league. I have something for you." He handed me the letter. It was from the Premier League, formally confirming my nomination for the Eamonn Dolan Award.
I stared at the words, my mind struggling to comprehend their meaning. "The Eamonn Dolan Award?" I said, my voice barely a whisper. Gary's grin widened.
