The Berlin Olympiastadion was not a football ground. It was a coliseum of stone and history.
Alex sat in the locker room. It was silent.
He was taping his ribs. Every breath was a sharp, hot reminder of the block against Spain.
"Tight?" the physio asked, pulling the bandage.
"Tighter," Alex said. "I do not want to feel them."
The physio pulled. Alex gasped.
"Good," Alex said. "Now I am a mummy. A stable mummy."
Harry Kane was sitting next to him. The England captain was staring at the floor. He looked like he was meditating.
"This is it, Professor," Harry said quietly. "The big one. The one we dream about."
"It is just a game," Alex lied.
"It is never just a game against France," Harry smiled. "They are the World Champions. They have the best player in the world."
He meant Mbappe.
"And," Harry added, "they have your best friend."
Antoine.
Alex looked at his boots. The white ones with the gold brain.
