The 2-0 victory over Shrewsbury had been a different kind of win—calm, professional, and utterly dominant. It was the victory of a team that was starting to believe in its own superiority.
"And that, my friends," Kenny McLean was saying, a professorial look on his face, "is what we call 'game management'. No drama, no heart attacks, just a quiet, efficient dismantling of the opposition."
"Speak for yourself!" David Kerrigan retorted from across the room, where he was polishing his boots with a towel. "I was bored. I nearly fell asleep in the second half. The gaffer wouldn't let me take anyone on."
"That's because we were winning 2-0 and didn't need you to get another ridiculous red card," Grant Hanley grunted, but there was no heat in it. He was smiling.
Viktor Kristensen, the scorer of the first goal, was quietly talking with Emre. "That pass... I didn't even know I was open until the ball was already coming to me," he said in awe.
