Ethan stood in his technical area, a wild, disbelieving laugh escaping his lips.
He ran a hand through his hair, his tactical brain completely short-circuited by the beautiful, glorious madness of the last five minutes.
This wasn't football. This was a fever dream.
On the pitch, his players were just as bewildered.
"Did... did our center-back just score the winner?" Jonathan Rowe asked, his face a mask of stunned joy.
"I think so!" Kenny McLean gasped, leaning on his knees to catch his breath.
"To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what's happening anymore. I think we're winning?"
"WE'RE WINNING!" David Kerrigan roared, sprinting over to the celebrating pile and launching himself on top with a triumphant yell.
The Fleetwood manager, on the other hand, looked like he was about to spontaneously combust. He was a volcano of pure, unadulterated rage.
