The celebration in the dressing room was a beautiful chaos of joy and relief. Klopp, his face flushed with emotion, gathered the team in a circle.
"This," he said, his voice hoarse from ninety minutes of shouting, "is what it means to be a team. When one of us falls, the others carry him. When one of us is hurt, the others fight harder. Mateo," he turned to face him directly, "you may not have been on the pitch today, but you were with us. Your spirit, your determination, your belief, it was in every tackle, every pass, every run. This victory is as much yours as it is theirs."
The players erupted in applause, their voices a chorus of agreement. Mateo felt a lump in his throat, the emotion threatening to overwhelm him. He had spent the past few days feeling sorry for himself, wallowing in self-pity, consumed by what might have been.
