Coach's farewell

Ole had just spent the entire two-hour flight from Germany to Manchester feeling like a man condemned. Every second in that cabin had been suffocating, the weight of the past few hours pressing down on him like an unbearable force. He sat stiffly in his seat, eyes staring blankly at nothing, yet acutely aware of everything around him. Every whisper, every glance, every hushed joke between the players—it all felt like it was about him. Maybe it was paranoia. Maybe it was the truth. Either way, it gnawed at him, a slow, relentless torture that refused to let up.