“No luck?” asked Mike as Jamie walked back towards him with his head bowed. “He must just be giving them five more minutes. Keep yourself loose, though – he could bring you on at any time.”

“Mike,” said Jamie. “Give it up, yeah? He’s not gonna put me on. He hates my guts. He hates our guts.”

Mike looked sad.

“I’m sorry, JJ,” he said. “I really am. You don’t deserve this.”

Jamie could see Mike’s face redden with anger as he caught sight of Hansard coming out for the second half.

There were two birds circling in the air above Hansard. Jamie prayed that they might splat their droppings all over his bald head.

“I’m going to have a word with him,” said Mike, kicking over an empty water bottle. “Maybe old Hilary needs a little shock to help him change his mind.”

“No point, Mike,” argued Jamie, pulling him back. “If you get involved, it won’t change anything. It’ll just make it worse.”

Mike shook his head.

“He’s a small, petty man. What’s the point of having a sub if you’re not going to use them?”

“Depends who the sub is, doesn’t it?” said Jamie. “I s’pose for him, putting me on would be like admitting he was wrong.”

“And he’s certainly not going to do it with me here,” said Mike. “I’m going to the back of the stands where he can’t see me.”

Mike started to walk away. Then he turned and looked at his grandson.

“And, Jamie, if you do get on that pitch, you show him just how wrong he’s been.”