An hour later, I was sitting in Steve Parish's plush office, the London skyline stretching out behind him. He was warm, effusive, his face still beaming from the victory. "Danny, my boy, come in, come in! What a performance! What a result! I haven't slept a wink. The whole board is ecstatic. You've done it, son. You've bloody done it."
I accepted his praise with a polite smile, but I didn't have time for pleasantries. "Steve," I began, cutting to the chase. "We need to talk about next season."
He leaned back in his chair, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "Next season? Danny, the season's not even over yet. We've still got two games to play. Let's enjoy this moment, eh?"
