The away end went berserk. Three thousand people in the Yorkshire cold screaming the name of a sixteen-year-old they had barely heard of an hour ago.
The noise was volcanic not proportional to the number of people producing it, the way Palace fans' noise was never proportional. On the pitch, Rodríguez pulled Olise into a hug. Zaha sprinted across to ruffle his hair. Neves applauded from the centre circle.
On the bench, Paddy McCarthy was standing, both hands on his head, his mouth open, his eyes red. The man who had told me about a trial player fifteen months ago. The man who had coached that boy every week since I left the U18s. Eze was on his feet clapping. Townsend was clapping. McArthur, who had been at Palace for five years and had seen everything the club could offer, was clapping too.
