Saturday, September 23, 2023
Turf Moor — Away Dressing Room
Halftime
The away dressing room smelled like mud and damp cotton, red shirts hung soaked over the backs of chairs, and studs had tracked lines of dirt across the tiled floor from the door to the benches.
Staff moved between the rows with towels and water bottles, and on the whiteboard near the door Burnley's wide zones still sat circled in the same red marker Ten Hag had used before kickoff.
Demien sat with his boots planted flat on the tile, elbows on his knees. The match ball sat nowhere near him.
Højlund's knee wouldn't stop bouncing, his heel tapping against the tile floor in a fast, uneven rhythm.
Bruno sat with one side of his mouth pulled up, shaking his head slowly at nothing in particular, and when Demien caught his eye he pointed two fingers at him and mouthed that volley without saying it out loud.
