The second half started with Trafford showing more urgency. They pressed higher, tried to disrupt Moss Side's rhythm. In the fifty-second minute, they won a corner.
The delivery was good, and their center-back rose highest to power a header into the net. 3-1. I felt a familiar pang of anxiety, my body tensing, my mind already analyzing what had gone wrong with the defensive shape.
"It's a friendly, Danny," Emma reminded me gently, her hand on my arm.
I knew she was right, but the competitive fire still burned. Old habits died hard.
I needn't have worried. Scott made a tactical adjustment, bringing on a fresh midfielder to shore up the center. Moss Side regained control, their passing sharp, their movement intelligent. In the sixty-seventh minute, they broke on a devastating counter-attack.
