"ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!" Andy Robertson roared, sliding on his knees across the wet floor, a move he had clearly been practicing.
"I am still not convinced Chivu is a real person," Julián Álvarez announced to a laughing Virgil van Dijk, his face a mask of deep, philosophical seriousness.
"He is a tactical ghost who manages football teams from the great beyond. Does a ghost need Wi-Fi to send telepathic instructions? This is a very important question for the future of sports."
"As long as his Wi-Fi is bad when he plays against us, I do not care," van Dijk rumbled, a huge, happy grin on his face.
Arne Slot stood in the doorway, a drenched but profoundly proud look on his face.
He didn't even try to quiet them down.
He just let them celebrate, a father watching his sons enjoy the fruits of their impossible labor.
They had gone into a fortress managed by a phantom super-coach and had not just won; they had burned the place to the ground.