"The lucky goal is irrelevant," she said, her eyes boring into her players.
"It was a fluke. A one-in-a-million mistake. It doesn't matter. What matters is that for the twenty minutes before that, we were chasing shadows. We were disorganized. We let them play. That will not happen in the second half. We go back to basics. We are compact. We are disciplined. And we give their little magician, Demir, absolutely no space. We suffocate them. We wait for our chance. And we will be clinical. Now get your heads up. We are better than them, and in the next forty-five minutes, we are going to prove it."
Across the corridor, the Apex dressing room was a scene of giddy, disbelieving joy.
"I still can't believe he did that," Jonathan Rowe was saying, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "Their keeper just... dribbled it into his own net! I think my brain is broken!"
"It was a tactical press!" David Kerrigan insisted, puffing out his chest.
