George Wood was the first to reach the locker room. He had already showered and changed his clothes. He just sat there, looking up at the television broadcast.
When he heard someone come in, Wood took a glance and saw that it was Twain. He did not look away; he just stared.
"If you were in the game, the score wouldn't look like this." Twain shrugged. "But I'm not blaming you. I think your choice was understandable under those circumstances. I just hope you can be smarter the next time, George. You can wait till the 89th minute before you wipe out the bastard."
Wood was taken aback for a moment, then nodded. He lowered his head. "I'm sorry, boss."
Twain gave a grin, walked in, and patted Wood on the shoulder, "All right, let's not think about it. No one will blame you. I don't, and they won't." He pointed to the door as the noises outside grew louder and nearer. The players were heading back.
