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Then he heads back towards the changing room. I stand there for a moment, watching the doorway after he disappears.

I didn’t realise he had an adversary. One clear rival that everyone is making a big deal out of. I take my phone from my pocket and search their names on social media. Okay, yeah, everyone has them pitted against each other.

I head towards my seat, ready for the match, reading various posts and comments as I go.

I feel oddly proud seeing Eddy run out, hearing the fans go crazy. I love that whenever he gets the ball they chant his surname at him – Hood Hood Hood – barking it like a dog.

As half-time approaches, I realise that I’m still struggling with a lot of the rules, but I’m sure of one thing – there’s something in this rivalry. Something people care about. I mean, the home fans are loyal, they definitely hate Jamie. As well as a few unsavoury chants I won’t mention, they cheer anytime he makes a mistake. If he drops the ball, if he gets tackled hard – they roar. I wonder what that feels like, to be on the receiving end, to hear people revel in any sort of failure.

It seems like everyone has accepted the fact that Eddy Hood and Jamie Royle absolutely hate each other – so either they do, or they’re both committed to their professional characters so fully that they’re behaving as though they hate each other. I’m not sure how much it matters which one it is; the end result is the same.

From the moment the whistle goes, they seem drawn together, even though they’re not always playing directly opposite one another. Whenever Eddy carries the ball, Jamie appears from somewhere, charging towards him with the focused determination of a man trying to stop a train with his bare hands. Whenever Jamie breaks through the Leeds defence, Eddy is there to tear him down, usually with enough force to make the people around me explode with delight.

They seem to talk constantly too, and it doesn’t look friendly, more like heated exchanges after tackles. Smirks. Little shoves as they get back to their feet. At one point, Jamie says something that makes Eddy laugh, but it isn’t a warm laugh. It’s the sort of laugh people leak before they get mad.

The crowd loves it. Every time they come together, the volume shoots up.

Leeds fans start shouting at Jamie whenever he touches the ball, which he appears to enjoy oddly enough. He grins at the stands after one particularly impressive run, holding his arms out as though he’s asking them to give him more. The boos become so loud my seat seems to vibrate beneath me.

The match itself is close enough to be stressful, even when I don’t entirely understand why it is stressful – but the score speaks for itself. Leeds take the lead, Manchester steal it back, and every decision the referee makes is believed to be an obvious sign of corruption by either the home or away fans – of course it isn’t, but neither side seems to want to admit when they’re in the wrong.

I learn more by listening to the people around me than I have from any article or social platform. A kick on the last tackle is strategic. Dropping the ball is very bad and should be ridiculed in the same way you would be if you dropped a glass on a night out. Referees are apparently negligent, biased and, according to the man two rows behind me, on the sex offenders’ register.

By the final ten minutes, I am completely caught up in it. I shout when everyone else shouts, stand when everyone else stands, and clutch the seat in front of me until my knuckles turn white when Jamie breaks into an open space with nobody between him and the line.

That’s when Eddy comes from nowhere to put an end to his run, tackling him just inches from the try line. They both jump to their feet and immediately press their heads together, pushing each other, both of them shouting. Jamie is smiling, clearly loving it, but Eddy looks genuinely angry. The ref gets between them and tells them off like they’re naughty kids.

I can practically see tomorrow’s headlines arranging themselves – it’s going to be all about Eddy, Jamie and the Leeds win, of course. The win by four points – just one try… I’m pretty sure.

The whistle goes and the stadium erupts, people jumping, hugging, throwing what’s left of their beers while the players exchange handshakes that vary wildly in sincerity.

Eddy and Jamie find each other near the centre of the pitch. For a moment, I wonder if they’re going to start another argument, but Jamie holds out his hand. Eddy looks at it, then takes it. They exchange a few words neither of them appears particularly happy about. I notice a photographer run in and take a photo of the two of them.

As the crowd begins to filter out, I remain in my seat, watching staff move around the pitch and photographers gather near the tunnel. I can see Ron, the little toad, talking to one of the cameras. I’m keeping well out of his way, thank you very much.

Suddenly I feel like I understand something that I didn’t get last week. Not the rules of the game, I’m still pretty oblivious on that one, but the rivalry… that I get.

It is brilliant as far as drawing in the crowds goes. It has everything people love: the established legend and the younger challenger, rival clubs, different personalities, history, resentment, grudges. Jamie is all swagger and smiles, cocky self-confidence whether he’s earned it or not, while Eddy has the quiet, brooding energy of a man who would rather express himself through brutal tackles than words. Eddy’s confidence is practically silent, but it’s undeniable.

You could build an entire campaign around them, if you wanted to. Not that Leeds would actively promote Jamie, obviously, but rivalry means engagement. Clips. Quotes. Comparisons. Fans arguing in the comments, which they are going to do anyway, so we might as well benefit from it.

By the time I make my way back inside, my head is already filling with ideas.

I find Bryan near one of the hospitality rooms, chatting to someone. He always wears a blue suit with a yellow tie on match days. The same one anyone important seems to have on. I wait until his conversation finishes before hurrying over.

‘Enjoy it?’ he asks.

‘Yes. I think I even understood some of it.’

He laughs.

‘Eddy and Jamie are incredible rivals,’ I point out.

‘Yeah, it’s a big deal, everyone is talking about it,’ he explains. ‘Especially with them both being selected for the England squad.’

‘They’ll be playing together?’ I reply.

‘Yep,’ Bryan replies. ‘They’ll be a brilliant pairing, if they play nice.’