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I spot Eddy almost immediately, which I couldn’t have done before. Even without seeing the number on his back, I can spot him by the way he moves, even when I can’t quite see his face. To be honest with you, Jamie too, I feel familiar with his game now. They run out almost side by side. Oh boy, I feel sick with nerves. Is this what it’s always like for sports fans?

Jamie raises both arms towards the Manchester fans, encouraging the noise, then turns towards the Leeds supporters and, as they boo, he cups one hand around his ear. Of course, this makes them boo louder, but he loves it. Pushing people’s buttons, really winding them up, seems to be a huge part of the way he plays, but as much as it makes the away fans despise him, you can’t say it isn’t effective.

Eddy barely looks at the crowd. He walks onto the pitch, claps his hands once and moves towards his teammates. It should make him seem less dramatic and less interesting than Jamie, but somehow it has the opposite effect. Jamie looks as though he knows everyone is watching him. Eddy looks as though he hasn’t really noticed.

I spot someone holding up a sign with The King vs The Prince written on it. The phrase is everywhere now – I’m part of the problem. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve shared that clip of Jamie and Eddy now. CrashSports made an entire feature around it. Manchester are even selling cardboard cut-outs of Jamie’s head with a crown on – people are holding them all around the stadium, meaning when I look at the away fans, I see an army of Jamies staring back at me.

I’m sitting with Bryan, several members of club staff and some players’ families. I feel like I belong, which is nice. I wonder if they do too?

And I wonder if it means my job is secure, if I’m sort of working for England as well as Leeds now? We’ll see.

The match begins at a pace that makes every other game I have seen feel like a friendly. Someone in the crowd has a drum that they beat slow and steady, which only adds to the general sense of foreboding. I feel like I’m about to watch a boxing match, rather than a team sport. In hindsight, we probably could’ve had Eddy and Jamie do that press event boxers do, where it looks like they’re about to kiss. Then again, we don’t need to create any more tension between them – they feel hard to wrangle as it is.

The first collision is so loud I hear it from the stand. It’s a good start for Manchester, which sets them up well for scoring first. Jamie is involved, obviously, sending the ball wide at exactly the right moment before one of his teammates dives into the corner and places the ball over the tryline. He celebrates as though he scored it himself, racing over to drag his mate to his feet before turning towards the Leeds end with both arms out.

‘Eey, he’s a dick, isn’t he?’ Bryan half jokes.

‘No one can say he isn’t good at his job,’ I reply.

‘There’s a world where he could end up at Leeds,’ he says to me, so only I can hear. ‘We’re all keeping an eye out, to see how he and Eddy play together for England – but who knows when Eddy will retire? Unless you can give me a clue?’

Shit. Jamie could be coming to Leeds? Would he do that? I suppose, for the right amount of money, players must move clubs all the time.

‘He doesn’t tell me anything like that,’ I tell Bryan honestly.

I’ll bet he only shared that with me to try to get me to give him a hint about Eddy, but I really don’t know. If Jamie did move to Leeds, then I guess I’d be working with him even more, and that would be… interesting. I just can’t imagine him switching sides, the home fans suddenly loving him because he’s not just a dickhead, he’s their dickhead now. Now that I think about it, I do remember someone saying he hadn’t renewed his contract at Manchester yet. I guess we’ll see.

Bryan understands better than anyone how valuable Jamie is to the league. He gives broadcasters something to talk about, supporters someone to love or hate and marketing departments enough material to last for weeks – oh, and he definitely keeps the match officials and the disciplinary board busy too.

I smile and cheer as Leeds respond with a try of their own. The conversion goes through (and I definitely know what that is now: it’s when they kick the ball through the posts after a try), putting Leeds ahead, but only by two points. Eddy warned me that by the time you reach the final, the scores tend to be lower, because even though you’ve got the best players attacking, you have the best defences in the league too.

The match swings back and forth after that. Every time Leeds seem to take control, Manchester find a way back. Every time Manchester begin to pull away, Eddy does something that changes the momentum. He puts in a tackle that forces the ball loose, then drives through three defenders with two of them hanging from his shoulders. He doesn’t seem like a man who is at the door of retirement to me.

There’s controversy when Jamie does something potentially dodgy, and the Lions fans scream with outrage when it’s Jamie who comes out on top. He chooses to kick a drop goal, which strengthens Manchester’s lead. It’s thirteen points to eight.

So, let’s see, if I’ve got this right… a try is four. The conversion afterwards is two. Which means Leeds need a try and the kick that follows it to win.

Except the clock is ticking, and Manchester have the ball. The fans around me are screaming at them to do something, shouting all kinds of instructions (everything from ‘pass to Hood’ to ‘break his neck’) that the players surely can’t hear.

I squeeze my hands together. Is this thrilling or awful? I’ve never really been into sport, and I’ve definitely never cared about a team. I wonder if it’s worse, because I know them personally? Then again, I’ll bet some of the people around me have been supporting the Lions their entire life.

Manchester drive the ball forward, using each tackle to waste time and move further away from their own line. That’s smart, I suppose, but I’m not sure how sportsmanlike it feels, but I guess any tactic is a tactic. The clock continues counting down on the giant screen. One minute. That’s the only time they have left to do something. God, I wish they could do something.

The Manchester end is singing now, louder than they have all afternoon, while the Leeds supporters are shouting desperately every time one of their players makes contact.

Manchester are on their last tackle. This is it. Eddy has told me before that, in the last minutes, when possession is handed over, there’s usually time for one last attempt at a try.

I know we’re on the last tackle because the people around me start yelling, ‘Last one,’ as though the players have somehow forgotten.

On the last one, they usually kick it, so a Manchester player kicks it high. Jamie positions himself underneath it, the ball is on a trajectory that should send it straight into his arms, and I can see his grin from here, because he knows that all he has to do is keep the ball, and the time will run out – Manchester will have won.

Then Eddy appears. I don’t know where he comes from, I was too busy watching Jamie, but Eddy leaps into the air, jumping higher than I’ve ever seen any man that size jump, defying the laws of gravity, I swear to God. He reaches over Jamie, stealing the ball. Jamie loses his balance, falling flat on his arse, to which the Leeds fans give that ‘womp womp’ cheer when someone falls over, but no one basks in Jamie’s embarrassment for long because Eddy lands on his feet, and then he’s off, running with the ball, fast as he can, dodging any player that tries to stop him. He runs almost the full length of the pitch, eventually putting the ball down in one of the corners. It’s a try!

The stadium erupts with delight from the Leeds fans and outrage from the Manchester fans. I’m Leeds through and through, so I’m screaming and clapping – but I also feel sick, because they still need the conversion to win.

Eddy rolls onto his back, breathing hard, then his teammates pile on top of him until he disappears beneath a blur of blue and yellow.

The screen shows the replay. Jamie preparing to catch, that smug look on his face in HD for all to see, then Eddy rising above him, Jamie falling and Eddy stealing the ball and running off. They keep showing it, again and again, sometimes in slow motion. I scan the field for Jamie, and I can tell he’s sulking from here.