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Eddy, now back on his feet, slowly walks over to the stand where the Manchester fans are and cups his hand to his ear, Jamie style, which only makes them even more furious.

There are only seconds left, so only time for the conversion. If we make the kick, Leeds win; if we don’t, the game is Manchester’s, and it’s all on Ellis, a younger player, not usually our first choice of kicker but Green failed his concussion test earlier in the half – and he’s kicking from his weaker side, given that Eddy had no choice but to run into the corner.

For a second the stadium falls silent – then the Manchester fans start trying to psych Ellis out, building suspense with an oooooohhhhhhh…

Tens of thousands of people (even more watching at home) waiting for one man to kick one ball between two posts.

As he steps backwards to take the kick, I can feel my heart pounding in my ears. His foot connects with the ball, it flies towards the posts, and it looks like it’s going to sail through… but then it just clips one of the posts, it ricochets and… I can’t quite tell which side it falls on. I look to the match officials who stand on the line… The flags don’t go up, he’s missed, and then the final whistle has sounded. Manchester have won.

The Manchester fans go wild. The Leeds fans sit down, as though that took the last of their energy. They clearly feel just as defeated as the players.

Thirteen points to twelve. One point, that’s all it came down to in the end. One single point. That drop goal Jamie allegedly stole secured their victory.

Across the pitch, Eddy remains standing beneath the posts. His hands are on his hips. He looks towards the scoreboard, then down at the grass, and my heart breaks for him, because what an effort.

It is ridiculous how quickly the excitement disappears. His try was nothing short of incredible; even I know that. It should have won the match. It would have won the match if the kick had gone through.

My smile creeps back when I see Eddy pull Ellis in for a hug though. It was probably the biggest kick of his career so far, he wasn’t in the best spot, and he did his best. I can’t hear what Eddy is saying, but you can tell from his body language that he’s telling Ellis that it wasn’t his fault.

‘Let’s go down and see them,’ Bryan says. ‘We’ll be allowed on the pitch now.’

I nod and grab my bag, moving into the aisle while everyone else remains either frozen in place or starts the long, slow process of shuffling out.

I need to snap back into work mode. There will be interviews, photographs and social clips to capture. Even after a loss, the club needs content, and Eddy’s try is the obvious story. The sort of moment people will replay for years, regardless of the final result.

That is why I need to see him. For professional reasons. Not because I want to put my arms around him and tell him he played incredibly and I’m so proud of him and Leeds should have won.

It’s chaos down on the pitch. Players, officials, broadcasters, club staff, security and people carrying equipment move in every direction.

It’s so loud, as Manchester fans scream, and the players celebrate in front of them, giving each stand the opportunity to clap and cheer at them. It’s not that they didn’t deserve to win, because they did win, but maybe I’m a true rugby fan now, because it feels like the Lions were robbed.

I search for Eddy, expecting to find him to one side, alone, gathering his thoughts, probably beating himself up over what he could have done differently. Instead, I find him surrounded by people, and he’s smiling, because everyone is asking about his try, patting him on the back, congratulating him – you would never believe he was on the losing side.

Even Manchester staff members stop him. One shakes his hand and says something that makes Eddy laugh.

He looks disappointed, of course he does, but there’s something else… Maybe it’s just adrenaline, but I think it’s pride. He knows what he just did will be remembered – and talked about – for a very long time.

On the giant screen, the replays start again, and it’s all Eddy.

The Leeds supporters who have stayed behind cheer all over again. He’s a hero, even if they didn’t win this time.

Trish appears beside Eddy with a microphone, followed closely by a camera operator.

I practically shudder. She’s so close to me, the woman who caused me so much pain, and I suppose she’s just being professional, but I find it sociopathic that she can interview Eddy as though nothing ever happened.

But I don’t care. I don’t care if she and Ron fell out, if they’re still seeing each other, if they’re getting married. Because whatever happened led me to here, and seeing Eddy like that, being even a small part of it, is better than boring nights in and mediocre missionary with a man called Ron.

Trish raises the microphone. I step closer, lingering behind the CrashSports camera, so I can hear.

‘Eddy, that is one of the most extraordinary tries we’ve ever seen in a Grand Final, but I imagine it’s difficult to appreciate it when the result has gone against you. What is going through your mind right now?’ she asks him.

Eddy rubs one hand over the back of his neck.

‘Disappointed, obviously. We came here to win and we didn’t, so it’s hard to take much from it straight away. The lads gave everything, though, and we were one kick away. That’s the sport, at the end of the day.’

‘Talk us through the try, because Jamie Royle looked certain to take that ball, and then you appeared from nowhere.’

Eddy’s mouth lifts, a smile tugging at his cheeks, even though he’s trying to resist.