Twenty-three minutes until the end. But what an ending it will be, if only we can hold on to see it. We watch in disbelief. We watch through our fingers. Wave after wave after wave come at us. Surely it is only a matter of time before they put us, the little upstarts, in our place. Surely we don't deserve this, so it can't possibly last. We pinch ourselves to make sure that we are not imagining it. We look around us. To our right, to our left, in front and behind. We are surrounded by people with the largest smiles. We are jumping. We are singing. The flags and banners and scarves and bonnets are in the air. The ground is shaking to the beat of 114,000 feet bouncing up and down. We grab one another and dance; complete strangers sharing a moment of sheer joy. Forgetting our differences for a brief second, because there are only 23 minutes to go. Does it matter if we concede one? No-one really believes that we can possibly hold out, for all the bravado that was in the air beforehand. Do they? Did they? Will we? Yet, here we are. With 23 minutes to go. Weathering the storm, riding our luck and almost extending our advantage. What a transformation. Two years ago we couldn't buy a result, and here we are leading the best in the world. Today. Here. Now. Twenty-three minutes to go. Can we hold out? Yes. Yes, we can. Did anyone see the England score?

The End