I think I’ve seen the next great football manager.

He didn’t stop moving, gesticulating or encouraging from the first whistle to the last.

He had a strange semi-crouch, as if he was watching just the legs and the feet and the ball, as if he was peeking round the corner of players, as if he knew that everything great about the game happens on the ground.

And at the end, when he walked to the away stand and applauded, you knew he meant it.

He disappeared down the tunnel, the last person to leave the field, only to return as the home fans clapped and stomped and slowly built up a cheer.

As it rose to a roar, the next great football manager appeared again, threw a fist in the air, and three sides of the stadium reacted like they’d just scored a goal.

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