At the end of this hazy, fun, end-of-term romp Antonio Conte could be seen striding out across the Carrow Road turf to join his players in front of the Tottenham support, who had spent the last hour basking and lolling and running through their repertoire of songs, serenading not just the players or the excellent transport links now in place for any potential trip back to Woolwich for their north London neighbours, but above all Conte himself.
Conte had come to Norfolk sporting a kind of narrow-boat chic, blue leather yacht shoes, nautical slacks, navy sweater. As the players celebrated he moved among the white shirts like a general in the field, with a hug here, slap of the chest there, a barked word of praise. The Tottenham fans sang his name again. And in that moment the whole afternoon seemed to turn a shade of Antonio.
