A figure toils alone at Bodymoor Heath. The light fades, but against the setting sun his silhouette is distinctive: the floppy hair, the hunched gait, the vast calves. Jack Grealish is working, honing and polishing, inventing, striving at the limits of technical excellence.
He has inspired Aston Villa to achieve promotion. He has helped them to avoid relegation, establish themselves as a Premier League side. He is enormously popular. Even opposing fans admire his ability, warm to the sense he is still in some way the impish kid in the playground, revelling in his ability, having fun. That summer at the European Championship he had become a cause célèbre, the figure behind whom the clamour for Gareth Southgate to release the handbrake rallied, the poster boy for the sort of pundit who wished England would just believe in talent.
