As the final whistle was blown at Craven Cottage, Benjamin Sesko wiped his nose on his shirt and then just stood staring down at the turf in the centre circle, while around him the players of Fulham and Manchester United shook hands, embraced, or fell to their knees to praise to the almighty deity, according to preference.
Sesko just carried on staring, then carried on for a bit more, seeming not so much disappointed with this energetically vague 1-1 draw, as consumed by something more basic. How strange to be Sesko right now, aged 22 and a few months, a £73m footballer, thrown into the meat grinder and asked not just to play and score goals for Manchester United, but to fix them too, to work out exactly how this £1bn cut‑and‑shut job of a team, hurled into a non‑negotiable shape by a supremely confident man in white trainers, are actually going to do this.
