There is perhaps no single game with such intolerance of romance as the Championship play-off final. It is the sort of occasion that ought to be steeped in history, from Nottingham Forest’s arduous pursuit of glories past to Huddersfield Town’s hopes of marking the 100th anniversary of its first major trophy. There should be emotive storylines, narrated by old players over grainy montages, that give a game like this texture and tradition, weaving memory and context into the mayhem.
Yet, all that goes against the sort of spectacle that is an inherently modern phenomenon. For the owners and executives, there are the unprecedented riches on offer, worth more than £1million a minute to the winning club. For the players, the travails and tumult of the previous 48 games are either vindicated or rendered heartbreakingly obsolete. Take those stakes and transport them in front of 85,000 yearning supporters at Wembley and what you get is a gauntlet unlike any other in English football, where the consequences of winning and losing could hardly be more exaggerated. Even for the most senior players, the scale of those margins can be hard to grapple with.
