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Friday morning was cool and crisp. It would need to be, because things were going to get hot very quickly.

I’d called another meeting at the Stadium. I’d told Hass to keep out of sight: he was too valuable to be risked in the showdown. Besides, he’d done his work. The boy could rest and go back to his dreams of tomorrow.

Holmgren was late, and not pleased to have been called. It looked like Mr Allen had been working hard to get him to turn up at all. Naturally, he immediately took over proceedings.

“I suppose you have some good reason for wasting our time here? You’ve had four days sniffing around in the garbage for no result other than annoying us. And some of us have real work to do.”

“Relax, Mr Holmgren,” I replied. “All of our problems will be over shortly. But since you’re uncomfortable being here, perhaps you’d like a drink while you’re waiting?”

Holmgren snatched up the waiting glass and drank it petulantly. I could see Ray Rhodes behind him, looking surprised. I could see Paul Allen looking shocked. And I could see victory within reach.

“Yes, gentlemen,” I went on. “I think we’re all a little surprised to see Mr Holmgren indulging in Old Patera.” Holmgren jolted like he’d been sitting on a tee waiting for Josh Brown to kick him. “The stuff you gave away in 2002 because none of you could touch it?”

For the first time, I saw Holmgren looking totally lost. His eyes darted quickly, looking for something to work on, something to cling to, but the mouth resolutely refused to move.

While he was floundering, something flashed briefly in my direction through the side door I’d been half-watching. The signal was good: the cavalry had arrived.

It was time to avenge a season that hadn’t been given a chance to protect itself.

“But nothing has really changed, you know. What was true in 2002 is just as true in 2004. Mike Holmgren still can’t stand the taste of Old Patera. It makes him ill. Everybody knows that.”

Holmgren slumped into a nearby chair. He looked paralysed, raging in his eyes but motionless in his body. He knew he couldn’t stop what was coming next.

“Of course, that’s quite irrelevant if you’re not really Mike Holmgren…”