As he ran I was aware of becoming involved in his running and being a part of it, until he turned with heavy pirouette and drew the applause of the crowd. In adoration of the King of Kings. I was drawn in. Those bandy legs, that confident chest, those piercing eyes. I was drawn in. Control, look up, release; track, tackle, survive. The great combatant, the general, the leader; magister. Beating heart, ticking clock, lion of Highbury. An elderly man with trembling hands said he was the bravest he ever saw. A cold winter’s day; the eyes of Keane, the shins of Keane. Yellow and red, red and yellow. Grass and mud and sweat and tears and blood and scars. Olbas. Foot on ball, sock at ankle he stands. He stands and surveys his kingdom. Magister.