Professor Heisenberg and the inventor of the PJenga method walk into a pub. The landlord is merely puzzled by the distinctly grumpy cat between them, whose outline never seems entirely in focus.
5.12 p.m. — Before the match
When Ike entered the pub, the world was still in order.
At least, it looked that way.
A projection screen hung above the small live-music stage, where it clearly did not belong. Two black straps held it to a lighting rig, suspended between cables, spotlights and a faded sign that read:
LIVE MUSIC — THURSDAY TO SUNDAY
Today was Saturday.
There would be no band.
England were playing in the World Cup quarter-final.
The projector hummed above the entrance like an insect that already understood how important it was about to become. On the screen, the build-up programme was under way. Pundits stood in front of tactical diagrams, explaining formations as though the future were a neatly divided football pitch.
In one corner, a pianist sat at a black upright and played something quie…
