For ninety-three minutes this was a match about compression: two banks of four, a midfield fought over in metres, and a crowd that groaned every time the ball went backwards. Then the substitute full-back took two touches he had no right to take, and the game opened.
The delivery was flat and early, aimed at the space between keeper and centre-back rather than at any teammate in particular. That is the modern set-piece economy: create doubt, let bodies do the rest. The header went in off the underside of the bar and the away end lost its footing.
What it means for the table is simple arithmetic and complicated psychology. Three points close the gap to two with nine matches left, but more importantly it hands a squad that had drawn four in a row the feeling that late goals belong to them again.
The losing manager was measured afterwards, pointing to an expected-goals figure that flattered his side and a substitution he made a minute too late. “We defended the cross we practised all week,” he said. “We just defended it standing still.”
