All my life I had dreamt of that moment. As a child, I played it out against mates day after day, and as a man, I practised for it with an almost eerie certainty that one day it would come.
You know why I laughed back in the dressing room? Because I forgot the only single thing that really matters. I forgot to watch the ball.
Yes, it was a bad shot, but it wasn’t a bad idea, no way. If I had watched the ball and hit it well, the tone would have been set. But I didn’t. After a lifetime of dreaming about exactly that moment, I messed it up. So I laughed – otherwise I’d still be crying.