'I’d trust them.’ And I knew that was the highest compliment Russell could give

Maybe it’s my old-fashioned fondness for an increasingly archaic notion of duty and commitment that make it so important to me. Perhaps I’ve a yen for the days when leaders inspired not through their ability to turn computer algorithms into billions of dollars of stock options, but because of their physical and mental courage in the face of danger and adversity. That’s why I love a sport that can make a virtue of mulishness, and find glory in a five-day draw. My encounter with Russell had shown me that the brand of loyalty I’ve always idolised doesn’t live on only in the pages of fiction, or Hollywood bromances. It’s not just something that a fan projects, hopefully, on to her sporting heroes – it can be as real as her imaginings. It endures, too. Russell told me how, even now, ‘If Athers asked for help to do something, you do it, because you’ve got a bond. Because even though we didn’t win a lot, we had some special moments, and we’ve been through something together.’ And then he paused. ‘Now I come to think about it . . . I ain’t got any friends, really. Not friend friends. I’m quite singular. Remote. But when you talk of Athers and Angus and Stewie and those guys . . . I’d trust them.’ And I knew that was the highest compliment Russell could give.

E. John Following on (2016), 122