If this were a movie, it would start as a dream sequence.
A floating Steadicam tracking shot through the trees, along muddy paths, over logs and undergrowth, the sun dappling and strobing on trunk and leaf before the branches crowd in and crowd in until, suddenly, the camera breaks through, breaks free, to reveal a field of green. A football pitch, virgin, unused, unplayed on, waiting for the first studmark, the first white line, the first Iniesta-like surge from the midfield.
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