Injustice Before Breakfast

Please click the photo above to play the daily videoWoke up to the sort of football news that makes you want to lodge a formal complaint before you've even had coffee. Egypt had led Argentina 2-0, held it deep into the second half, and then watched it unravel in the space of about twenty minutes — a disallowed goal, a penalty appeal waved away, and Enzo Fernández finishing it off in stoppage time to complete the smash and grab. Argentina through, 3-2, and Twitter, predictably, on fire about it. Robbed felt like the word of the morning, even if the VAR officials would no doubt disagree with the verdict from the comfort of their monitors. Football has a cruel sense of timing, and Tuesday's dose of it arrived before I'd properly woken up.

The day itself started with a Grab, first stop physio, which is one of those appointments that's good for you in principle and mildly disruptive to a schedule in practice. It ran long, or perhaps I'd simply misjudged how long "long" would feel once I was watching the clock rather than my own shoulder, and by the time I was back in the car heading for Subang the morning had already developed a lean, hurried quality it hadn't asked for.

Getting back meant rushing straight into rounds, the kind of arrival where you're still mentally catching up to your own body. No graceful transition, just straight into it, one task chasing the tail of the last. The clinic that followed was a long one — properly long, the sort that eats an afternoon whole and leaves you slightly surprised at how much daylight has disappeared by the time you next check. A meeting at five kept things moving rather than easing them off, and by the time everything was finally done, the sun had already gone down without much fanfare, the way it tends to when you're too occupied to notice it happening.

Another Grab home, the city outside doing its usual evening thing — headlights, hawker smoke, the low hum of a Tuesday winding down for everyone except, it seemed, for me. Home wasn't quite the end of it either. More calls, a few stray emails that had been quietly multiplying while I wasn't looking, the low-grade admin tax that always seems to charge interest overnight.

By the time I finally sat down properly, it was less an evening and more the tail end of one, salvaged mostly by the first episode of Silo's new season, which I managed to squeeze in before sleep made its closing argument. Not a bad way to end a day that had, in its own way, mirrored Egypt's morning — promising, then complicated, then over rather more abruptly than expected. Bed came not a moment too soon.