Richard, listening to the match broadcast from across the Atlantic, frowned deeply as the commentator described the final minutes.
"A brawl?"
He paused, thoughts swirling. Something didn't sit right.
He quickly searched for an image of Warren Barton.
As the photo loaded on screen, Richard's frowned more. A few scenarios formed in his mind, but one rose to the top.
He didn't waste time—he called coach McLaren immediately.
"A sudden brawl? Were there any signs the two had clashed before?"
A pause.
"No? Alright, I understand. Thanks for the information."
After ending the call, Richard rubbed his chin, staring at nothing in particular. The pieces were slowly clicking together. He didn't know exactly what had happened, but if Cox—normally level-headed and quiet—had exploded like that, something serious must've triggered it.
The top possibility in his mind?
Barton had said something or something like that. And what, in that era, could hit harder than a racist slur?
