The locker room door slammed shut behind Alex and Krstović as they stepped back inside, the roar of celebration washing over them like a wave. The music was louder than ever, shirts were flying through the air, and someone, probably Banda again, had commandeered a tray of Gatorades and was pretending to serve them like champagne.
"There he is" someone shouted. "The gaffer"
Cheers erupted as Alex was spotted, and within seconds he was being pulled into a group hug, slapped on the back, ruffled on the head like some victorious gladiator returning from the coliseum. Krstović ducked away, laughing, but not before getting a bottle of water cracked over his head.
