“It had, thought Arsène Wenger to himself, been a wonderful day. He kicked his shoes off onto the carpet. Then, with a sly grin and a quick check to make sure the door was closed, he swung his socked feet up onto his desk and, for the first time in years, relaxed. He closed his eyes. He fumbled in his jacket pocket, removed a cigar case, unscrewed the top and withdrew eight plump inches of Havana’s finest. He popped it into his mouth.” Fusion