In their dream time, when Leicester City was about miracles and wonder and tragedy was the furthest thing from anybody’s mind, the club’s owner, Vichai Srivaddhanaprabha, stood in the directors’ box at the King Power Stadium and gazed down at the joyous scene unfolding in front of him as Claudio Ranieri led Andrea Bocelli to the centre circle.
The manager and the great Italian singer stood there for a moment, surrounded by ballboys and club staff as Ranieri tried to hush the crowd.
The Premier League trophy was with them on the dais, ready to be presented to them after they played Everton that bright spring afternoon.
They were surrounded by bouquets of flowers and smiling faces and the happiness that feels as if it will never dim.
And then Bocelli began to sing Nessun Dorma. None shall sleep. And anybody with a heart, anybody who loved football, felt the tears welling up inside them.
Two and a half years later, two groups of men gathered around another centre circle in another stadium in another city.
The Cardiff City players stood on one side of the circle. On the other side were the Leicester team, their substitutes and most of their backroom staff, their arms linked together, their heads bowed. Everybody was included.
There were flowers again but this time it was a wreath. And this time, there was no singing. Just a minute of silence. A picture of Vichai appeared on the big screens at either end of the Cardiff City Stadium.
‘A great son of Thailand, may you rest in peace,’ a message read beneath his image. On the hoardings around the ground, another message flashed up. ‘Together with Leicester,’ it said.
In the midst of the silence, Kasper Schmeichel, the Leicester goalkeeper, who was one of the first on the scene of the crash that killed Vichai, two of his assistants and two pilots at the King Power Stadium last Saturday night, wept openly. And anybody with a heart, anybody who loved football, felt the tears welling up inside them.
Because tragedy is now a part of Leicester’s history, too. Tragedy will always be the partner of the miracle of that Premier League title triumph of 2015-16.
That was one of the greatest sports stories ever told but when the man who made it all possible died in the wreckage of his helicopter soon after the 1-1 draw with West Ham, all that joy was joined with pain.
Leicester’s home Carabao Cup tie with Southampton last Tuesday was postponed in the aftermath of the crash and so this foray into South Wales was the first time the club had played since. It was the first time it had tested its readiness to deal with its grief and play the game that Vichai loved so much.
This is a stadium that usually provides a hostile reception for visitors but this time was different. When the Leicester players ran out for the warm-up, wearing white t-shirts emblazoned with a picture of Vichai on the front and the words ‘The Boss’, they were warmly applauded by the Cardiff supporters.
On the back of the shirts, there was another tribute. ‘Khun Vichai. You Will Be Forever In Our Hearts,’ it read.
And when the teams emerged from the tunnel before kick off, a giant flag featuring the Thai flag, the badges of Leicester and Cardiff, and the words 'RIP Vichai' was passed above the heads of Cardiff fans towards to the Leicester supporters behind the goal. Another flag travelled from the Leicester end towards it until they met.
The match programme, too, was full of sympathy and condolence. A statement from Vincent Tan, the Cardiff owner, praised Vichai as ‘a true pioneer and visionary’. ‘We want to offer our support to a football club that three seasons ago proved that anything is possible in our wonderful sport,’ the statement added.
No one quite knew what to expect from the game. No one really knew whether they were coming to watch a match or just show solidarity.
The images of the Leicester players in obvious distress this week asked obvious questions about whether they were psychologically ready to play. The message from them and their manager, Claude Puel, was they wanted to compete to honour their owner.
Cardiff were unsure how to approach it, too. Warnock had observed his team this week and sensed how keen they were to do the right thing and mark the tragedy that had befallen their opponents with dignity and decency. He wondered if maybe they would feel guilty about trying to beat men who were still in the midst of suffering.
The unavoidable way of looking at this game was that it was 90 minutes of grief interrupted. After the match, the Leicester squad travelled to Cardiff airport to catch a plane to Bangkok so they could attend Vichai’s funeral, which began on Saturday.
Before it, as Schmeichel and the rest of the Leicester players sought comfort in the solidarity of teammates, it was obvious that they were still in mourning.
How does a team deal with something like this? Push all thoughts of the tragedy away? Use the idea of honouring Vichai as motivation? Or forget about football, damn the result, get it over with and get out of there?
In the end, Leicester used a mixture of all three. Those who thought they might crumble, though, were proved utterly wrong.
As BBC Radio Leicester presenters sat in the press box wearing their own t-shirts commemorating Vichai, the players refused to allow the tragedy that has befallen their club to overcome them.
In the gloom of a South Wales evening, the white shirts of their fans, all bearing the same image of Vichai, shone out from behind the goal like a beacon.
The result was not important but the spirit that Leicester showed in achieving it was. They certainly fulfilled their promise to honour Vichai with the way they played.
The records will show that Leicester won it 1-0 with a second half goal from Demarai Gray. The reports will tell you that he whipped off his shirt to reveal the legend: ‘For Khun Vichai.’
And when the final whistle blew, the Leicester fans sang: ‘There’s only one Vichai.’ And the players gathered around Schmeichel and hugged each other as if maybe they had achieved the first step in some kind of catharsis.
Before they left for the airport, the players walked over to the fans and stood in front of them in a long line. The players applauded the fans and the fans applauded the players.
‘Champions of England,’ the fans roared, ‘You’ll never say that. Champions of England, you’ll never say that.’ And still the players stayed. Still they gazed up at the supporters as if they were taking strength from them and their loyalty.
Finally, another flag appeared and the players gathered around as their fans sang ‘There’s only Vichai.’ It was a picture of their owner with the Premier League trophy.
‘Thank You, Vichai,’ the message next to it said. In the crowd, a little boy wept. And anybody with a heart, anybody who loved football, felt the tears welling up inside them.