It was around 8pm last Friday night when a tainted hero took the microphone in the function room of a Manchester hotel and resumed the complicated business of being Ryan Giggs in 2025.
There was a cold drizzle against the windows behind him, which looked out to Old Trafford, 50 yards away across the puddles, and in front was a congregation of 160 who had paid to hear his classics over a three-course dinner.
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