the bus back from P.W.: the wrecked-knee kibitzing
Schacht sat listing to port and didn’t respond when hands were waved in front of his face, and Axford and Struck started kibitzing Barry Loach about their knees were feeling punk as well.
Context
Under the good-tired glow, the injury inventory keeps accruing: Schacht "listing to port" and unresponsive from whatever Loach shot into him, while Axford and Struck work the trainer "about their knees were feeling punk as well." The bus doubles as a rolling clinic — the trainer besieged by the day's casualties even in the afterglow, every body carrying some fresh complaint. Victory doesn't suspend the breakdown; it just spices it, the team an organism whose collective contentment sits directly on top of a shared and constant damage.