If football is a religion — and for many it is — then what are its rituals, and who are its saints and martyrs? I came across this man during a rally, wrapped in his team’s colours, crowned with blue plastic strands like a DIY halo, cigarette pinched between fingers, gaze lost somewhere off-frame. He didn’t look triumphant, nor devastated. Just worn — by hope, by defeat, by something in between. This wasn’t theatre for the camera. He wasn’t performing. He was just still, in that half-breath between chants or cheers or curses. From a technical standpoint, I shot this with a shallow depth of field, using a fast lens…