It’s a beautifully constructed game in which the marvelous invoke a compulsion to marvel, so glamorous the whirring dervish wisks and flicks, a mezmirizing matrix of swirls and swift forward thrusts and looping jabs, striking out as the gazelle does at the predators jaw, hack and gnaw and grind, in to the earths crust you merge and rise and tis a vortex of quick movements and passes, leading with the left leg, dart out right foot, swing, tuck, lead lead lead, left foot drags, threaten to whip with right, bring back with a casual glancing roll over of the studs on the top of the ball, strike out once more with the left foot, counterclockwise around the ball, the last infinite feint, and a silkily glide of the right foot along the outer left cusp of the ball and your in and its all happened in 0.08 seconds and felt like half an hour and swiftly you dart past the slow player trailing behind, an easy, nonchalant sort of dismissive jab again with the right and over the ball, and in an instant every bit of your destiny can be seen and the holy music of triumph erupts and colors turn vibrant and you see the pores on the skin of the keeper, dirtied with sweat and mud and heaving with ragged breath and you bring forward your leg in an elegant semi arc and the ball fly and dips, sinks majestically with half a sideways curve in to the net. It bulges and the cracking crowd roar about like utter savages.