This is a molten hit from distance.
A raise of the eyebrows and a big question mark
over Iker's head.
Look at the connected passages
Diego weights it exquisitely, Frings delivers a
diamond of a pass. It's an open, yawning net.
Torsten Frings puts it on a golden altar. Sanogo sees
it coming, he sees it going, he cannot angle it
down into the open, yawning net.
Einstein vision and creativity
Fusion? Absolutely devastated.
Orchestrial movement beautifully finished
by the violin of Iniesta,
And meanwhile, in the Coach's
dug-out, Aragonés is sitting like Leonard Bernstein.
Little bit of yellow pus starting to come out of the wounds of Peru.
Oleguer gets freezed, paralysed. Turns to Lot's wife like a statue of salt
Poor Oleguer ... you think it's done all over again, you
think you've seen it before, it's like you've relived it
He really has been a fish-shaking warrior in that midfield
It's a stupefying mist by the Hungarian
Screams his blue murder
This'll be a perfect look. He powers this one on, cat-quick.
That is brilliant by the Cameroonian. There is a window,
tiny little window of opportunity on his right side that could be exploited,
and that man there, X-ray vision to find its way in, beautiful.
It's just a baby's breath away
tears the size of pineapple chunks
walking like a big beautiful zombie,
a big beautiful zombie