Football singularity

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His boot struck the ball with power but without a sense of direction as it blasted forward, swerving wildly, veering high and wide past the right post. The ball sailed over the crossbar, crashing into the advertising boards with a hollow thud. The American fans groaned collectively, their hopes trembling with the realisation of what had just happened.

"He's missed! Christian Pulisic has missed!" Jamie Oliver exclaimed, his voice quivering with shock. "The American captain has faltered at the worst possible moment!"

"What a disaster for the USA. Pulisic had the chance to keep his side in control, but he could not rise to the occasion." Paul Gartner added, his tone thick with tension. "And now the one person they fear has the chance to send them out of the tournament."

The crowd's energy was now frenzied. The German supporters sensed blood, their voices growing louder, chanting Rakim's name as he stepped up to the spot. However, they were quickly drowned out by a wave of jeers and boos from the American fans who were in the majority.

May's expression grew paler and paler as she listened to more of the things the spectators were shouting. She was worried about how some of these shouts would affect Rakim especially with how nervous he must be having to take the final shot. For some reason, her brain started running scenarios of him slipping mid-run up or worse yet sending the ball to Jesus.

The longer the tension built the more nervous she got not noticing when she started nibbling on her freshly manicured nails. The fact that the referee seemed to be lost on what to do did not help in reassuring her, so she did the unthinkable. She said a prayer, as despite her friends being Christians and regularly going to church her family is what you would call seasonal gooers.

On the pitch for a moment, the whole stadium was so loud that Rakim couldn't even think, much less the referee, who forgot to blow his whistle. Taken aback for a moment, Rakim untied the bobble that bounded his dreadlocks, letting them hang freely. He locked eyes with Dos Santos as he went down to adjust the positioning of the ball giving it a light kiss before replacing it on the spot.

As he started taking his steps back the Ground somewhat quietened down, but the avalanche of boos still continued to pelter him. Once his heels reached the edge of the box, he looked to the referee letting him, know he was ready. The latter did the final checks before loudly blowing his whistle.

*FWEEEEEEE*

Ignoring the increased intensity of boo sounds took two large side steps to his left his heels clicking each time as they made contact. What followed was a rapid set of footsteps as his boots dug into the ground as he accelerated towards the ball. Now only 3 steps away from the ball he let his left foot drag along the ground in an elaborate stutter-step, his hips feinting to the left just before striking the ball with the inside of his right foot.

He met the ball with a lot of power and effe sending it bending towards the top right corner. Dos Santos managed to react in time guessing the correct direction and leapt after the ball gloves outstretched in the direction of the ball. The velocity at which the ball travelled was too fast for him even to grasp its shadow, the net rippled in the next moment as the ball buried itself perfectly into the back of the net.

The roar that erupted from the German fans was deafening. It was the sound of pure ecstasy, the eruption of relief and triumph after a nerve-wracking penalty shootout. Rakim with his arms spread wide took off running the moment he scored sprinting towards that one fleck with about 50 German fans surrounded at the side of the stadium surrounded by hostile American fans. Without hesitation, he jumped onto the metal billboard fence with his hands led up high in celebration before quickly being swarmed by the rest of his teammates.

Jamie Oliver's voice almost cracked from the intensity. "He's done it! Rakim Rex has won it for Germany! What a strike! Pure precision, pure power. The Germans are through!"

Paul Gartner couldn't help but laugh with disbelief. "You want your big players to step up at big moments, and Rakim Rex has just delivered. After a monumental match, Germany has prevailed!"

The stadium trembled under the force of the German supporters' celebrations, their chants and cheers echoing across the stunned American fans. Rakim's teammates swarmed him, their arms thrown over his shoulders, their shouts of pure exhilaration drowned by the madness of the crowd. "Finally, it's over," Wirtz exclaimed over the loud exclamation of fans and players who continued to swarm them.

The camera panned to the American players, who stood frozen in disbelief. Their eyes carried a blankness of shock and anguish. Christian Pulisic stared at the ground, his hands locked behind his head as he struggled to come to terms with his miss. Matteo Smith, who had kept their hopes alive with that incredible last-second goal, now stared across the field at the celebrating German team.

His chest heaved with exhaustion, sweat dripping from his brow as he tried to comprehend what had just happened. He had done everything right, yet he still ended up losing over someone else mistake something he had a hard time wrapping his head around. All around him, his teammates wore similar expressions of despair, their shoulders slumped, eyes searching for comfort in the madness of the moment.

Coach Ramos tried his best to lift the spirits of his shattered squad, but the devastation was evident. They had fought with everything they had, clawed their way back from the brink of elimination, only to have it all taken away by a single, brutal kick. The American fans, so loud and proud moments before, had fallen into a stunned silence. Some tried to rally the team with applause and chants of "USA! USA!", but it sounded hollow and forced. They had watched their players rise, only to see them stumble at the final hurdle.

"Heartbreak for the USA," Jamie Oliver said, his voice shaking with sympathy. "They gave everything, absolutely everything, and to lose in this fashion—it's cruel. But that's the harsh reality of tournament football. The margins between glory and despair are razor thin."

Paul Gartner added softly, "No one can take away what this American side has achieved today. To push a team as talented as Germany to the absolute limit… they can hold their heads high."

On the other side of the field, the Germans had calmed down from their high of victory. Their reserves had given out and they could no longer handle jumping around like monkeys on crack after seeing a banana. Rakim found himself pulled into a bear hug by Bella-Kotchap before the sturdy defender slung an arm around his shoulder. Their joy was unrestrained, the purest form of triumph after a battle that had drained them physically, mentally, and emotionally.

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To Be Continued...