The ball goes up, coming from the right,
of the corner mark, with the fans
quiet, tense, scared even,
from where the side throws it, precisely,
with a torpedo on his foot.
With a flourish in a streak of light
it gets loose in the air and slightly goes down.
Within the area, right at the goal gate
the struggle for possession begins.
Defenders almost in despair
try to prevent the attackers from going up.
But at a glance a body protrudes,
a head to the sky points
and like a corisco, it tests the round
that nestles in the network, right above, at an angle.
The poor goalkeeper, like an agonizing bird
Just look, hands on your head.
In the stands the crowd is agitated
and jump and scream in a crazy stadium,
while the clocutor, in the euphoria of the bid
the cry stretches, hoarse: