"Onana, what happened? Why didn't you catch the ball?"
Rami lost his mind, he's tearing his hair out, but the volume of the pouf on his head hasn't decreased by a single millimeter. As for the goalkeeper, she looks like someone trying to wake up from general anesthesia, spewing nonsense in the process.
"I don't know, Boss! I was just about to bend down and catch it, and my whole body locked up. I couldn't even blink!"
My poor girl's eyes are bloodshot; she looks like the physical embodiment of sheer helplessness sculpted with a local county budget. It's like looking at one of those bizarre roadside attractions—maybe a step up from the World's Largest Ball of Twine, but slightly worse than the Giant Peanut statue. I mean, it's not like I'm going to compare her to Renaissance artists sculpting sheer fabric details out of solid marble! Tell you what, for your sake, let's just call her a restored historical landmark. It's the thought that counts.
