Rami is a ticking powder keg, and I'm talking about the very first, highly unstable ones ever invented in ancient China. He's fresh out of the box, and his fuse is so incredibly short that he could become a casualty of his own innovation at any given second. He took off his jacket, folded it meticulously as if he had it tailor-made in a high-end Milan boutique, and placed it right next to the stacked prizes.
Neatly rolling his crisp shirt sleeves right up to his elbows to expose his forearms, he marched toward the empty goal frame with unwavering, lethal confidence. He didn't even feel the need to roll up his pant legs; the moment he planted his feet and spread his massive arms out, almost stretching from one rusting post to the other, the stage was officially set.
"Take your damn shot. No matter what kind of cheap trick you try to pull on me this time, it ain't gonna work!"
