Time passed second by second, a whole hour had gone by.
Higuain and the others felt their legs heavy as if filled with lead, every time they lifted their legs to shoot, it was as if they used all their strength, almost cramping the next moment.
Nevertheless, Buffon was like an untiring machine, not drinking even a sip of water, instead his state was becoming increasingly heroic.
His eyes were locked on every soccer ball flying towards the goal, that focused expression seemed as if only he and that penalty existed on the field!
He flew to save like a cheetah again and again, sometimes stretching to the left, sometimes flying to the right, forcefully parrying the high-quality penalty shots.
His movements were agile and powerful, each successful save was like buckets of cold water, gradually dousing the forwards' originally full confidence, making their eyes reveal frustration and helplessness.
"Have a drink, Buffon, you're already a saving expert, we all admire you!"
