Did they not lustily sing my name, a bevy of beauties arrayed beyond the distant touchline, after I had dashed speedily upon a loose ball, kicking it furiously towards goal, whereupon it flew at and thrashed hotly against the befuddled goalkeeper, and spent what wrath remained from my kick upon the inside of the upright, before rolling to a stop inside the goalpost?
At which sight I did exult mid-flight; still running I pumped my fists victorious, interminable waves of spontaneous laughter erupted from within as teammates closed in on me, we all bouncing up and down like gazelles, our very souls enthralled in celebratory ecstasy as high fives slapped left and right. Sustained bursts of cheering rent the air.
The buoyant uproar died down only very reluctantly under the referee's strident whistle-blowing, and lastly for the sake of the game's resumption the sound of jubilation eventually faded away amidst enduring palpable joy, only to leave the hot afternoon air quiet enough at last for the sultry sopranos of sensuous singing sirens to be heard:
"Tunaye Tony, aaa Tony,
Tunaye Tony, hamtamweza!"
My myopic eyes directed a futile gaze at the distant blur from which the melody emanated, a smile again stretched my lips; laughter again parted said lips as the song was incessantly repeated, striking a harmonious note with my racing heartbeat that pounded away with pride.
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