Marcus ran across the field, circled. One, two, three, as if in a dance: dribbling, maneuver, feint, he ran again, not feeling pain from the blows to his legs, making his way with his body, a scissors kick through himself. The ball flies, as if in slow motion and ... nine, the roar of the crowd. Euphoria, freedom and fatigue, breath hitched, body aching from numerous blows and running. Not having time to rise, teammates fall on him, pain again. Everyone rejoices, of course: the fourth victory out of four games of the season! Everything happens as if in some kind of fog. Congratulations, shaking hands with rivals. Markus goes...