As Muller's hand missed the ball, he felt a sense of dread wash over him like a cold wave. He had committed himself fully to the dive, and now he was left flailing in mid-air, his body arched in a desperate attempt to make contact with the ball.
But it was too late. The ball had slipped past his outstretched hand, and now it was heading towards the goal with an inevitability that seemed to mock Muller's very existence.
As he slowly came back down to earth, Muller's mind was racing with thoughts of disaster. He had let his team down, and now they were on the verge of conceding a crucial goal.
But even as his mind was consumed by these dark thoughts, Muller's body seemed to freeze in place. He was scared to turn around, scared to face the reality of what had just happened.
He knew that if he turned around, he would see the ball nestling in the back of the net. He would see the English players celebrating, their faces etched with joy and triumph.
