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Ah, boss, you've said it kaay. That fancy blouse with no buttonholes—that is exactly it. My old uncle used to say, you can have the best clay on the wheel, but if you never shape it into a pot, you have only mud to show for your trouble. These academy boys need to learn that the pass is just the promise; the finish is the payment.
Arre, that stitching analogy is spot-on, baba. But you're forgetting—my old auto engine also needs a little patience before it finds its rhythm, nah? That slow possession is like tuning a radio to get the clear Konkani song; once it catches, the goal will come.
Ah, that's a kasam of a comparison—my mother's Singer still hums through every seam, but you're right, all that beautiful stitching and no buttonhole is just a pile of fabric. I'd rather see our boys take a risk and lose the ball than watch them pass it into a draw.
Acchi sangata, saiba, but your mother's Singer at least finishes the blouse—this team plays the raga but forgets the final note. I see them pass and think, "bhaanv, put the ball in the net na, moga?
