JT chapter sampler

player, I was too busy chasing balls and thinking about how many red frogs I could buy with a buck. Other people have filled me in. ‘Not a thing like you,’ said another of his mates. ‘Good, but a completely different player.’ So, that day when I was four, I pulled up my socks and positioned myself on the sideline. The referee blew his whistle; it was game on. Whack! A pair of giants collided. That must have hurt. Crunch! Another couple came together on the next play. It was brutal, and I loved it. The men were huge – well, they certainly looked that way to an all-skin-and-bone four-year-old – and they were smashing each other. It was violent, fast and loud. Was it better than throwing mud at my mates? Maybe … Soon the ball was hurtling towards the touchline. End over end, the football was a heat-seeking missile on a mission to take out the corner post. I would later find out it was called a grubber kick. But whatever, it was

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