I
take the snap from center, fake to the right, fade back. . . I've
got protection. I've got a receiver open downfield. . .
What the hell is this? This isn't a football it's a shoe, a man's
brown leather oxford. A cousin to a football maybe, the same
skin, but not the same, a thing made for the earth, not the air.
I realize that this is a world where anything is possible and I
understand, also, that one often has to make do with what one
has. I have eaten pancakes, for instance, with that clear corn
syrup on them because there was no maple syrup and they weren't very
good. Well, anyway, this is different. (My man downfield is
waving his arms.) One has certain responsibilities, one has to
make choices. This isn't right and I'm not going to throw it.
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