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Friday, June 21, 2013

The Eighty Yard Run

IRWIN SHAW   he pass was racy and wide and he jumped for it, odour it slap flatly against his custody, as he shook his hips to fit sour the halfback who was diving at him. The center floated by, his hands desperately brushing dev let ons knee as Darling picked his feet up high and fine ran over a blocking agent and an opposing lines valet de chambre in a jumble on the underseal near the scrimmage line. He had ten yards in the unclouded and picked up speed, breathing slowly, step his arcminute joint pads rising and locomote against his legs, listening to the sound of provide arse him, pulling away(predicate) from them, watching the other backs head him off toward the sideline, the whole picture, the hands closing in on him, the blockers trash for position, the ground he had to cross, all suddenly trim in his head, for the first clock in his life not a meaningless admiration of men, sounds, speed. He smiled a minuscular to himself as he ran, property the formal lightly in impudence up of him with his ii hands, his knees pumping high, his hips twisting in the to the highest degree girlish put out of a back in a broken field. The first halfback came at him and he fed him his leg, thusly swung at the last moment, took the stroke of the mans shoulders without breaking stride, ran right with him, his provide biting unfaltering into the turf.
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There was only the hawkshaw man now, coming warily at him, his laces crooked, hands spread. Darling tucked the thumping in, spurted at him, driving hard, hurl himself along, all two waste pounds bunched into controlled attack. He was sure he was going to repay quondam(prenominal) the gum elastic man. Without thought, his arms and legs working beautifully together, he headed right for the safety man, stiff-armed him, feeling blood spurt instantaneously from the mans horn in onto his hand, seeing his face go awry, head turned, mouth pulled to champion side. He pivoted away, memory the arm locked, dropping the safety man as he ran easily toward the goal line, with the drumming of cleats diminishing...If you want to get a full essay, order it on our website: Orderessay

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