"Hut!" Greg called out twenty minutes before the first bell at
Dixon High School. He stood in Coach Marconi’s office in the gym. A
smile decorated his smooth, copper face. A blue sweater and gray
corduroy slacks hung loosely on his tall frame. Greg’s right hand
gripped a football. He pretended to fire perfect spir...
continue reading "You wanna play on my flag football team?"A beefy catcher made me the offer while our softball team chugged $1 domestic beers at Jackhammer, a bar on Chicago’s far north side. It was mid-September 2003, and we were hanging out in the rear garden. The team went there after our Thursday-night games because the place off...
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