I entered quietly. Mr. Anderson was sitting on the edge of his desk, his right leg crossed over the other, filing his thumbnail. It was not quite the ...hip-cracking, pistol-shooting, whore-fucking behavior the sheriff Anderson on my fantasies exhibited. I didn't know much about Mr. Anderson other than that he spoke with authority and commanded respect. I assumed he was in his mid thirties; he was too old to be my big brother and yet not quite old enough to be my father. He was a little taller. My best play of the game came next; the kickoff was a great one, deep to are sideline, now as a kick returner in high school you are supposed to let the ball go if it is going to land on in end zone, because you would get the ball on the twenty. Something in me though said back up, catch it and run. Run I did; I ran from the goal line up are side line, my blockers were amazing, I was untouched up to the fifty, then I was in open field, i ran into the center of the field to escape the tacklers. More

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