His deltoid and bicep tattoos masked his medium brown skin and was partially covered with extra broad shoulders and a silky red jersey.
His attempt to grow a small, bristly beard still didn't hide the fact he still has a baby face and dark, soft eyes, but regardless, he still has the pressure of 70, 207 eyes on him as he makes physically and mentally judgment calls every week.
He jumped up and down on the sidelines to keep warm and put a bulky shiny helmet on and soon was jogging on green grass to settle behind a line of bent over men.
After getting bulldozed by a man twice the size of him, he got up and squinted his eyes with determination.
You could read his mind. It wasn't going to happen again.
After yelling two seconds, he cuddled the brown leather elliptical object in his right elbow and his gold legs alternated back and forth as he ran down the field, halting at red turf.
After dropping the brown ball, he looked at a cameraman and curled up his bicep with a fist, almost as if he were going to kiss it.
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