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On the field Christian was fading back again. For the third straight time Tommy Lawrence blitzed over left guard untouched. In fact, the left guard stood with his hands on his hips and watched.
“Christian’s own lineman is setting him up,” Myron said.
Christian side-stepped Tommy Lawrence, cocked his arms, and whipped the ball with unearthly velocity directly into his left guard’s groin. There was a short oomph sound. The left guard collapsed like a folding chair.
“Ouch,” Win said. Myron almost clapped. “The Longest Yard revisited.”
The left guard was, of course, wearing a cup. But a cup was far from full protection against a speeding missile. He rolled on the ground, back curved fetal-like, eyes wide. Every man in the general vicinity gave a collective, sympathetic “Ooo.”
Christian walked over to his left guard—a man weighing in excess of 275 pounds—and offered him a hand. The left guard took it. He limped back to the huddle.
“Christian has balls,” Myron said.
Win nodded. “But can the same be said of the left guard?”
Deal Breaker, Harlan Coben