At the same table is an ordinary-looking curly-haired man, the golden right foot of the class competition, and the calf is so good-looking that I often pretend to sleep and sneak a glance under the table. (Confession...) For the first time, the curly-haired man made me turn my eyes from the superficial staring at the small waist of the basketball court senior to the green field, and taught me to write Beckham pretending to be Beckham and distinguish free kicks With free-kicks up front, listening to World Cup live on a miniature radio disguised as a pen during class. One summer in the second year of high school, our class played a game with the next class. As the only remaining fruit of the liberal arts class, the curly-haired boy played very hard, but we still lost in the end. I remember that day when the twilight was full of burning clouds, and the people who were leaving the venue were chattering and walking away slowly. When I passed the dimly lit small room that was temporarily used as a locker room, I saw the roll who was laughing and shoving with the enemy team on the court just now. Mao Nan, slowly squatted to the ground, and then cried.
Whether the cigarettes on the rooftop are the tears of men, I still have no solution to this question. But I think the locker room next to the court must be the womb of the men's return. The outside world is a 90-minute brutal war. It will collide, fight, meet blood, fall into pieces, and kill you to the death, but when you come back here, whether sweat or tears, you can flow freely. down. I love the follow-up shots at the end of the game, where the men's tense muscles and willpower relax, walking around shirtless like lazy leopards. Always considered stern, they cheered victories or suffered defeats amid a pile of sweaty shirts, towels and empty bottles, cursed opposing team members, mocked football officials, even venomous so genuinely vicious. I like the generosity of the coach before each game. After more than a dozen games, the same is true. He clenched his fists, slightly arched his waist, and shouted like a beast: "Our enemy wants to maintain his dignity this time. But we won't give them this chance!!" "Argentines regard football as the best toy, so take it from me!!" "Victory! Victory! Victory!" I love how they get carried away from winning and losing After the depression and silence, stood up again optimistic and strong. Only on the court can men be a child justifiably, pure, bloody, violent, tenacious, and do their last drop of blood for the nihilistic honor. The locker room breeds rumors, breeds gossip, breeds countless amazing strategies and tactics and the team spirit of life and death. And the most important thing is that every eve of the game, this will squeeze into twenty or so passionate new lives, they are eager to try, they wait anxiously, when they finally cross the long dark corridor, they are greeted by the blue sky, Green fields, blazing sun, and a whole world.
God bless these black and white men.
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