Junior year, 1993. There is no stopping this ghost in the red and white singlet. The shredded ligament in his knee is nothing more than a distraction, a discomfort, because this is winning time and motherfuckers like him feast on greatness. But then, a pop – his jaw is broken. He can barely clench his teeth. He calls time and thumps the side of his head. Once. He is a madman. Twice. He is a surgeon. The bones in his skull snap back in place, and with a jaw wired shut, he thrashes the next four men he faces.
In the Shadow of The Monster
