"He's a really good coach. I don't mean to sound cocky or be a know it all, but I've been around a lot of coaches. I see him interact with the kids everyday. He brings them over to his house after practice for hot stew and snicker doodles."
You know what you look like to me, with your good bag and your cheap shoes? You look like a rube. A well scrubbed, hustling rube with a little taste. Good nutrition's given you some length of bone, but you're not more than one generation from poor white trash, are you, Coach Smith? And that accent you've tried so desperately to shed: pure Eastern Europe. What is your father, dear? Is he a coal miner? Does he stink of the lamp? You know how quickly the boys found you... all those tedious sticky fumblings in the back seats of cars... while you could only dream of getting out... getting anywhere... getting all the way to the University of Washington.
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Then no one cared.