Frankie was ten years old. He'd always felt this way from the first time he kicked a football. The feeling of exhilaration, of euphoria.
He'd started playing the pigskin game with his brothers and a few friends. They were older and bigger; he'd been getting bruised and knocked around.
Scarmazino had seen a football helmet advertised in a Late Tackle magazine. The helmet was black and yellow without a nose protector, but it was sleek, fine, and alluring! With some money he'd saved from his newspaper route, he ordered the helmet and waited in high anticipation for his beauty to arrive.
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