Not happy that I had robbed him of the ball, that whoreson of my opponent - with his accomplice in tow - chased me 20 metres horizontally across midfield. I was looking for a teammate to pass the ball to, but the entire flank was empty. My shock caused me to reduce my pace slightly, giving the two bugbears on my heels the chance to clatter into me.
I was sending flying into the sandy pitch, its abrasive surface unforgiving. If I had not rolled with the fall my kneecap could have been scrapped raw to the bone. As it happened, I escaped with a chafed knee and a few red lines on the back of my left forearm.
Guess what, not even a yellow card for the perpetrators. I should have stayed down, groaned like I am being drawn and quartered, and rolled about for effect instead of getting straight up.
Look at the blood, the furrows (don't they look like tract marks?), and the globules. Four hours and it was still bleeding.
It is now bandaged and no longer leaking. When I take it off for my shower tomorrow, it better not start.
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