Rossi (Proof of creative writing 17/03/2009)
Rossi put his white shirt-black back the fateful number nine, to take the field this Sunday with a big bad 'teeth. The upper left incisor, as an apparently healthy coral, already pinched by the morning and fifteen was almost unbearable.
In the field, the cry to scan the crowd of his name, made him for a moment, but only for a moment forget the torment. Not even the two swallowed painkillers before the race, had relieved the pain.
pain that was added to more pain, to be conscious not to play a good game. Missed the ball in crucial moments of the game, the simplest actions, he found it difficult. He thought of asking for change, but was torn between wanting to still groped, and respect the rules of the team. When the thirty-seventh of the first half, a ball returned by Zoff, was pegged to three-quarters Furino and cut into a beautiful diagonal spiovve millimeter on his head, Paul did not miss the ball, and a dynamic rotation Chapter nell'angolino put the opposite of the goal, the goalkeeper rashly tried to turn the ball away out of a closed fist, and not finding the attacker struck in the middle of the mouth.
Rossi took the company just carried from competitions, received no more pain and an incisive look up from the earth, rejoiced with hands raised to his companions, who embraced him, then wriggling on close friends ran to the coach who was rejoicing speechless, seeing him coming toward him with the cloister of white teeth and bloody of the two upper teeth missing.
