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Nobody believed him, but then nobody ever believed him. And maybe, at least sometimes, they were right not to believe him because he had, after all, told more than a few whoppers. Eddie Phelps kicked at a shiny brown horse chestnut lying on the sidewalk and sent it into the trunk of the big tree with a fat smack. All right...He swung his hockey stick down from his shoulder, lined up another chestnut, and began dribbling it across the sidewalk.
Phelps passes to Hondo Johnson, takes a return pass and...SCORE! Yes! Ladies and gentlemen that goal was a work of art, Phelps dropped the pass, blew past his man and slapped Hondo Johnson's return pass into the net without stopping. The goalie never had a chance, but that's the play we've come to expect from Eddie Phelps.
Eddie looked up to see if anyone had heard, but the street was empty both ahead and behind and he smiled and lined up on another horse chestnut. This time it did not go as well. The edge of his Nike caught the seam in the sidewalk just as he stepped into the shot, stopping his leg in full swing and he went spread eagle onto the lawn, driving his chin into the thick carpet of grass. He hopped up quickly and looked around. Someone had laughed. But who? He looked around again, but he couldn't see anyone. And yet he was sure he'd heard someone laugh, a low, deep sort of chuckle. Very deep. Jeez, talk about letting your imagination run away with you...