The Spirit of Draws

I’m sitting in an American bar, looking and being American, my American self, at a table full of men in gigantic Carolina Panthers jerseys. A faux vintage jukebox, the kind with neon bubbles running up its flanks, is playing “Look Out Cleveland,” by The Band: an honest song, though performed by men of cunning. The grease on our cheeseburger patties glimmers democratically in the unsteady light. At this point, the conversation having progressed down inescapable channels, it emerges that I run a soccer website. (I do. I run a soccer website.) The federalist tock-tock of the pool…

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