Connor
"The English are bloody furious that you chose the better side, ye kin," Coach Gerald paced the length of the short white board behind him. "They're going to try to rip you apart. Make you doubt your decision, ye kin?"
"I kin," I nodded knowing fully well Gerald wasn't listening to a word I was saying.
"Those English, they're just bitter that you realized you have the blood of blue and white flowing through your veins," he slapped his hand over his heart, "We should of known you were a Scot. You were too much of a bloody good player to be English. We should have made you come in a kilt, push salt in the fucking wound, ye kin?"
