Our best striker just got injured and we have an opening on the team. I can get you a work visa.
I want my sister to come. She is finishing her senior secondary school and wants to go to an American university. If she can go to an American university, I will play.
The warm, dry air hit Frank in the face as he walked down the creaky silver staircase. His tattered, brown satchel thrown over his shoulder, he squinted as the bright Ghanaian sunlight penetrated his eyes.
Frank knew he wasn’t getting a driver this time. The last time he had a driver was three years ago in Italy. He recalled stepping off the plane and seeing a tuxedoed limo driver waiting to take him to one of Rome’s top restaurants, in order to woo Francisco Bargnani, their star striker, to play for DC United. Upper management didn’t believe in Bargnani, but Frank did. He told them how he hadn’t seen a kick as pure as Bargnani’s since his countryman Paolo Rossi. After two days in Italy, Frank was flying home with a new striker.
Bargnani was a bust. He scored a goal in hi…