Grew up in the west but schooled in the east, the best of both worlds been beneath her cleats. Speaking of which, you should put yours aside, when this one gets moving aint' no point to try. Got your mother on the sideline crying 'How?' 'Why?' (Ain't no explanation, just say "Maddy Frey.")

You'd better hope she's packing smoke, and mirrors - she was right in front of you, didn't you see her? Now she's yards away, back of the endzone, and you got to turn and walk your tired ass home. Where does it come from, that power, that drive? Gunning like a steam roller coming alive. Does she have wings, does she have wheels? Is she hiding jet engines under her heels?

Take a good look, you shouldn't have to ask, her power and speed all come from her (asterisks that, we'll get back to it later) - eat some gu and drink up your aid-gator. You think you're a vetran, you think you're a player? So front her, so back her, so love her or hate her, guarding her you'll be feeling as green as Ralph Nader.

There's a sea of boys falling at her feet, but she's reeled in a fish she's likely to keep. Don't feed her wheat and don't jump her in soccer - other than that this girl's unstoppable. She's got a lot more life than the love of the disc, like sisters and travel the psyches of kids. That's what she'll make of your agility, as she takes you on a tour of that seventy by seventy: a clinical study of your defensive futility. You're a respectable opponent, but only for a moment - she knows you're fast, she knows your strong, you're one step behind, and she's gone.