"Damn it!"
"Stop him, are you all taking a stroll in the Palace of Versailles' back garden? If you're worried about dirtying your skirts, then get the hell back to the locker room. Players eager to get on the field are lined up all the way to Cincinnati. Are you just going to stand there and let him trample all over your tender asses?"
"A bunch of damn idiots."
Lewis finally couldn't hold it in and roared in fury, with curses and swear words buzzing like a hairdryer, the sixty-year-old coach showing no signs of his age with flushed cheeks and spittle flying, his bulging veins looking ready to burst at any moment.
After cussing a storm, Lewis still seemed unsatisfied and turned to kick a water bottle lying beside him flying with a swing of his right leg.
Now, he finally seemed to cool down a bit, but his chest continued to heave violently.
