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Saturday, January 07, 2006


She had a magic foot.
Not in the way that people talk about George Best, or even Christy Brown. But it was hers and it was magic.
It was her uncle who started it. He used to ask her what her foot thought about the Gold Cup winner or who would score the first goal in the Old Firm derby. Soon the whole family were at it, wishing themselves good luck by kissing her foot, swearing to their honesty by it; even asking its blessing.
By and by, word spread around the neighbourhood, and then the town. Whenever she walked to the high street, children would stop, stare and point. "There she goes," they'd say. "there she goes with her magic foot." Their mothers would turn crimson and pull them away: scared of its powers. Scared of what they could neither know nor understand.
It was because of its power that she had to keep it in a special boot, reinforced with metal poles that ran up either side of her leg. And she had an extra thick sole in the boot to keep the radiation from seeping out.
We couldn't be letting her magic available to just anyone, after all.


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