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"El Gringo Grande," yelled the crowd. "Hallo, gringo, goodby," yelled all the players. After several hours the game ended, with everyone exhausted, the crowd from hysterics, the other players from chasing my wild throws and I from being a superstar. The early Yalalag lead held up, but even the Jaguar AC took things with good humor, feeling perhaps that they had gained considerable fame, even in losing, by playing the weirdest game the mountains had ever seen. My last memory of being a sports hero for the day in Yalalag was Fermin standing in the brush, yelling after us as we started down the mountain. "Hallo, gringo, goodby," he shouted, making a dribbling motion in the air with his hand.
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