This year’s new players currently jog around the pitch, seven guys strung out in a loose line as they circle the field. Sean notices them when he exits the locker room with a few of his other teammates, and someone laughs. “Fresh meat,” Thompson says, nodding at the rookies. Through his buzzed blonde hair, his scalp is sunburned, though his pale face is slathered with sunscreen. He’s got a white smear he didn’t quite rub into his skin completely, just under his jaw, and Sean thinks it looks like cum smudged under his chin. “How many d’ya think will still be here at the end of the season?”