On Caring and Failing

It would be easier not to care. Or to simply blame the harsh elements, the exhausting week, the obnoxious grunting. Your calf is a bit tight, and you can't seem to shake the headache. Besides, the empty stands certainly would not hold a quick loss against you.

Sitting on the bench after game five changeover, you know one thing is certain: this will be a grind. It will come down to who wants it more. Those hours spent training laid the foundation for these defining matches, but now, it is a battle of will. After only thirty minutes of play, you know what the next 2 - 3 hours will entail.

You must capitalize when momentum shifts your way and minimize the damage when it favors your opponent. There is no teammate to redeem your mistakes, no ref to validate your call. You must play each point individually, forgetting about the prior, not thinking about the next, because that moment is the only one you can control. You must silence the voices screaming you are not strong enough, quick enough, smooth enough. Even then, you could lose.

And failure sucks. It sucks to lay everything on the line and to fall short. To look around and know that you were the only one who could swing the outcome, and you did not.

So you savor a sweet gulp of water, walk deliberately to the line, and you compete. Because failure sucks. But it is so much better than not caring.