I think about Wymack too much these days.
Imagine one night, the son of your ex-girlfriend comes to you with a hand smashed beyond recognition, seeking refuge.
Of course you take him in. You watch him undergo surgery, months of manual therapy, watch him self-therapize with alcohol once it becomes clear he won't be able to use his hand again, not in any way comparable to what he's used to.
You offer him a coaching position, it's all you can offer him. Exy is that kid's life. He's nothing without it. And he accepts, knowing it's this or death.
So you work together, side by side. And you watch him as he starts over from scratch, first as a coach, and then learning how to play with his other, non-dominant hand after hours. The frustration, the agony of being nothing but a mere shadow of his former self. But also the neverending motivation to improve, to relearn everything he used to be perfect at, and become even better than perfect at it.
You make him a deal. You provide him the alcohol to drown his sorrows, but for every bottle he agrees to one session with the campus therapist. He accepts. You feel relief.
You watch the guy, that kid, because he really still is a kid, rebuild himself into something else, something new, something that's never been before.
You watch your team grow, get better, all those second and third and fourth and fifth chances handed out so easily finally pay off. They pay off and your team starts working as a team, starts winning as a team.
And you watch the guy who once sat completely destroyed on your living room couch, not that long ago, regain his will to live, his life spirit.
Only for that kid to reveal he's actually your son?
Like damn, idk how I would have reacted to that. I'm still speechless just thinking about it, ngl
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