All things I’ve heard over the last couple weeks. Apparently, I’m not entitled to all the luxury and amenities I’m used to because Ialwayshave at least one player drafted to the NFL. I haven’t won a championship yet, and I guess that’s what my job actually is.
And here I thought it was coaching athletes to be the best at what they do. Which, arguably, I do. After all, I haven’t been told I just have to deal with it. I can always gain income from other places. I’m allowed tofundraise.
There are very few words that make me gag more. Fundraising is as tacky as wearing those big, puffy hair scrunchies around your wrist. Ew.
“I’m irritated that they took my money to pay some washed up athlete to coach,” I grumble as I brush down my short tulle skirt. It’s reminiscent of a tutu, but it doesn’t stick out like those you think of in professional ballet.
“It’s the school’s money,” Declan points out. “They’re allowed to put funds where they think they’re most needed.”
I glare at him, and he grins. “Honestly, Lem. Have you met him? He’s a cool guy.”
“I didn’t realize you’re a hockey fan,” I say, taking a step back. “I’m rather disappointed.”
Laughing, he shakes his head. “I’m not a fan of any sports.” I look at him as if he’s speaking blasphemy. He laughs again. “I’m fascinated by the science behind muscles and how you cancondition and train different muscle groups. It has nothing to do with the sport that athlete plays.”
I’m not entirely sure how I’m looking at him, but he continues to chuckle. “You have insulted the football gods,” I declare. “You best get on your knees and repent, sinner.”
This time, Declan throws his head back with laughter as he turns away from me. I’m left watching him longingly. He has such a pretty neck. I haven’t imagined licking and sucking it at all. Not even once.
Stupid math jerk for winning Declan’s heart.
Stupid soccer jerk for getting in my way of seducing my man. I hate that soccer coach. I saw Declan Whitaker first, therefore, he should be mine. The one bit of solace I have is that even the amazing Alka Lennon, soccer coach extraordinaire with a sexy porn star husband and soccer guy boyfriend, didn’t get Declan in the end, either, and he’d wanted him as much as I did.
Did. I refuse to still be that person.
I spend far too long yelling at the kids. I’m partly irritated that they are, in fact, kids now. All of my players are less than half my age. It makes me feel old.
Old and alone.
When nothing that these kids are doing is encouraging, I leave them in my coaches’ hands and exit the field. One thing I’ve been told over the last couple weeks that I agree with—I need to set this anger aside and focus on my team. I won’t be bringing them to the championship if all I can think about is my anger.
I have a really great team this year, and I’m confident that they’ll go far. But they need a coach who’s going to mold them into winners, not yell at them for tackling wrong. I mean, they’ve all been playing for more than a decade—they should know how to tackle by now!
Shaking my head, I push the door open and drop on my couch. I wanted a fainting couch, but I feel like that might be too ironic right now because I feel faint. Okay, dramatic much?
It’d taken me several nights to rearrange my spending to fit within my limits. The problem is, there’s a big gap in the things I was able to buy and what I still want to buy. My team is capable. Just because we haven’t won the National Championship doesn’t mean we don’t have the talent.
Wins prove you have the talent. Not individual milestones, but wins. Enough wins to get to the championship.
That’s what my sister told me when I called to whine to her. I’d wanted her sympathy and understanding. I wanted her to be angry on my behalf.
She was. However, when I explained it all more, she was less so. I should have been reading my emails for the last year. That’s an expectation of my job and maybe I should keep this in mind in the future. If there’s a part of my job I’m not performing well in, I could be replaced.
Everyone is expendable.
I try to tell myself she’s wrong. I earn my place here every year. Last year, I had three draftees. Three! Coming from a team thatdidn’tmake it to the championship should be more impressive, not less.
Rubbing a hand over my face, I sit up. I hate fundraising. There should be committees of people who dedicate their entire jobs to just this. For each department. That’s the key. Come to find out, there is a fundraising coordinator on staff at Rainbow Dorset, but when I approached him, he just laughed. His job is to raise funds for the school, for salaries and supplies. Not for a specific team whose budget already far exceeds most departments. Entire departments.
I don’t like that man.
Maybe as much as I hate fundraising. Not at all surprising, since that’s his entire job. Why would I like a person whose entire day is doing something I hate?
But it occurs to me I probably should have approached him differently. Walking in to tell him he needs to focus on raising funds for my team since fundraising is his job and not mine was apparentlynotthe way to ask.
Glancing down, I decide that perhaps I should have worn something cuter. Something that showed my finer features as a way to tease and shit.
I’m still not sure that I was wrong and he’s right. Hisjobis fundraising. Mine is coaching. Why should I have to do his job when he doesn’t have to do mine? Where is the fairness in that?
