When a passion dies, it is quite possibly the most heartbreaking thing
ever. A desire you once had to play every second of the day is gone; it
turns into dreading every practice and game. It turns into leaving every
game with earphones in so other parents don't talk to you about it. It
meant dreading school the next day due to everyone talking about the
previous game. My passion was destroyed when a coach looked at me
in the eyes and said, "You could go to any other school and start varsity,
but you just can't play for me."
Looking back now at the number of tears shed after practices and
games, I just want to say to this coach: Making me feel bad about
myself doesn't make me want to play and work hard for you, whether
in the classroom or on the field. Telling me that, "Hard work always
pays off" and not keeping that word doesn't make me want to work
hard either. I spent every minute of the day focusing on making sure
you didn't see the pain that I felt, and all of my energy was put towards
that fake smile when I said I was OK with how you treated me. There
are not words for the feeling I got when parents of teammates asked
why I didn't play more or why I got pulled after one mistake; I simply
didn't have an answer. The way you made me feel about myself and my
ability to play ball made me hate myself; not only did you make me
doubt my ability to play, you turned my teammates against me to
where they didn't trust my abilities. I would not wish the pain you
caused me on my greatest enemy. I pray that one day, eventually,
when all of your players quit coming back that you realize that it isn't all
about winning records. It’s about the players. You can have winning
records without a good coach if you have a good team, but you won’t
have a team if you can't treat players with the respect they deserve.