Let me tell you something about being young, strong, and pissed off.
You don’t know it’s a gift. Not yet. Not when your legs are fresh, your shoulder’s still intact, and your only real worry is who’s not sliding when they should. You think pain is the coach’s fault. You think the ref’s blind. You think the world’s conspiring against your stat line.
And that’s okay. That’s the nature of it. That’s what being a teenager is—rage and confusion duct-taped to ambition. But someone’s got to remind you: just being on the field is the miracle.
Health is fleeting. Freedom is fragile. Ability is a privilege, not a guarantee.