However, no matter how hard I tried I continued to feel bad for myself. So much to the point where I would curse my teammate’s names whenever they disregarded how special they were to get to put on a uniform and play. After three weeks of the torture I went back to my doctor and begged them to let me come back. My knee was feeling better and with much hesitation my doctor agreed to let me begin practices again. I was ecstatic to be back once more, but I had a new battle to deal with. “I don’t want to push you, so don’t expect to play tonight.” Those were the words my father told me the night of the Shamrock game. I had never been so angry in my life. Over the past week I had been working out and taking care of myself in order to play once again. After receiving this news I found a strong hatred for the girl who was filling my spot on the floor. I would judge her every move and I hated her with a