Fuck it. I quit the basketball team.

          If Coach Anton was ever as serious about ending my career, he sure did. Right after the game, the same one where I snapped and took my anger out on Jeffrey, he went out of his way to get in contact with my coaches from Germany. This goes to show just how much Coach Anton hates me, the fact that he was so determined to ruin my career, even though we all know I wasn't going to make it anyway with my now extremely overweight body. I absolutely loathe him, regardless of what I did.

          Long story short, after Coach Anton informed them of my excessive weight gain and lack of devotion to the sport in general, my coaches explained they are no longer interested in having me play for them. My contract that I signed last year has been declined, and it's official now that I'll never play professional basketball, while my parents are all unaware of this and still in England thinking their son is going to be a big superstar one day. The coaches in Germany claimed they don't want a "troublemaker" in the locker room—someone who stirs up drama and controversy—and can't have a player who isn't committed to the sport.

          My heart shattered into a million pieces when I heard the news. Even though I've lost my once deeply-rooted love and devotion for basketball, it still was an awful feeling being rejected by the same people who were once so eager to sign me and have me play for their team professionally. I was thinking all day, of course while eating to make myself feel better, about the endless hard work and passion I once put into that sport. The way I'd literally sleep with my basketball as a kid, like a child holding a stuffie to comfort themselves.

          I remember my dad and I going to open gym after open gym, working on my jump shot until I literally couldn't move my forearm, taking so many practice reps that my body was completely fatigued. I recall how excited my mom would be for my games, watching her son run up and down that court as she proudly cheered and filmed me with our family camcorder. The three of us would then go out for dinner, celebrating such great family moments. So many happy and proud memories, all thrown away by the hands of my own self-destruction. What a pathetic, tragic loss of talent and passion.

          And that's why I quit the university team. Technically, I was still allowed to play for the last quarter of the season, but Coach Anton made it clear that I would have to sit out for a full week of practice and miss the games during that duration as punishment. Not only was I not interested in doing that, but it simply hurt too much to keep playing, knowing now that I'm never getting on that plane to Europe to pursue my once life-long dream and aspiration.

          In terms of what I did to Jeffrey, I made sure to call him and apologize. As angry as I was for him not passing the ball, I should not have done that, and now my career is over for doing so. He accepted my apology, but I could also tell from the tone of his voice through the phone that he no longer wished to speak with me—just another reason I left the team. As I proved with my actions during that game I fell apart, nobody wants me there anymore, and I'm sure they are much happier and better off without me, despite being a weaker organization due to my lack of presence.

          But if you thought I was only getting away with not making it on the team in Germany, you are dead wrong. I never saw it coming. Yes, what I did to Jeffrey was dumb and impulsive, but not in a hundred years could I be ready for the repercussions of the school and writing centre. A guy by the name of William Chandler—a piece of shit, who never even asked for my side of the story—wrote a humiliating article about me that has been spread across the university, read by all ranges of students, teachers, and staff.

          Rather than ask why I did what I did, like a so-called "journalist" is supposed to do (even though there's no excuse for what happened), he goes and posts his writing, ruining any reputation I had left with the school. I hate him so fucking much. I had other students from the university—people I've never met or seen a day in my life—sending me horrible messages and telling me what a terrible person I am. It got to the point I've had no choice but to delete my social media and drop all my classes so I can't be harassed. In fact, I have the bullshit article right here with me.

          From Hero to Foe: The Story of Declan Rashard

          Written by William Chandler 

          It seems like everyone, no matter what the cause may be, always has someone in their life they look up to and wish to be. Someone funny...someone confident...someone articulate. If you're recently a student of Hattonville University, or just a member of the community, you've certainly heard of the name Declan Rashard. Bringing unmatchable skills to the court, leading his team to their first championship in over twenty years during his freshman season, it's fair to say that Declan could most certainly be that guy.

          Declan had his entire athletic career planned out. After graduating from High School, committed to playing two years at Hattonville University, Declan was set to pursue his lifelong dream of playing professional basketball across the globe in Germany. During his first season at Hattonville, Declan absolutely dominated the league, ranking as the best player in British Columbia for top recruited athletes, and third amongst the entire country for the best prospects.

          Averaging over twenty points in his freshman season, grabbing rebound after rebound, and leading his team to a championship, Mark Hughes, a scout with over two decades of experience, stated that Declan was one of the single most impressive talents he had ever seen in his twenty years of coaching.

          "That kid has some serious skill," he once stated after a win during Declan's freshman season. "Not only am I impressed with his individual talents on the court, but it's the way he gets his teammates involved to create good opportunities for himself and others. I don't think I've ever seen a player come out of the province with a first-step and competitiveness like him. His desire to win, and be the best player he can for his teammates, is what separates him apart from the other players his age. I have zero doubts that he'll excel in Germany if he keeps his work ethic and maintains focus. The sky's the limit for that kid, and I guarantee you'll be hearing his name in the future."

          Well, Mark was right about one thing—that we'll be hearing Declan's name—but now for all the wrong reasons. Reports claim that Declan began to lose focus of his once deep passion during the start of his sophomore season, where he began to gain excessive weight and seemed distracted on the court. One could argue that the absence of Greg Meldrum, the team's original head coach, had a reason to do with Declan's decline on and off the court. But as the famous saying goes, real winners don't make excuses.

          With every day that passed, it seemed Declan was drifting further and further away from the focus and devotion he once had to the sport and his teammates. Speaking of teammates, it's said that Declan was becoming closed off and less committed, continuing to gain excessive amounts of weight and developing intense bouts of self-pity for himself, showing up to practice late and giving effort that made the old version of himself laughable. Declan Rashard went from being the third-best player in an entire nation, to being not even ranked and hardly recognized, both mentally and physically, with his extreme weight gain.

          It wasn't until his final game with the team, that Declan snapped. Taking out his frustration towards himself on the ones he was supposed to care for most, he assaulted teammate Jeffrey Harleton, by wrapping his hand around his throat and threatening him for not passing the ball. When asked if he wished to press charges, Jeffrey declined. Benched by now head coach Anton Davidson, also losing his contract to play overseas professionally, Declan quit the team in yet another bout of self-pity, blaming others for his actions and not taking responsibility. After dropping classes and leaving the university, few have heard from the once unstoppable star that so many people cheered for and attended home games just to watch his magic on the basketball court.

          Declan Rashard is a prime example of why talent can only take you so far in sports. It is up to the athlete themselves to devote their craft and maintain their gifts and skills. What could have been an unmatchable talent, playing the sport he loved in Europe, Declan Rashard is now nothing more than a forgotten name at Hattonville University, and it's only a matter of time before his talent is replaced by another athlete who is dedicated to their sport and teammates. Let this be a lesson to any young and upcoming athletes, to take advantage of what you have, use your talents, and to never let your ego take over the things you can accomplish in life.

          Fucking loser. I've probably read this garbage article a dozen times, and I still can't believe what I'm hearing. If I ever catch this William Chandler in person, I swear to God, I'll split that fucker's head wide open for humiliating me without even asking to get my side of the story. I can't stand journalists. They make their living off by capitalizing on others' misfortunes half of the time, and they just write whatever the fuck their editor tells them so they can cash their cheque.

          Feeling more rage and anger, towards William, and, particularly myself, I dig my fork back into the tuxedo cake I bought myself, devouring it to numb away all the pain and regret I have flowing inside my body like a toxic sickness. At one point in my life I ate for pleasure; now I'm eating to forget. Every meal I continuously consume into my body is to run away from the horrible misfortunes I've put myself through, and how I've thrown my entire life away, all because of my severe inability to control my eating habits.

          I can't even describe the pleasure I'm getting from the chocolate and vanilla cream inside the dessert. Christ...I might eat this entire cake in one sitting, and it's not even a small one either. As I also expected, I haven't heard from Dian or Tony, and honestly I'd rather have it that way. I hate them both so much, and wish I never met either of them, even if I sound salty once again. I remember the days when people would harass Tony for only being my yes-man, and I'd stand up for him every single time until there was no breath left in my lungs, explaining how he was a true best friend. 

          I keep stuffing and stuffing my face with the cake, doing everything in my possible nature to suppress the horrible sensations arising inside my mind and body. I'm so scared of my parents finding out the truth about what their son is doing to himself, when I'm supposed to be the star athlete they remember.

          I don't even know who I am anymore.