Gemotions

"Just breathe," Coach Harding murmured to himself, staring at the practice schedule taped to his office door. The neatly printed times and drills seemed to mock him. He wanted to rip it all down, to disappear.

He took another sip of his lukewarm coffee, the bitter taste doing little to soothe his nerves. He'd been up all night, tossing and turning, replaying the tryout in his mind, second-guessing his decisions.

He ran his fingers through his already thinning hair. He thought, "This is madness." It was just a game. Still, it felt like the world had come crashing down on him. He slammed his mug on the desk. This was harder than any game he had ever coached.