Gemotions

The press conference was a blur. Coach Hanson leaned against the podium, the bright lights searing his eyes. He had been up all night, wrestling with the decision. The lack of sleep was evident in the way he kept rubbing his temples. He was supposed to talk about tactics, but the only thing on his mind was the face of the player he had to cut. It was a young girl who, despite her efforts, just couldn't quite reach the skill level required.

The questions were repetitive, the same predictable lines of inquiry. He answered automatically, the words a rehearsed performance. He wanted to scream, to stop the charade, but he couldn't. He forced a smile, a mask against the rising tide of internal exhaustion. He knew he'd have to deal with the player later. The thought sent a fresh wave of weariness washing over him.