The Best of us

It was 3am, and I was plagued by insomnia. My own trivial problems consuming the world around me. Because I am a product of modern ways; I checked my phone. I could hardly believe it. It seemed like a bad dream. It still does.

We were barely friends. But we spend some time together. I appreciated his attitude towards the work. I admired his effort, and his passion. When those around me called for retirement, he revived my physical capability and therefore my belief. And here I am. Another season older. Still kicking and fighting against the inevitable.

We spoke about creating a culture, about finally harvesting the untapped potential. Dammit. He cared. And that’s all you really need.

I dreamed of reuniting one-day. As a peer. As a fellow coach. Together we dreamed of success. Perhaps it’s a flaw of young men is to think about one-day; but we couldn’t help ourselves.

We kept some sort of contact in the following season. I would watch, and support the team when I had the chance.

He once told me I was the best player he’d ever worked with. I know that was a lie, but it was meant with good intentions.

I feel guilty. Because this is not my grief to burden. There are those who truly knew and loved him. But he was my coach, and my friend. And he was the best of us.