“We have to leave it all on the field,” we yelled out.Bo had a bunch more. “We have to give 110 percent.” “We have to play a full 48 minutes...” “We have to take care of the football.” There were even more, some tossed out by the team. More than a few of our responses were ridiculous. In any case, it broke the tension, and Coach sent us out to practice. The rest of the week we were tossing clichés back and forth to each other all day long. There was a reason why we were grinning when Brad Dillon. I get up, sit beside her, and wrap my arms around her as she cries on my shoulder.“It’s okay,” I sooth. She reeks of alcohol.“My boyfriend broke up with me again,” she sobs. “My life is shit and not worth living.” I know that feeling as I remember the day I tried to end the pain.She starts to calm down. “Your life will get better,” I say as she stops crying and wipe her eyes. As if, I’m one to give advice on the subject. “A guy is no reason to get drunk and hate your life.”“A guy,” she asks. More

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