Cut. Broken. Done. That’s it. The end of months of training, the end of fighting through injuries, the end of going until the final buzzer. Cut. Broken. Done.

At this point begins the wondering. Why? Why was I denied opportunity because of one flaw? Why didn’t my strengths gain more attention than my weaknesses? Could I have done more? What if I had made that one shot? What if I had taken one more stride? Would I be cut? Would I be broken? Would I be done? As I look and see those who were deemed worthy, I am disgusted. Disgusted at the lack of heart behind the jerseys. Disgusted at the snake’s tongue that endeared them to the Voice. To the Voice that was blinded by skill in an area, or a helpful parent, disgusted by the lack of heart. While those who don’t have all the skill, but most, those who will fight for every square inch of ice, those who throw themselves in to the fire for victory. Those like me. Those who are cut, broken, done. We are the few, the few who seek individual success only to better the fate of our brothers, the few who would stand between our brothers and the enemy, those who in a time of crisis will stand up and lead by example. We are the few. We are the few that are cut. We are the few that are broken. We are the few that are done.