A Day of Life
During the mid-day Press Conference, some reporter asks a question that has been asked a million times in a million different ways. I reply in the time it would take a mouse to be squished by a cheese trap. Guess what, I am the mouse.
My answer is put on its first headline; I cannot believe the speed of this turn around. I hadn’t even finished before the news spread to Twitter — I am trending worldwide.
I make the one o’clock local news as the main story. Then national television stations cut their regular programming to give a “live update.”
Texts begin to fly into my phone from the few media personnel I interact with on a regular basis. A few tidbits here or there to a select journalist can be damaging if you don’t plan accordingly. I always add “off the record” to any text I reply to; therefore, they can give their insight on the scenario and look like geniuses when the truth comes out.
A member of my party comes out with a quote, a guy I always thought of as a friend — more than a teammate.
“He is off his game, falling back on the promises he made, and letting us down. If he doesn’t step it up, he could be out before he knows it.”
He wants my job.
Physical activity is the only thing that alleviates this stuff from my mind. I can’t even go to the facility’s gym without being swarmed by the media’s wasps. I answer questions while I’m on the bike. Eventually, I click the stop button — on both the bike and the interview — and walk away.
I get a call from the businessman who has a lot invested in me and my leadership.
“Is your mind even in this game? If you fail, I fail buddy.”
I hear the click of the phone; he hangs up faster than I can reply — another doubter to add to the list. I walk into the bathroom with a sticky note and a pen. The mirror is surrounded by multi-colored square pieces of paper. The only space showing is a small circle for my face and another for my wife’s. My side has a hole no longer.
One of the media I graced by sending a text to, dishonors himself and tells the world what I said. Good thing I told him so little; I delete his number. I’m trending worldwide, again.
I sit down with my wife for dinner — chicken alfredo. Good choice if you want to sleep and skip talking during dinner. However, I don’t escape this conversation.
“What happened today?” she asks with a hint of ginger and sunrise in her voice.
I love this woman.
“I have no idea.”
I receive a call from an important news anchor. He wants an interview; I politely decline. News breaks that I refused an interview because I was afraid of telling the truth. Now, I am two separate trending topics.
I attend a meeting with my various advisors. We talk about how I should handle myself tomorrow. I will face the hardest opposition I have faced in a long time. We lay out a strict game plan. I take the time to look around the room — these guys believe in me.
I walk in the front door and smell the tantalizing aroma of sugar cookies. My wife just pulled them out of the oven.
I love this woman.
“I believe in you honey, no matter what,” she says in a whisper that radiates of pure confidence.
I fall asleep to the evening news: horrible idea.
The next day, 12:00 p.m.
I step into the arena in which this battle will take place. My advisors and I go over the key points and address some pressing issues.
So it begins.
Come out with guns blazing — undeniably winning.
Giving up ground. The victory I felt and held in my hands, not even an hour ago, is leaking out of my grasp.
I tear my anterior cruciate ligament and my lateral collateral ligament.
People pat me on the back and say, “There is always next season…”
I hobble into my bathroom; I can no longer see the walls.
About the Author
Travis Wyant is a student at Germanna Community College in Fredericksburg, Virginia. He spends his time playing a multitude of sports or watching them. If he is not outside or under the gym lights, you can find him reading. Or dreading his impending Spanish due dates.