Teea's Stat sheet

Don’t call it coaching when you keep score on our spirits. You loved the sound of us breaking more than the crack of the bat. Your pep talks were poison dressed in a windbreaker. You benched girls for breathing wrong, for swinging too free, for daring to play like joy was allowed. We were twelve, thirteen, fourteen learning that adults can be bullies with whistles and power trips. You measured heart in bruises and called it “building character” while you tore ours down. You stripped our confidence Made us cry. I tore a ligament and cracked a growth plate. You said play through the pain. I quit softball all together for 2 years because of you. So here’s your final stat: Zero trophies for you. We learned the game in spite of you, not because of you. We keep the glove, the sweat, the sisters you tried to pit against each other. You keep the empty echo of your own voice yelling at dirt. The scoreboard’s off now. And we’re still standing. I'm back now and I'm stronger then ever no thanks to you.