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Drake

W atching your team—ahem, former team—win the Super Bowl while you’re sitting on the couch drinking by yourself is a new low.

Actually, scratch that. Getting drafted in the third round when I should have gone in the first was what started all of this. Then, I get arrested, suspended, then benched and finally, cut.

I know, I know. It’s the sob story of a privileged athlete.

But it’s my sob story.

That’s how I found myself living in Florida of all places, watching the game I should have been playing because it all slipped through my fingers.

And it’s not the only thing I’ve let slip through my fingers—my reputation, gone.

Some of my closest friends, distanced because of my behavior.

I thought I had replaced them with the fellow party animals on my team, but the minute I stopped partying, I found they weren’t really my friends.

Even my relationship with my parents is rocky because of my choices.

And of course the cherry on top of all of this is the girl I let slip through the cracks of my debaucherous life.

Sure, it was just one night—but it only took one night to see the goodness in her soul.

Goodness that I desperately need but clearly am not worthy of since I couldn’t even keep it together for one day after I met her.

It’s strange, because I barely remember what she looks like—I can definitely see her lips with that red lipstick, though the rest of her is a little hazy in my mind’s eye—but oddly enough (for me, anyway), it wasn’t that much about what she looked like as it was about how I felt around her.

So I’m paying the consequences for my actions—getting kicked off the team, losing Red’s number, going to rehab, doing my community service.

And maybe one day I’ll be worthy of a girl like Red.

But today is not that day, I think as I take another swig.