Friday, March 23


The sickness slowly rises like mental bile. My head aches, seemingly weighed down by bricks. The inarticulate nature of my thoughts seem understandable and inadequate at the same time. Thoughts swirl around with no purpose or direction. Most of me does not want to believe that a coach has been murdered, for reason as yet unknown but also reasons I am not even sure I want to know.
I won’t be na├»ve enough to think that this is a shock relative to world sport, but that’s almost pointless to say, anyway. Actually, I don’t even know what to write. I’m more than a little sickened.
May his soul be in peace.

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