Bryce's Soliloquy redux

Have you ever lost a loved one?

I don’t mean some parent, kid or fellow sibling that you have vague nostalgic affection for.

I mean a real loved one, someone who by their very lack of existence leaves a void in your soul, a hole in your heart, a vacancy in your raison d'etre, a dissipation of your erection, a pain in your gut so hurtful it feels like a million miniature pitbulls are attacking every part of your insides.

Pain.

Severe pain.

Pain of a level that getting your foreskin caught in a zipper feels like nothing, getting your foot run over by a station wagon doesn’t register, having that first girl tell you she doesn’t like you is palatable, losing that special grandparent, you know the one you really like is something you can handle, living a life of such tedium that you fantasize about killing the people you work with is acceptable compared to this.

The “this” is Bryce’s shoulder is still no good.

He is out of the first test.

He may be out of the tour.

He may never get to play test cricket.

This shoulder of his, this fucking rebellious limb, is fucking up my universe.

It’s taking my hope away.

The story of Bryce McGain is supposed to be special, he is supposed to be a prophet for anyone who had a dream and didn’t give up.

His age didn’t stop him.

His kid didn’t stop him.

His job didn’t stop him.

The continuing disappointments of life and love didn’t stop him.

He had a dream, that no one else believed in, and he was this close.

So close he could almost feel how the baggy green would feel on his head.

And the fucking shoulder, that cunt of a shoulder, fucked up the whole story, the feel good story of all time, the story that shows us that dreams can come true, the story that shows us that belief in ourselves can move mountains, the story that shows us that hard work can overcome anything, and that shoulder, that motherfucking prick of a cunt of a shoulder with no sense of history or happy endings just comes in, and it fucks it all up, it shits on Bryce’s dream, it shits on the cricket battlers story of the new millennium, it just reaches into my chest and takes away my heart, and fucks up everything, every fucking little fucken thing, it just came in and it ruined it all, when we were so close, so fucken close to seeing one of us, a working stiff, a family man, a cricket fan, a weekend player make it to where each and everyone of us dreams we could, test cricket, he was our portal, he wasn’t some professional athlete who has had his balls licked since he was 12, he was an IT guy who rocked up for his team on a weekend, he wasn’t some millionaire whinging about the stress and tireless nature of international cricket, he fucken loved every bit of training, traveling the whole bit of it he was just one of us, he calls himself Joe Average, and now the dream is all fucked up, it might never come back.

He might not ever play test cricket.

It took him 36 years to get this close, and he still might not make it.

I can’t deal with this.

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