Personal Foul
Coach Wilson didn't know what to do with himself. How could I let myself get into this shit? he asked himself, resting his head on his open palms and looking down at the desk in his tiny office off the gym. He sighed mightily and leaned back in the squeaky old wooden office chair and gazed up at the ceiling, as the desk had given him no useful clues. Cynthia Naamans, Cindy to her friends, walked into his office again. "Did you think about it?" she asked. He nodded, his expression utterly...