11
Game of Inches

"Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win." Sun-Tzu

She took off the green arm warmers to let her arms breathe. The lone scar running down her left arm beckoned. It served as memory of her younger and more vulnerable years—the years when her instruments were only tools to play the music of others, and when video games were only buttons to press to pass the time. She'd used music and games as a shield from the kids who'd made fun of her. Kids could be so cruel, even if solely for the sake of being cruel. Adults, she'd found, were no different.

If her mother hadn't been there, she'd've never grown. She'd've never spoken through her own music. She'd've never spoken through her playstyle, through her tactics. She'd've never made the friends she had, she'd've never learned from her mistakes. She wasn't even her biological mother, but had earned the title Mom. If only there were more people like her in the world, who embodied the virtues of love, truth, and honesty.

If anyone in the government were to say the sky was blue, the grass green, all one would have to do is peer toward the window—of course the sky would be gray, the grass brown. But all our screens seem to bring far more comfort. And those who'd said hard work was the only thing someone had to do to get out of poverty did not understand the world where even all the hard work in the world is insufficient. From her window she could only see the rooftops and the tiny cars and buses of New York. From up here, she could not see the faces of those who toiled nonstop.

Of course Wall Street would also say "mistakes were made," evade responsibility, and play the blame game. Just like solo queue, only with real repercussions that actually hurt people. Of course the working people were those most affected by the mistakes of few. Bankers were not the ones losing homes, bankers were not the ones losing jobs, bankers were not the ones unable to afford gifts for their family, for their children. The working people had endured it all.

Life is but a game of inches. Mistakes were made is an unacceptable excuse for a leader, for a captain, for a team—for anyone. Because when did mediocrity and conformity become admirable?

A self-made promise: no excuses, only hard work, dedication, reflection. No impulsive choices, no miscommunication. My teammates have probably made the riskiest decision of their lives, and they're probably no older than twenty, twenty-two maybe. This is going to work. It has to work. I have to make it work, she thought as he put her arm warmers back on.