I find it funny that the reaction to a win and a loss in a competetive sport often seems to be rather the same. You win? Have a drink. You lose? Have a drink. The tone is different, of course, but both always seem to be the same general reaction. I guess because I don't drink, I'm incapable of understanding it.

I always find myself hesitant to go to a party. Don't get me wrong, I love a good celebration, and especially after a particularly grueling game. I always feel like the odd ball out just moping in the corner with no one to talk to. A loss is even worse to the non-drinker. Then, it's just plain uncomfortable.

Nonetheless, I'd like to say that I am more than proud of the Irish team and all that we accomplished. We played a great game, luck simply wasn't on our side this time. Looking forward to a much needed week of vacation before trials and pre-season practice begins.

Private
I wrote yet another letter to Sarah. I keep telling myself that this year, after the cup, I'm going to visit. I'm just so afraid to go back to the compound. The way they looked at me and Aidan the day we left... even Sarah, in her hand-sewn dress with no shoes on, sitting on the porch of Aunt Susan's house, looking at me like I was Satan himself. I just don't think I could bear to go through that again.

I wonder if she had a boy or a girl. I wonder what it looks like. It would be almost ten years old by now. She probably has at least a few more. In a year or so, she's going to find out if he or she is magical or not. I'd hate for Sarah to have to go through the whole experience of being called a devil-worshiper again. Lord knows I will be here for her if it happens... if she will let me, of course.
/