He stares. Then starts screaming. Brad, who never raises his voice to anybody, comes apart. What do you want me to say, Andre? What is it that you want me to say? You tell me he’s too good. How the fuck would you know? You can’t judge how he’s playing! You’re so confused out there, so blind with panic, I’m surprised you can even see him. Too good? You’re making him look good. But— Just start letting go. If you’re going to lose, at least lose on your own terms. Hit the fucking ball. But— And if you’re not sure where to hit it, here’s an idea. Just hit it to the same place he hits it. If he hits
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