I Guess I Just Don't Get It

"No, you won't stand a chance against these guys," del Bosque said. "They'll kill you. You're not strong enough." He turned back around and facing the pitch again.
I stared at him in disbelief, as everyone else on the bench, all of whom were in hearing distance of Coach, waited to see my reaction. I couldn't believe he had just said that to me. Coach Vicente del Bosque, who had invited me to be on the National Spanish Team, just said that I wasn't strong enough to compete with the German team. If this was so, why was I even on the team? Why wasn't I injured, considering the Spanish team isn't exactly tiny, a few players aside. Paraguay was worse than Germany! I was so mad I couldn't stand it, it was all I could do not to march up to del Bosque and punch him in the jaw. Multiple times. I heard a few of the guys whisper to me that they disagreed, but I could care less. It's one thing for your teammates to believe in you, and another for your coach to believe in you.
I sat on the best the rest of the game, simmering. I managed to smile when Carles got the only goal of the game, a beautiful header. Finally the referee blew the final whistle and I followed everyone else onto the field to celebrate, though I clearly wasn't as thrilled. I said my share of 'good game's to the Germans, and gave Lukas, Thomas, Mesut, and Bastian hugs, though I guess they all knew not to ask why I was so pissed off. We didn't really talk much besides that, so I left to talk to my team, who had apparently been warned about my foul mood. As we walked towards the tunnel for the after the game meeting after all the interviews and celebrations, Sergio had put his arm around me but didn't say anything.
Coach spent the whole after game talk pretty much saying how the guys played well, but not well enough if they plan on winning the final, etcetera etcetera. He even hint that he had completely insulted me not fifteen minutes earlier. He even had the audacity to pat me on the back on his way out of the locker room! I seriously could have killed someone!
I waited impatiently for Sergio to be ready to leave, and as always, he was one of the last ones. He must have realized how much I wanted to go, because he quickly threw his bag over his shoulder and held the door open for me, quickly following.
"Um, Camry? What exactly did del Bosque say to you?" He asked nervously, as though I would punch him just for asking.
"He said I'm not fucking strong enough and that I wouldn't stand a fucking chance against Germany!" I yelled. I was never bad about cursing until I was really angry, which apparently Sergio knew.
He remained quiet a few minutes before saying, "del Bosque often says things he doesn't entirely mean, you know that."
"So if he didn't mean it entirely he still sorta meant it! Doesn't make it any better! He knows I can play against players like them, and if he didn't, I wouldn't have been asked on the team in the first place! So now he's a hypocrite as well as an asshole!"
Sergio started to reply, then shrugged and nodded. "Well yeah, he can be-"
"He is!"
By then we were at the bus, and had no choice but to continue the conversation later, as we both knew it would probably get loud. When we arrived back at the hotel, everyone had agreed to go out partying again tonight, but I had set it in my mind I wasn't. I had to get out my anger somehow, or I would probably punch a hole in the wall.
"Are you sure you don't want to go?" Sergio asked for the tenth time within the last hour.
"Yes, I'm sure Sergio. You go have fun. I'm going to go for a run or something. I wouldn't be any fun if I went anyway, and everyone knows it." With that, I walked out the door, wearing my Nike running shoes, a long sleeve t shirt and some shorts. I jogged down the four flights of stairs and emerged out one of the side doors into the freezing air. Maybe shorts weren't the best idea I thought, but continued jogging anyway, as I knew I would warm up.
I ended up jogging almost sixteen miles before I started heading back, only being stopped a couple of times by fans. When I reentered the hotel, I found my way back to the stairs, and ran all the way up twice, before heading back to the room, which I expected to find empty, but was surprised to see Sergio laying on my bed, watching television.
"Sergio, what are you doing? Why aren't you out?" I stood in the doorway and asked.
"I went, but I was too worried you'd do something stupid to really have fun," he said, getting up. "How far did you go?"
"About sixteen," I said, and went to step around him to get some pajamas out, but he stepped in my way.
"Sixteen? Why would you do that? That's all you did, right?"
"Well, I ran all the way up the stairs a couple times. But I feel better now, and that's all that matters."
"Camry, you're going to be exhausted tomorrow! You're supposed to take it easy, as are the rest of us!" Sergio sighed and allowed me past him.
"Well, I would have felt like a lazy bum if I didn't do anything while ya'll played a game. And I feel great now, still a little pissed off, but much better than I was. And practice tomorrow is at night, so I have all day to recover. No problem," with that, I locked the door to the bathroom and got in the shower, emerging half an hour later to see Sergio still there.
He patted the bed next to him and said, "Come on, you're going to lay down, watch a movie with me, and then sleep. Time to rest."
"You're forgetting that you played the game, today. Not me," I said, but didn't bother arguing. He could be even more stubborn than me when he wanted to.
"Soccer players run about seven miles a game, not sixteen," was his only reply before we fell silent at the movie.

At all the practices until the final I nearly killed myself, desperately trying to prove to del Bosque I was just as good as anyone else, but he never seemed to notice. I knew he was ignoring me, before the Germany game he would have said something about how hard I was working, though I knew he expected nothing less, anyway. I received lots of praise from the guys, though it was kind of annoying because I knew they were only saying it because of what happened, which didn't help anything.
After practice, the day before the final, we had all just walked into the locker room and had started changing when my phone rang. I dug it out of my bag and, upon seeing my mom's number, pressed Answer and stepped back out of the locker room.
"Hello?"
"Camry? I...I...it's your brother," she paused for a minute to get her breath together before continuing. "Sam. He's been in the hospital. For the past few weeks. From a really bad car accident. We didn't want to tell you because we didn't want you to get distracted and everything, but...he passed...he passed away a couple hours ago." With that, she burst into tears again, as did I a few seconds later, as the information really sunk in.
I hadn't realized how long I was out in the hallway crying until I heard the door fly open and laughter and the guys talking filled the previously silent hallway. When they realized I was sitting on the ground, crying, they all fell silent immediately, and decided it was best if only one person asked me what was wrong while the rest went on. That one person was Iker, who sat next to me and waited a few minutes before quietly asking what was wrong.
"Iker," I wailed. "My brother is dead!"
His face paled and his mouth formed a small 'o' before he put his arm around me and I cried into his shoulder. Sure, my brother and I hadn't been as close as most siblings, but he was still my brother. We stayed there for a while as I continued to cry, not being able to stop. Pretty soon, though, Sergio came out and took Iker's place, and managed to get me up in order to get to the bus, which was dead silent as we got on and sat near the front, the only remaining seats.
When we got back to the hotel I barely made myself take a shower, hoping that would help at least a little, before falling into bed in hopes sleep would help.
What a week.