Page 34 of Anatomy of a Player

Athletes are treated like royalty, and when they need it, help is provided for free, if the grades aren’t smudged altogether. I can’t afford my food, rent, or medical bills, but no one cares that I’m in college to become a surgeon.

We work 24/7 on our game to keep it where it needs to be, and on top of that we have to work to keep our grades high enough to play, so we’re doing three times the work as everyone else. So hell yeah we deserve everything we get.

Someone should teach him what 24/7 means. And that while he has to maintain a 2.3 to play, the average for students hoping to get into medical and law school is over 3.4. Not to mention tests like the MCAT for the surgeon hopeful.

Athletes basically have a full-time job on top of going to college. Not only should we get special privileges, we should get paid money to entertain you people.

“Whoa,” I said.

A few students glanced back at me, so I must’ve said it louder than I’d realized. Dane caught my eye, and I froze in place, like that’d keep him from noticing me. He nodded and I nodded back.

After the attention from my outburst died down, I went back to the comments. Did that person seriously think college athletes should be paid a salary? Because they “basically had a full-time job?”

Seriously, cry me a river, because there were other students with full-time jobs who had to earn their grades, no sympathy to their situation because it didn’t involve feeding the school money.

Right now I was struggling to keep up with classes, studying, and my job. I worried my grades were slipping, my studies neglected in order to prove I could do the job I was studying for, so that someday I could reveal injustices in the world and be the voice of people who couldn’t speak for themselves. What made playing a sport more important? Note the word “playing,” which was much different than “working.”

The “you people” made my blood simmer, too. Yes, I was learning to enjoy hockey, but I’d been to two football games to watch Trevor play when we were together and “entertained” was the last thing I’d call myself during those never-ending games.

I blew out my breath, telling myself to remain calm—this was only the beginning—and then I read the last two comments.

College sports are now more of a business than a “sport.” Face it. Athletes are employees, not students.

By giving athletes special treatment, the administrators and teachers are only perpetuating athletes’ belief that they’re above the rules. It’s unfair, and it’s hurting our society.

Well, I definitely struck a chord.Pride rose up. I’d always wanted to push the boundaries and create a reaction—all good journalists did.

The professor announced the end of class, and several students shot out of their seats and rushed out of the room, their business faces on—us normal people had to get to our next classes on time.

The strap of my bag had somehow looped itself around the leg of my chair, so I bent down, lifted the chair, and wiggled the bag loose. It sent shooting pain through my neck, and now I missed what I’d onlythoughthad been painful. Having to hold my head a certain way was nothing compared to the incessant stabbing that made me scared to move for fear the muscles would snap for good.

When I managed to return to an upright and locked position, Dane stood in the aisle. “Hey, Whitney. I didn’t know you were in this class. I can’t believe I never noticed.”

That’s probably because you were too busy sleeping.

Well, and because I don’t actually have this class, but that’s neither here nor there.“Oh, I’m not in this class.”

The utter confusion that pinched his features nearly made me laugh. Then I realized I needed an excuse. “I just ducked in at the end because I need to talk to the professor. For the paper.”

“Oh. So you do more than sports?”

I gave a non-committal head wobble.

“Well, Professor C’s the best.” Dane leaned in. “If you ever need help with your math classes, let me know. I got the hookup.”

“What kind of hookup?” I asked, doing my best to pull off casual innocence.

“Depends on what you need.” His gaze drifted to the clock at the front of the room. “Shit, I gotta go. Catch you later.”

When he did catch me later, I’d have to see if I could get more information about that hookup, and if it involved cheating or calling in favors. I glanced toward the door where he’d just disappeared.

It was kind of nice for him to offer, though…I mentally scolded myself for being flattered for a couple of traitorous seconds. Cheating was cheating, and unfair was, well, not fair. Being nice didn’t make it okay.

Pushing away all hints of niceness, I let the hard-hitting reporter mask descend, then I walked right up to the professor and said, “I was wondering if you’d like the chance to defend yourself before the truth about how many perks you give the hockey players goes to print.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Hudson

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