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... bench felt more like a wake than a sideline.
The Roarers’ starting five sat slumped on the chairs, towels draped over their heads, sweat dripping off their jaws. Not one dared lift their gaze.
Coach Crawford slammed his clipboard onto the seat with a crack.
"What the hell was that out there?" His voice wasn’t loud—but every word sliced through the silence like a blade. "You turned the fourth quarter into straight-up garbage time."
No one answered. The quiet deepen ...
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