One day you're a prisoner... the next you're a prince

One year you're national champions, the next you are having this conversation:

Yesterday, my students said to me, "Is your team even in the tournament this year?".  (I may have been regaling them with the Carolina basketball psychodrama all term.)

"Thanks," I replied, scowling at them, "I appreciate your concern." 

They went on, cruelly: "Duke's in first place! What happened to you guys?". 

I looked down at my lesson plan, and felt a violent blush rising up my neck, all the way past my cheeks to my hairline. The whole vivid wave of shame took about twenty seconds to complete its journey.  I couldn't even look up and meet my students' eyes.  I had thought I was at peace with our enfeebled basketball season, I really did.*   I was wrong.

And then we went back to discussing Life is a Dream. Which seemed apt.

¿Qué es la vida? Un frenesí.
¿Qué es la vida? Una ilusión,
una sombra, una ficción,
y el mayor bien es pequeño:
que toda la vida es sueño,
y los sueños, sueños son.


*I had even told my Intro to Drama students in a previous class that I had come to terms with it by viewing it as a sort of memento mori: this way goes all earthly glory, Everyman.  Think on't, Faustus.  Fortune's privates we.

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