They've been waiting all year for this. Two losses to St. Mary's last year were sticking in their craw and they came out with the sole purpose of beating us. The whole focus of their year was this game.

He congratulated me and said the easy part is making the team, ... But the harder part is sticking around. Now is the time to start the real work. That really meant a lot coming from a guy that good.

Every game matters. At the end of the year, this is what they do: They put the wins and losses up. Obviously, we're not going to make the playoffs, but I think the important thing is you get better. Hopefully, that's what we're trying to do.

Throwing them out there after waiting so long would be foolhardy on our part.

He looked around at that one room, and the few things in it. He'd always thought retiring would be going back to his life after some nightmare pause. Some stretch of exile in the land of the dead. Now it came to him that all his life worth living had happened while he was holding a sword.
Standing alongside his dozen. Laughing with Whirrun, and Brack, and Wonderful. Clasping hands with his crew before the fight, knowing he'd die for them and they for him. The trust, the brotherhood, the love, the knit closer than family. Standing by Threetrees on the walls of Uffrith, roaring their defiance at Bethod's great army. The day he charged at the Cunmur. And at Dunbrec. And in the High Places, even though they lost. The day he earned his name. Even the day he got his brothers killed. Even when he'd stood at the top of the Heroes as the rain came down, watching the Union come, knowing every dragged out moment might be the last.
Like Whirrun said - you can't live more than that. Certainly not by fixing a chair.

We all take losses and it's about getting up and coming back.