What they do is they're consistent in the their offensive attack. They don't vary. They're precise. They don't panic.

At that moment my shyness and anxiety all flooded back and I took a few steps back, and then sank to the ground; crouching, overwhelmed, covering my face. ‘What will he think? What if he already hates me? Maybe I was wrong in the first place? Maybe he didn’t like me at all.’ No matter how much I tried, I wasn’t able to produce a single positive thought to counter my panic. I wasn’t able to take a deep breath and relax. This day had been too eventful. I began to shake furiously, afraid of what was to come. ‘He hates me! He hates me!’ I thought over and over. Hot tears began to fall down my cheeks and I squeezed my eyes trying to stop them. My breathing quickened. What was I doing? I had said what I wanted, proudly, trying to be something to him but here I was: a total mess.

‘What kind of a confession ends in a panic attack? GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF!’ I thought furiously, my efforts rewarded with futility. The world started to spin, my mouth becoming numb for reasons I couldn’t understand, almost as if to prevent me from panicking aloud. As if I had the friggin’ courage.

She earned it. She was an offensive weapon, ... She was consistent the whole tournament.

She earned it. She was an offensive weapon. She was consistent the whole tournament.

A man who’s susceptible to panic attack is a man full of worry

We won. Each day we're building. We're 8-1, it's not a fluke. We're playing well against very good teams.