Brandon Jack

“With the note pressed inside my nostril I start counting down because I know that this night ends like all others have of late: with me on my mattress on my bedroom floor, a rickety pedestal fan looming over me as I stare at the ceiling, grinding my teeth, at war with the thoughts that fight to be the loudest.”
― Brandon Jack

“I know there were moments of elation while I played – an indescribable euphoria from the movement of the ball, the tingling reverberation of my leg after a kick, and a sense of freedom and relief in the heat of the contest, perhaps exaggerated by floating in the stasis of my thoughts on either side of the game; and outside the lines of the field were the coffees between meetings, the games of basketball across the islands of the changeroom and the walks from the front of the club to the carpark at Fox Studios every afternoon – but like a drug high, what I cannot escape is the aftermath: the gnawing of my teeth and the staring at the ceiling… On these pages is the evidence of the comedown that we don’t often see, one that I am still very much in the midst of.”
― Brandon Jack