We hated each other before that game. It was one of those things that you inherit when you join the Central South water polo team. They have no respect when they win and no respect when they lose. And it’s not only us; ask anyone else in the the CLS conference, everyone hates Central West. Over the course of the season, we played them three times. Some punk in the scheduling department thinks its funny to have us play them as many times as possible. Before this year, they never beat us, not once. But for most teams, including ours, entire starting lineups graduated, revealing inexperienced players to take their place. This affected all of the teams, except Central West. Their scum players were made up of juniors and sophomores the year before. Meaning that this year, they were ranked as one of the best teams in the state.
The first two times we played them, we lost. But that was expected. At that point in the season, we didn’t have our act together. But by the end of the season, like the year before, we were a force to be reckoned with. We were to play them first for the sectionals tournament, and if we lost, our season was over. No way in hell we were going to let that happen. Unfortunately, I couldn't play in that game. In our second game with Central West, I broke my hand, confining me to the bench for the rest of the season.
The day came when we were to play them. We were ready. But so were they. The whole game, we were down by at least one. We were breathing down their necks, but it wasn't enough. We lost.
That in itself was hard to take in. We moved to shake hands, even if it was hard to do. Then, they showed us why we hated them so much. He spit in his hand before shaking ours. Right in front of our eyes. Few of them even said good game. But he spit in his goddamn hand.
The next day, I thought the anger would go away. But it only brought back other reasons why we hated them. They got away with everything, they could punch you in the face in the middle of the game and not get thrown out. And when you do the same thing to them, they whine like little bitches and we get thrown out. They don’t play water polo, they act. And damn does that make me pissed off.
Something clicked in our heads. We were going to go to their next game and do...something. We didn’t really know yet. But what we knew for sure was that they were going to know how much we hated them. This wasn't only for us, but for everyone else that hated them. So we went to there game, and we watched them win, again. All of us, sat there pretty quietly. But we were angry, quietly furious.
Now we all hated them, but Jimmy hated them most of all. Jimmy was short tempered and not afraid to speak his mind. He had more reason than most to hate them. Last season, they broke his nose during a game. Elbow straight to the face. Mac was the biggest guy on the team, and ready to kick some ass. The rest of us were angry, but nervous at what would happen. But actions speak louder than words, right?
We waited outside the locker room, waiting for them to show their smug, coward faces. They came out one by one, walking by slowly. They knew why we were there, but they tried to hide it by smiling, laughing even. We stood there for a second, sizing them other up. A thud, followed by another bang. Next thing I knew, one of them was on the ground, with Jimmy standing over him, fists clenched. It was quick, more quick than I expected. It’s not like the movies, it’s too fast. Awe, then anger, then punching, in that order. After that, trying to remember who was who is impossible. Small flashes are all I have left. Mac was going to town on this other kids face. Bits of blood flew from his nose and mouth. Alec was on the ground, looked knocked out. Just like Niles West to pick on the small kid. Alec was too skinny to really fight, so that didn't surprise me. I was looking around still, never punched anyone. Yet. Some scum was taking a video on his phone. Damn Coward. That made me the most angry. Who the hell stops, takes out his phone and films people getting beat up for a few likes on Facebook. I walked up to him. I slapped the phone out of his hand. From there, I didn't really know what to do, I just looked at him, ready to break his nose, but it never happened. He scampered away and left before I had the nerve to kick his ass. To be honest, I don’t think I would have punched him, even if I had the chance. Coaches, staff, and other teams broke it up. What else were we going to do after that? We booked it and left. That was a long ride home. Really long. And man did it feel...strange.
Thats the best word, strange.

The more I thought about what we had done in the following days, the more I hated myself. But not only myself, but those pricks who made us do it. I kept telling myself I didn’t do anything, which is true in reality. Half wishing I did something, and half thanking myself that I didn't. I imagine hitting that guy with the phone in his stupid face all the time. Damn it would have felt good. Was it worth it though? The whole ordeal? The school didn't think so. All students involved were unable to play the next year. I thought that was harsh.
Of course I thought that was harsh. To us, what we did was justified, righteous even. But to everyone who hasn’t seen Central West and what they are, we looked like monsters. But knowing that we made them scared, that we taught them a lesson, I got over hating myself for what we did. I’m okay being a monster.