I remember every player-every single one-who wore the Tennessee orange, a shade that our rivals hate, a bold, aggravating color that you can usually find on a roadside crew, "or in a correctional institution," as my friend Wendy Larry jokes. But to us the color is a flag of pride, because it identifies us as Lady Vols and therefore as women of an unmistakable type. Fighters. I remember how many of them fought for a better life for themselves. I just met them halfway.
I have a love-hate relationship with losing. I hate how it makes me feel, which is basically sick. But I love what it brings out.
I hate to sound this way but, 'Why me? Why me with dementia?'
