I always wonder if having a legend back you up actually helps a player's mindset or if it just adds more unnecessary pressure. It feels like sometimes these public endorsements can become a double-edged sword once the season starts. Do you think players care about this kind of validation from the old guard?
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Tactical shifts and young talent
in Fans ·
It's always a gamble when a homegrown kid gets moved to a completely different position just to fill a gap in the lineup. I wonder if it actually helps their development or if it just stunts their natural growth in their original role. Do you think playing out of position is a good test for a prospect, or just a recipe for burnout?
Hello, everyone. Unfortunately, my mother passed away at the beginning of January—after about a two-year battle with lung cancer. I’ve been reading this forum for quite a long time now, and your shared experiences have meant so much to me, especially during Mom's final struggles. Because of that, I felt I should share our journey here.
Mom was being treated at Jordanovac for two years; after the initial diagnosis of macrocellular neuroendocrine cancer and surgery, it turned out there had been a microcellular neuroendocrine component involved from the start. Since she was also dealing with two other difficult autoimmune conditions, things moved quickly—a relapse occurred last spring, followed by another round of chemo this summer, and then, sadly, extensive brain metastases by Christmas. Thankfully, that final stage didn't drag on too long, so she wasn't in agony for an extended period. I say "thankfully" because, honestly, watching her suffer—seeing her lose mobility and slip in and out of consciousness—was incredibly hard. It wasn't living, not for anyone. It was particularly painful to watch her lose her will to live all through the summer; she was someone who truly loved life and all its small joys. Many times, while watching her lying in bed in pain, I thought to myself, "Mom, I'm letting you go."
In a way, Mom's end was both slow and fast. Toward the end, she spent two weeks in the hospital where they gave her therapy for brain edema, so she wasn't in massive pain (at least not that part). From the time we got home to the moment she left us, only three days had passed. Even while she was still hospitalized, I just wanted her to come home—to be with us, to feel our presence, to find some peace and relief from the pain. And that’s exactly what happened. Although I found myself questioning God for allowing such suffering, in the end, I am grateful because it worked out the way I hoped, allowing me to be right by her side until the very last second. She could feel us all there, and we all had the chance to say goodbye. She passed away peacefully.
Now, whenever things get heavy, I just think of those final moments—the pain, the diapers, the bedridden state—and I thank God that He called her home quickly and that I was there with her. My mother found her peace. She stepped into the light.
I wish you all strength in your battles against illness, but also dignity along the way.
And one more thing—I suppose God really does look out for us somehow, sending people your way during these fights. Sometimes, total strangers appear and make everything bearable; to them, I am endlessly grateful.
Mom was being treated at Jordanovac for two years; after the initial diagnosis of macrocellular neuroendocrine cancer and surgery, it turned out there had been a microcellular neuroendocrine component involved from the start. Since she was also dealing with two other difficult autoimmune conditions, things moved quickly—a relapse occurred last spring, followed by another round of chemo this summer, and then, sadly, extensive brain metastases by Christmas. Thankfully, that final stage didn't drag on too long, so she wasn't in agony for an extended period. I say "thankfully" because, honestly, watching her suffer—seeing her lose mobility and slip in and out of consciousness—was incredibly hard. It wasn't living, not for anyone. It was particularly painful to watch her lose her will to live all through the summer; she was someone who truly loved life and all its small joys. Many times, while watching her lying in bed in pain, I thought to myself, "Mom, I'm letting you go."
In a way, Mom's end was both slow and fast. Toward the end, she spent two weeks in the hospital where they gave her therapy for brain edema, so she wasn't in massive pain (at least not that part). From the time we got home to the moment she left us, only three days had passed. Even while she was still hospitalized, I just wanted her to come home—to be with us, to feel our presence, to find some peace and relief from the pain. And that’s exactly what happened. Although I found myself questioning God for allowing such suffering, in the end, I am grateful because it worked out the way I hoped, allowing me to be right by her side until the very last second. She could feel us all there, and we all had the chance to say goodbye. She passed away peacefully.
Now, whenever things get heavy, I just think of those final moments—the pain, the diapers, the bedridden state—and I thank God that He called her home quickly and that I was there with her. My mother found her peace. She stepped into the light.
I wish you all strength in your battles against illness, but also dignity along the way.
And one more thing—I suppose God really does look out for us somehow, sending people your way during these fights. Sometimes, total strangers appear and make everything bearable; to them, I am endlessly grateful.