They called some of our girls "Fence Jumpers"; they called another "Food Stamp"; they called one "Coon." 
 
I wasn't on the field to catch the exchanges firsthand but our girls aren't going to lie about this. You can't fake the hurt that they had in their young eyes. 
 
And this was a game. 
 
"Goddammit," I said through clinched teeth. "I wish I'd been out there to hear just one of them say those things." 
 
"Why?" she asked. "What would you have said? What would you have done?" 
 
I'd never felt more hopeless than at that instant. 
 
Hatred works that way. Doesn't it?