PAM
Somebody's not having a good day.
Georg.
And since it's someone I care about, I can't stop my feet from taking me to the sound of his voice two hallways over. I head out of the PT suite to find him but as I approach, I see that the team nutritionist, Devon, is already at his side. Georg is screaming into his phone, mostly in Russian, but sometimes in English clearly stunted by emotion.
When he hangs up, he throws his phone at the wall with a frustrated grunt. It shatters into several pieces and Devon puts her hand on his shoulder.
"Calm down," she says quietly. "What's going on?"
"He is shitfaced," Georg snarls. "I can't even have a conversation with him. Slaboumnyy! He was blathering on about needing to up his game but in the same sentence says he can't do anything for me. He actually had the nerve to call me a fuckup. Can you believe that? I helped win a fucking championship!"
"So the rehab conversation didn't go well, I take it?"