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Mike sat in my office next to my desk. I've never understood why students

always choose to come to see me five minutes before my office hours end. I

glanced at the sandwich sitting behind my computer. I was hungry, and the

last thing I wanted to do was spend my lunch break explaining to an athlete

why he was going to fail my class.

The conversation was always the same. First, they'd try to explain that, in

fact, they weren't failing. I'd made some sort of mistake. Then, they'd

explain that they really needed to pass this class and would do anything to

make up the points they missed. Extra credit, redoing assignments, and so

on. Then they would accuse me of being a jerk and an arrogant professor who

hated the athletics programs and was taking it out on them. I always liked

to see their face when I told them that the last part wasn't true. I was a

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