For Sheila Gafney, family and teammates are one and the same - ESPN

These will be his last physical ties, the sole remains, of a life spent wandering the north end of Flint, Michigan. Later, he'll wish he had taken the photo of MaryAnn, his baby sister. He ordered them all to leave -- Mike and his two little brothers and his two sisters and his nieces. "But they're just babies," Mike thinks. He has been drinking, the husband, and he puts his hands on Mike's mother. Mike pushes him away, trying to separate them, tells him to calm down. All Mike wants him to do is to go outside, walk around the block, just take a minute to compose himself. He threatens violence, says he'll have someone come over to "shoot this house up. ". "If I get shot tonight," Mike thinks, "at least I was protecting my mama. His mom tells Mike not to leave. But Mike is tired of feeling uneasy in his own home. He's tired of worrying whether he and his siblings talked too loudly that day, if they ran in and out of the house one too many times. He's tired, too, of the realities of his life in Flint, of the mornings he wakes up to find his sidewalk taped off because someone was killed, another life taken by this town. And so on this early October evening in 2014, 22-year-old Michael Robinson takes out his phone and dials. It rings and rings but finds only her voice mail. Finally, at last, she picks up. "Miss Sheila," he says. Source: espn.go.com