The clock ticks down from thirty seconds and we trail by two points. Sweat drips from my exhausted face as I run up the court that seems to go on forever. They pass me the ball as trot up the court for a lay-up. A defender runs at me like a mad bull. My hand gets hit by his rock solid hand right as the ball leaves my fingertips. The ball rolls around the rim like it has a mind of its own, it keeps going around depend if it wants to go in. It goes quiet, not knowing if anybody sat in the gym. It finally goes in and the crowd went wild! “I stink horribly at foul shots”, I thought to myself. I step up to line ready to miss the foul shot that would win the game for us. I planted my feet in the middle of the line, squared up with the basket and bent my knees. I didn’t know what to think, my mind went black, and a voice kept whispering and telling me to focus. I brought my hands up and ready to release, but my coach’s voice suddenly popped into my head. It came from a one of our practices when he showed us how to get a more accurate shot, “make sure to keep your elbows in…” I brought my elbows in as a fan yelled “hurry up!” I released the round orange basketball; it soared though the air and tickled the twine as it went through the net. The fans sounded like a major highway during lunchtime. They trail by one point with twenty-five seconds on the clock.
All of the fans hang on to their seats, some of the parents jumping up and down nervous that their child will lose (even though he sits on the bench). The apposing team passes the ball in and sprints hard up the court. The point guard passes it down low to their center. I intercepted the pass when within one second I get shoved in the back and land face first on the ground. “Foul!” the referee yells like he wants to go home and sleep. They commit the foul that puts them in the penalty. I have to go to the line again. I keep thinking if I should get up or go shoot the shot, but by the time I decide, the coach is out there asking me questions like “count how many fingers I hold up, what your name…”. The coach helps me up and puts me on the bench and tells me to rest up. One of my teammates shoot it for me, they make the first and misses the second. They trail by two and we start pulling away from the close score. Fifteen seconds on the clock, we thought for sure we had this win, but when they pass it in, they sprint up the court and shoot a three pointer. He nailed it! The referee put up his hands making mini field goals. The man running the clock changes the score to thirty-three to thirty-four. “Time-out,” our coach yells as he stands up. The clock stops at ten seconds.
We get back on the court and pass it in, but they intercepted the pass and made a lay-up. Five seconds, we try to get it up the court, but they played on us tight. The buzzer goes off as I release the ball. The fans are quiet, even though you can hear how nervous they are. The ball hits off the back rim and out, sighs come from all around; we just lost the closest game of the season due to my mistake. The final score stands at thirty-three to thirty six.
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