It’s the biggest game of the season. All four bleachers are
overflowing with hundreds of students and family members screaming and cheering.
The atmosphere at the biggest high school rivalry game in the city can get so
loud and emotional that it is usually hard to hear yourself think. I hear
taunts from the opposing fan sections as I glance at them, just before the
referee steps into the circle to toss the ball. For a moment, all the noise
soaring through the air around me shuts off. I can only hear the sound of my
breath accelerating as I get ready to jump higher than I ever have before. As
soon as I see the ball begin to fly upwards, I exert all of my energy onto the
ground beneath my feet. The opponent in red directly across from me reaches his
hand out and grasps the ball at the same instant I do. The only difference is
that I pull harder. The ball releases in an explosion of energy and flies into
my teammates hands.
The game
begins in a jolt. My feet start running as soon as I land. Grant, our point
guard, already has the ball and is driving towards the basket. I set a screen
for him and he is able to get free from his defender for just the right amount
of time to pass it to Dave, our shooting guard, who was sneakily running back
door. He catches the ball in midair at the same time he turns. It’s almost
beautiful how he turns just enough to finesse the ball through the basket. We’re
already up 2-0 and the game has barely begun.
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The Lancers
quickly try to score but fail to do so as we pull the rebound. The game
proceeds generally with each team taking blows from the other team, exchanging
points back and forth. Before I know it, it’s the end of the half and we’re
down by six points. We grudgingly jog to our locker room as our coach
destructively storms behind us. For the next ten minutes we listen to
exclamations about how we need to want this game more than Liberty, the
opposing school. He then declares directly to the seniors, myself included, “Do
you guys really want to lose what can be the biggest game of your lives? You
only have one shot at this, so don’t screw it up.” After a short while longer we
then run back to the court with more courage in our blood and fire in our eyes
as we prepare to fight.
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The third
quarter is a bloody battle. Two players from each side have to get checked out
of the game due to elbows to their faces. Passion continues to grow as we fight
for our brothers that seem to have been deliberately injured. By the end of the
third, we are only down by three points, cutting the opponents lead from the
end of the first half in half. We have one more quarter to either send the game
into overtime, or to gain the victory. The fourth quarter continues much like
the third. There are dirty plays that only get worse and worse as the referees
become more and more lenient towards the ever-growing aggression.
We start
out strong, making several baskets in a row, giving us the lead in the game.
We’re finally up again! We have a great chance at winning this game! The score
is 50 to 46, with our team, the Eagles, in the lead. Our student section begins
to chant, “I believe that we will win!” at the top of their lungs. At the sound
of this, I begin to worry. I know my teammates too well. When we get cocky, our
performance drops a significant amount. Since there are only two minutes left
in the game, I am not too worried. But sure enough, the Lancers score six points in a row, putting them in the lead by two. There are ten seconds left
and it’s our ball on the sideline. Grant catches the ball and immediately
drives to the right side. I set a massive screen for Dave as he flies up from
the middle. He catches the ball well behind the three-point line, just in the
area that he likes it. He launches the ball up as I run forward. The ball
bounces off the back iron and begins to fall. I jump up as the ball lands
smoothly onto my right hand. I extend my arm forward and finesse the ball
through the basket, sending the game into overtime. The crowd begins jumping up
and down as they scream for me.
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It’s all
blocked out of my mind. I can’t hear a single thing as I walk back to the
bench. Not a single scream for me. I get the chills as my teammates thrust
themselves into my chest. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. I had just
tied the game, sending it into overtime! What should be the loudest moment of
my life is the quietest, but I’m brought back to reality at the sound of my
coach’s voice. He’s yelling to outrank the roaring crowd in volume. He quickly
congratulates my play, then encourages us to keep our focus in the game, not
letting our emotions get the best of us, just like it often does in situations
like these.
The next
thing I know, I’m soaring through the air, once again reaching up as high as I
can for the ball. The same thing as before happens, but this time, the guy in
red pulls a little bit harder, making the ball go flying over both of us. Two
players in white and one in red, chase after the ball before it gets to the
edge of the court. My teammate gets there first and starts dribbling down the
court. I shout out, “Santa Fe, Santa Fe!” signifying that we should run a
certain play. We run through the cycle a single time when Grant has the
opportunity to drive downward and pass to Dave, who then scores easily.
I grin as I
see that the play I called out worked for our benefit. We sprint back down the
court to play defense. Their point guard drives down the court faster then
everyone else on the court and puts in an easy layup. We end up scoring two
baskets in a row, giving us a lead of four points. There is one minute left.
I’m sure we have it in the bag. But the next thing I know, their point guard
puts in an incredible jump shot. There is just no way to stop this kid! He has
28 points already and just got fouled again. He makes both his free throws and
has now made seven this game. We drive down the court as fast as we can, but to
no avail. There just isn’t enough time on the clock.
Double
overtime. Not the greatest thing that can happen for us. I know my team doesn’t
handle pressure of this magnitude very well. It’s time for me to be the Team
Captain that I’m supposed to be. I have to step up my playing level. I’ve only
been off the court for four of the thirty-six minutes already transpired. I’m
tired, I know, but I have to press on.
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Once again,
we’re jumping for the ball. He jumps on time while I don’t. They win this time.
I chastise myself for not winning but I play defense with more energy than I’ve
had all game. They score in a matter of seconds but we can’t answer it. Once
again, they hit us hard, this time a three-pointer from their point guard. I
get the ball as we transition to offense. I make a quick crossover and shoot
the ball from behind the line. It soars straight through the basket. I raise my
right arm, giving our crowd the three-finger salute, as done in the Hunger
Games. They reflect my image. There is still hope—we’re only down by two
points. I just made my eighth basket and 19th point, having only
shot nine times. They don’t manage to score this time around, but the menace in
red steals the ball as we pass it up court. He is fouled in an instant and once
again, makes both of his free throws. He has 33 points now and they’re winning
by four. It seems all is lost as we press forward. Dave makes a three and the
Lancers respond with an easy layup.
We’re only
down by three points and the ball is in our possession. There are only ten
seconds left as we swing the ball across the top of the key. The ball reaches
Dave’s hands and he shoots. He is two for three from the three tonight and we
all have confidence in him. It flies through the air, but bounces off the rim. It
goes off to the side just a bit too far. The tips of my fingers graze the ball
as it gets deflected away and into the hands of the enemy.
The horn
sounds and it’s over. This is the fourth game in a row in which we have lost by
three points or less. I can’t believe I let this one slip away. I drop my head
in despair as I walk to the bench. Our crowd is silent. They can’t believe that
we failed them either. Disappointment is tangible in the air around me. This
time, we walk to our locker room. For the next ten minutes, I listen as my
coach’s disappointed voice chastens us for our inadequate endeavors. He
eventually throws up his arms and storms out. Dave kicks over a chair at the
same time several others explode out of their seats. I don’t notice any of this
happen. All I think is “God, what’s your purpose this time?” Tears are
beginning to reach my eyes when shouts are shot across the room, blaming others
for the loss.
At the
sound of antagonism against our own, I stand, flipping over a table, exclaiming,
“Don’t you dare put the weight of this game on anyone else. There is a reason
we are called a team.” I keep my voice from being too harsh and too loud. I’m
still the Captain—I’m still the leader.
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Grant stands with tears in his eyes
saying, “Joe’s right guys. It’s on all of us.” After an hour of dread, we start
leaving the room, one by one. Finally there are five left; we’re the starters
of the team. Without saying a word, we all leave together. I put my arms around
the others as we walk outside into the frosty air. They do they same.
No matter how bad the loss of a game
can be, we are always brothers and will always be brothers. We finally break
apart and go our separate ways. We get into our cars and begin to drive away. I
start my car and whisper to myself, “Thank you, I understand now,” as I drive
on forward with my brothers.
