7. God, What’s Your Purpose This Time?

            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 19^th 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.