The Winning Shot…or Not
It took practice seven days a week and a million trial and errors as a team to get to this point but we had made it. Now was the time to win the championship. It was the first Friday of the year and we were playing on the ASU basketball court in downtown Phoenix at six PM sharp. With fifteen seconds to go and the fact that we had to make a three pointer to win, our spirits rapidly sank.
“Grab the ball!” yelled Nora, my teammate.
“I have it!” I called back.
I took the ball and threw it to Nora, who caught it. With the noisy cheering and squeaky soles of the basketball shoes it was not easy to concentrate. Nora threw the ball to me as I sprint to the other side of the court. I could perceive the rubbery feel of the
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“Nine…eight!” they shouted and I had even less time than before.
With adrenaline pumping through me and thinking about how many mistakes and victories it took as a team to earn this, I knew I had to make the shot.
“Seven…six…five!” the crowd roared as my teammates watched in complete agony wondering if I would make the shot or not.
I saw it, the orange basketball hoop that would either make or break this team. I could see the opponent’s feet trying to catch me, but I was too fast. Time seemed to slow like a snail as I ran to the three point line.
“Four…three!” screeched the hysterical crowd.
I pulled up to shoot the ball and with two seconds left on the clock, I shot the ball. In reality the ball soared through the air, but for me it lasted a thousand years until it reached the hoop.
“Two…one!” yelled the crowd as the buzzer went off.
The ball finally reached the rim and as sweat kept dripping into my eyes and the deafening roar of hundreds of people filled my ears, I watched the basketball bounce off the rim and land back on the court with a thud. All I can hear is silence even as I watch the team screaming and going crazy over their
The poem is narrated in a limited third person perspective of a player that gains possession of the basketball after a rebound. The poet focuses the narrative on the actions directly following him gaining possession of the basketball. The determination the poet feels to keep the ball in his team’s possession and make a shot is felt strongly through the poem’s lines 3-7:
Eureka - Luke Orso dribbled the ball three times, spun it in his right hand, bent his knees, and with a flick of the wrist he sent the ball sailing from the free throw line through the air and towards the basket. As all eyes watched the shot fly, the ball made its descend through the basket with a snap of the net which sealed the game for the Eureka Wildcats Varsity Boys’ basketball team.
You are in the First Union Stadium playing in the championship basketball game in front of a sold out, wildly cheering crowd, with hints of soft pretzels, buttered popcorn, and sweat in the air. Theres one minute left to play and you are agitated, exhausted, and have cottonmouth from the stimulation of this once in a life time opportunity to own and flaunt a championship ring. The scoreboard announces that the numbers are tied at 101 and its your ball. Theres enough time to set up the much rehearsed play, with yourself as the go to player to sink the winning three. After taunting the defense by passing on the perimeter, its time to make a deep v-cut, run off the double screen, and set up on the three point line by the baseline for the winning shot. The crisp pass is headed directly for your open hands, such that the rough, rubber grips on the basketball depicts a perfect rotation and arc as it spins through the air just as the buzzer bleats and an awestricken hush resounds in the stadium. Come game day, you will be relaxed and confident so that this scenario will happen.
I looked in their faces and knew mine mirrored theirs. I didn’t want it to, but it did. Just ten minutes ago, we all were so jubilant. We were so sure we were going to win. We had all wanted it for so long, but we finally felt is as our destiny just a few moments ago. But as our opponent threw the ball in the air, I knew she was just about to serve another ace. However, when the ball landed three feet in front of our best passer, something snapped inside of me.
The time on the clock was 4:30 when the doorbell rang, fifteen minutes early. My three teamates were extremely anxious to get to the Center. I opened the front door and to my surprise the whole team was outside in their cars. They were all spiffed up in their shirts and ties, determined to win the game. As I threw my equipment in my friends car I was hoping that the next time I put it in there I would have a championship medal hanging around my neck.
I walk into the gym rows and rows of people there waiting to watch our game. Kennedy who is 6’0 is walking torque the middle of the court for a jump ball. The opposite who is competing with her for the jump ball is a 6’1-6’2 big girl. The whistle blows and Kennedy tips it back, chloe grabbed it and started to push down the court, pounding on the ball. Chloe pasees it to Elle who gives it to Addy who is 5’5 pushing the big girl back. Addy swings her left leg across her body. Puts up the shot and the big girl blocks it. One of the Lady Mombas (24) shoots the ball down the court having one of her teammates catch it. Everyone is sprinting down the floor. Number 33 gets the pass and shoots the ball. It hits on the corner of the bright
SWOOSH. That’s all I hear in a gym full of 100 or more screaming fans and the sound of the buzzer going off as if it was never going to stop. As I laid on the ground gasping for air, I came to my senses that I just hit the game winning shot against Tates Creek high School with 3.7 seconds left. This shot was the shot of my career but who would of knew 7 years prior to that shot that I would of became a top rated shooting guard in the city of Lexington, Kentucky. My whole basketball career all I’ve known is to shoot a basketball jump shot, that was my duty, my job, my responsibility but never did I feel I was mechanically doing my whole life’s work wrong.
Rashim told Colin and Andrew that they needed to help him stand out this game. Colin said, “Rashim, we want you to go to the NBA as much you want to. We got you and we're gonna make you the MVP of this game.” Rashim knew that his friends would always be by his side to help him. The timeout was over and it was almost half-time. LaSalle was down by 8 and knew they needed to come back to stay in this game. Wissahickon missed a shot, and Andrew got the rebound and passed it to Rashim and he made a three pointer! With 4 seconds Colin got a steal and threw a bullet pass to Rashim, and he got the shot off with one second left, and he made it! The crowd was filled with excitement and cheering for Rashim. “I couldn't have gotten those points without your guys’ help,” he shouted excitedly. But the game wasn't over, and LaSalle was still
It was in the middle of spring on a nice sunny day. I had just finished my last game from my recreational basketball league. Our team lost, but I put in my two points, along with two solid quarters of bench warming. I was never much of an athlete, but rather a “mathlete”. Regardless, I still had a lot of fun playing sports.
I was wearing my orange uniform and my gray cleats. My brother was intently reading a book. I was going to my first soccer tournament. Columbus clouds covered the sky like a veil.The turf was so green it almost glowed. The first two quarters passed by in a blur. We were switched from offense to defense a hundred times per minute. Neither one of us could
Four one thousand, five one thousand. My bones start to crack. I suddenly realized that I have been hit, and hit hard. I’m now lying on the ground thinking to myself “What happened?” I taste a thick substance and quickly realize that my lip was bleeding. Now I’m in so much pain, my bones ache as I start to get a headache. I hear a whistle and see my opponent standing over me. His sweat starts to drop down from his face to mine. I’m thinking to myself “What went wrong”? I feel the mud on my hands as I slowly start to come back to the rest of the world. I hear the crowd roar. What is going on? Who has won the game? Is it over? I turn my head a little to the left to see the scoreboard. They’ve won by one, and we’ve lost.
“Life is like a basketball, it bounces up and down.” I love basketball. I feel affection for the taste of victory, when you win a game. However, I also find losing a worthwhile experience. I worship the feeling where you score a point. It’s slow motion at first, as you gaze at the shot you’ve made, wondering if it is going to manage. Then the taste of your salty sweat and the sound of your pounding heart are back in action. *Swoosh* the ball rapidly swirls into the hoop and falls through the net. It is so stunning, and so breath-taking. “Beautiful shot! BEAUTIFUL!” the coach would yell. Everyone would give a little cheer, and I would smile and look down. I am proud to make the shot, but not cocky about it. It’s for the team, teamwork… I would think in my head. Afterwards, I would be focusing on how to get my head completely into the game, that’s how addicting it is.
The team that got me were obviously disappointed. The coach blew the whistle and shouted, “ Start!”. I waited my turn for the ball while my teammates started shooting, most of them made it on their first time. The doubt and anxiety started to set in, while waiting for my turn. The dreaded moment came and it finally my turn. At first I looked around to see the other team and of course it was the other team’s last person also . So we both just started shooting like the ball was engulfed in flames but when I heard the “BEEP!” of the buzzer, I knew it was over. I had let myself and my teammates
Down two with six seconds to go fatigue had taken it tolls on the players. With little energy left; over time was not an option. I knew I had to go for the win. I walk on the floor confident of my ability that was until the whistle blew quickly turning my confident to butterflies. As I fought to get open I quickly saw the ball coming my way. As I rose for a jump shot time itself began to stay still. An in flesh everything became silent. As I watch the ball leave my hand I envisioned greatness; sure the ball was on its way in I started to celebrate that was until I hear the announcer say my teammate tip in miss shot to win us the game. Mix with emotion I celebrate with my teammate. “Ok guys, we have 24 hours until tip off. Get some rest because this is going to be the biggest game of your life. Let’s bring this championship back to Barton College. Go Bulldogs and Goodnight!” Why few players stay in the lobby to hang out I took it talk upon to work on my game and reflect on the semifinal game that just took place. At basketball games you will notice how there are all sorts of fans attending the game.
I emerged from the on deck circle and walked leisurely up to home plate, eyeing down the pitcher. My old, torn up black cleats were a shovel as they buried deep into the batter’s box and my lustrous metal bat was like a broom as it swept the brown, powder-like dirt off home plate. One of my teammates was on second base and the game was tied at three to three in the final inning of the game. All I needed to do was hit the runner home for my team to win the championship, but the smoky heat shooting off my blue uniform and the glare of the orange sun blinding my brown eyes were preventing me from doing so. I looked to my coach in the dugout and he touched his elbow, then his knee, signifying that he wanted me to swing the bat. In the background above the chants of the noisy crowd, I heard my dad scream, “Wait for your pitch Mike!” It all came down to this. It all came down to this.