And this game isn’t even over. The finals aren’t even over.
We’re winning by exactly one point, and I’m not sure I want to keep playing. The championship, the thing we’ve been working towards all year, it just seems like this thing that’s so far away and we might not be able to reach it. Like, does it really matter if we don’t win? Am I gonna care next year about having won or lost this thing?
Maybe. If it means I get an offer.
Despite part of me not wanting to care, we have to win today.
I take a knee as we wait for the game to get started again. Someone from the other team is limping off the court. I feel guilty for thinking it, but I’m kinda glad.
There are five minutes left in the game, and we can’t afford to lose one of our own.
Better them than us. Besides, it doesn't look too serious.
The crowd applauds as the guy manages to make it to the bench.
I blink hard a couple times, blink away the sweat.
The whistle sounds again and we’re back at it.
Two fouls later, one from each team, we’re all pretty tense. I can’t look anyone in the eye anymore. We’re up two points for the first time this entire game. We make our free throws. The other team misses one.
Every point counts.
Later, I look at the clock again. Twenty seconds. We need to hold our shit together for twenty more seconds. And not let them score. We at least need to do that.
The other team is getting desperate, though. They are not going down without a fight.
They want to win as badly as we do. Especially their coach. I almost feel sorry for those guys. Who knows what’ll happen to them if they lose? When they lose.
The referee blows the whistle to start up the game again. It’s our ball. Henry is throwing it in.
We all run this way and that, and when he sees me free for a moment, he bounce passes to me. I have a defender all over me, so I pass right away to someone else, like a circle around this half of the court.
We’re winning, so now we’re taking our time.
There’s a bad pass, though, too far, and it goes out on us before we can save it.
Twelve seconds. And it’s their ball now.
Their coach calls time out. They can still win, or at least tie if they play this just right.
Damn. I pull at my hair as each team heads back to the bench to get one last bit of advice from our coaches. I glance at the other team before looking at Coach Rogers.
I can’t really hear what he’s saying except he puts his hand on my shoulder and looks me in the eye before putting his attention back on the clipboard in his other hand.
“We can not let them shoot. Do not let them drive in. Do not let thirty-three shoot a three. And play clean. We can’t afford a foul or a three-point play right now. I don’t know about you, but we are not about to lose. Not now.”
We all nod; one guy even gives a shout and fist pump. We’re all feeling it. We have to go out strong.
Before we know it, the ref blows his whistle again. Timeout is over.
We all run to our spots, and just like us, the other team has new vigor. New drive.
We get ready for the throw in. I’m not letting my guy out of my sight. The ref blows the whistle for the game to begin once again. He throws the ball in, and it goes to another guy who manages to get open for a second. Then he immediately passes it back to the guy who threw in.
I don’t know how much time is left, but it can’t be much. We all run to their basket. I’m on thirty-three. They do some quick passing, but they’re not seeing a way in. I want to look at the clock, but I can’t risk letting thirty-three get his chance to shoot. Finally, another guy from the other team gets open just outside the three-point line. He shoots, and I finally get a look at the clock. Two seconds.
The ball hits the backboard but no luck. Henry is there to grab the rebound, but the buzzer sounds, and the game is over. I look at the scoreboard. 71-70.
I stop and give several of the guys high fives. I can’t help but smile right now. It was a good game, but if we still have two more games to go, I don’t know how we’re gonna beat the next two teams. This is just gonna get harder from here.
Ten
During the semifinals game, I have a close call with my ankle when I stumble after landing from a jump. I sit out for a couple minutes as I make sure it’s okay, but I think it’s fine. I need to get back in. It’s still the first quarter of the game.
“How is it?” Coach Rogers asks me. He’s still watching the game.
“It’s a little tender, but it’s fine.”
“Good. I’m putting you back in.” I barely finish my sentence, but I honestly don’t care. I stand up and stretch my ankle carefully as I watch the game.
I see him glance at the clock, and I do the same. We’re down seven points. There’s a foul against Henry, and he uses it to put me in. I jog in.
At halftime, we’re down by four. We’re catching up slow and steady, but is it gonna be enough?
At the end of the third quarter, I make a buzzer beater. Three points, and we’re down three.
So close.
The fourth quarter is crazy. We’re awake. They’re awake. We’re one of four teams left. Out of thirty-two teams. Whoever wins this game gets to go on to the final game. The last two teams. The best two teams.
All of my doubts from before are gone. No way we’re going home now. That’ll be even worse, making it all the way here only to be done. If any of us are tired, it doesn’t show anymore. I think the same thing that’s happened to me has happened to everyone else. The adrenaline has kicked in.
We’re going harder than ever before. There are no other thoughts inside my head other than the fact that we need to win this.
The other team’s point guard drives in, and sinks one in. Down five again. Damn.
It’s our turn, though. Henry calls out a play, one we haven’t used in this game yet.
I break and run to my spot. He’s gonna pass to me. I need to be open.
Two other guys get open too, distracting the defense. I get the pass and drive in. Someone hits me in mid air, but not before I get the ball inside the net.
Whistle. Foul.
I get a free throw.
I try not to think about how much this one point matters right now. We’re down three. If I make this, we’re only down two. I look at the clock. It’s stopped. There’s less time left than I thought. Less than two minutes. Already?
I have horrible sinking feeling in my stomach, but I push it away.
This needs to go in.
I can’t think about it too much. Can’t overthink it.
I take a deep breath. Then another. I dribble, staring between the ball in front of me and the hoop fifteen feet away. I dribble one more time and get ready to throw it.
Then I do. Before I can think about it too much.
The ball arcs through the air. Pure net.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
Down two.
A couple of the guys pat me on the back as we head back to the other side of the court to defend.
We can’t relax yet, though. There are less than two minutes for us to make one last comeback.
And it’s their ball.
We’re each guarding our guy like our life depends on it, but they still manage to pass. We need to get a rebound or something.
The guy behind me is gonna get a pass. It’s already on the way to him, but I manage to reach it first. Steal. I sprint down the court. Philip is already down there. I fling it to him. We don’t have much time left.
He receives the pass and does a layup.
I jump up and down as I go back to my spot.
We’re tied. We just tied this game.
“Yes,” I say, mostly to myself. A guy from the other team jogs past me, his head in his hands.
I turn around and keep my eye on the ball.
I look at the clock for a half a second. Just over a minute left. This ca
n still go either way.
That minute could drag on for several minutes.
And I’m not sure we’re gonna get just as lucky as we just did again.
I’m standing straight up, knees slightly bent. My hands are extended up, covering the guy in front of me. I’m glancing between him and the guy who has the ball. I have a feeling they’re gonna go for a three.
The point guard passes to a guy on the outside. No, not him. He passes the ball back. The point guard. Him. He’s going for the three. He shoots.
I’m close to the basket so I run, my eyes never leaving the ball. I can feel the other guy right behind me, as well as see another guy right in front of me. Damien’s on the opposite side. But the ball bounces off the rim towards my side.
I put everything I have into that jump. And I grab the ball. As soon as my feet touch the floor, I’m already looking to pass. Our point guard. Henry. There.
I pass to him and sprint to my spot on the other side of the court.
Forty seconds.
Henry is taking his time a little, and it puts me on edge. If the other team steals the ball right now…we won’t have time to respond.
He passes to Philip on his right. He passes across to me. I have no room to shoot. I bounce pass to Damien. He feints. Now Henry has the ball. He drives in. That guy is nuts. No way he’s gonna put it in, but I realize that’s not what he’s after. We hear the whistle as he lands on the ground. Foul. Two shots. Henry is back up and at the free throw line. The rest of us line up.
I relax a little on this first shot. But he makes it. We’re up a point. For the first time in this game.
I take a deep breath and bend my knees as I keep my eyes on Henry and the ball. I need to get ready to jump in case it misses and grab the rebound. He dribbles again and shoots. Right before the ball hits the rim, I jump. But it goes in.
Thank God we don’t suck at free throws.
We’re up two. But again, it’s their ball. We’re jogging to the other side of the court.
Twenty seconds. And ticking.
Fifteen. We just have to keep them from scoring. They’re coming at us hard, though. Not caring anymore if they push or shove.
I push and shove right back. Looks like the ref’s not paying attention anymore.
Some guy from the other team gets the ball and shoots wildly. It bounces off the backboard, not even close. I jump for the rebound, but someone else gets it. Them. The guy next to me. He’s gonna put it in. He holds the ball with both hands in front of his face, getting ready to shoot, his eyes on the basket. It leaves his hands.
No.
My hand goes up and connects with the ball. Hard.
Two seconds later, the buzzer goes off.
“Come on!” the guy I just blocked yells. “How is that not a foul?”
I’m already laughing and running to the middle of the court with everyone else. The guys from the bench are there, too, hitting me on the back, punching my shoulder. I’m being hit and patted so hard, it feels like I’m getting beat up. But I don’t care.
We’re going to the finals. The last match. The last two teams standing.
YES.
The following Monday at practice, Coach walks onto the basketball court with a clipboard in his hands. I’m still pumped from us going to finals, but he looks worried. He motions for us to join him.
“Looks like the other finalist is River Valley. I already had a friend of mine look in on them. They’re good. Their passes are…just there. The entire team is made up of passers. But you guys know this already because they beat Westview last year for first place. And the year before that.”
I remember these guys. So does everyone else. They’re good. Like beyond good. Like scary good. Damn. Do we even stand a chance? Like those cheesy teachers say, We won’t know until we try.
“Comparing each of our stats individually, it looks like we still have a slightly better percentage overall than they do. From what I remember, they don’t like distance shots as much. They like shooting close. Driving in. Inside the three-point line. So keep an eye out for that. They work very well as a team. That’s been our advantage up until now. Most of you here have been playing together since middle school. So have they. They know what they’re gonna do before they do it. They’re not known to be sloppy. In fact, three of their players have already signed deals with out-of-state colleges up north, one of them with Duke.”
We look at each other. They’re really good, then. If I had to pick, Duke would be my first choice, even over University of Georgia. No. More. My impossible, Cinderella, happily-ever-after choice. I mean, I’m good. But I’m not that good. I’ll be the first to admit that. No way will Duke ever make me an offer. I’d probably laugh in their face.
A small grin makes its way onto my face, and the coach catches it.
“You think this is funny?” he asks. He’s serious, but I think he’s just wondering what just went though my mind.
“No, sir.”
“Good. I don’t need my team captain losing his marbles at this point in the game. Get your head out of the clouds and focus.”
“Yes, sir.”
I put my serious face back on.
“Good. Let’s get started with some stairs.”
“Yes, sir,” I say loudly, along with everyone else.
We run as a blob over to the stairwell and start going up and down by twos and threes until coach blows his whistle, telling us that we’re done. After some suicides, we get started on drills. Plays.
I realize there’s something missing from our practice. No one’s goofing off. No one’s laughing or slacking off. Because we know. This is how state championships are won. With practice and focus.
“Oh my God, even I don’t know how we’re here right now,” Henry says as we walk into the Macon Coliseum.
He’s right. We’d won the semifinals game against Peach County by a point, but it was like it had been too good to be true. And now we’re here.
For the finals.
This is it. What we’ve been working for. What I might have lost Mayra for. What Ryan should be here for.
Our last game together.
Now or never.
We don’t get a repeat. No second chances.
What happens, happens, and then we go home either way. With or without a trophy.
I still haven’t seen any scouts around, but the coach told me earlier he’d seen a few.
That’s something else on my mind right now. I could get an offer within the next few days because of today. Or not.
I push that out of my mind. I just need to focus on the game. On playing my best. If that happens, we win. If everyone is on their game, we can win. Everything depends on that.
“Okay. Let’s start heading over to the locker rooms.” Coach sounds nervous too. He’s already told us he’s gonna retire this year and take his wife on that trip to Paris he’s been promising her for like three decades or something. He needs to do that. And he deserves for us to win this championship. He saw the potential in me four years ago. He gave me a chance. If we can give him this, the win he wants more than all of us combined, that might be the best thing that comes out of all of this.
We beat four teams to get here. I can’t help but smile, even though I know we’re going against the toughest team we’ve faced so far. Coach leads us into the locker rooms, and before we know it, we’re in uniform and walking onto the court.
And it’s game time. Against River Valley.
The referee blows the whistle and the countdown begins. May the best team win.
First quarter, and I’m already about to crap my pants. Like really crap my pants. Or shorts, I guess.
We’re down ten already, and there are still five minutes left in the quarter.
We’re not off to a good start. They just made another shot, a three. So much for them not liking those long-distance shots. Their lead player, number sixty-one, is hot, and I just got blocked.
Why do we never get off to a good star
t?
Second quarter. Our asses are still getting kicked. We’re down twelve. We’re starting to make a comeback, but…I don’t know.
I make one shot. Then two, three in a row. I’m starting to get hot, but we may be too late.
“Let’s go, man!” I pat Philip on the back as I run past him. We have to keep our heads up.
I’m starting to feel hopeful because it’s a six-point game now, but then they make two shots in a row. Sigh. Down ten.
The coach calls a timeout after their second basket in a row.
He has only one thing to say: “Get it together out there.”
Then he stops and gives us all a long hard stare.
I remember one time he told us about how his grandfather served in World War II. The stare he’s giving us right now reminds me of a soldier, ready for war, to give up his life for his country, for freedom.
Or maybe I’m just being dramatic, or maybe I’m getting dehydrated or something (or heck, maybe I’ve been paying too much attention in language arts), but the look on Coach’s face really is kinda freaking me out.
He’s old, like sixties old, but right now, he looks like he could slap on a uniform and get out here and play with us.
Either way, we get back on the court with a new resolve.
And we start playing smart, learning from the other team. From their mistakes. We start making baskets.
Fourth quarter.
We’re down one point.
Then up one point.
Then down one point.
It’s driving both teams crazy.
We’re finally on their level, though. We’ve never played like this before. Everyone is at a hundred and fifty percent; the only thing on our minds is this game. Not anything after. Not anything before.
Just now.
This second.
Five minutes left. Down two points.
Three minutes left. Up one point.
Thirteen seconds left. Down one point, and I want to scream and pound my fists into something. Coach uses his last timeout and tells us exactly what we need to do.
Ten seconds left. One more play. And it’s up to me if we win or lose tonight. I don’t know if I can stomach that, and I’m just glad my stomach is empty right now because otherwise I just might barf all over this floor. I’d feel sorry for whoever the janitor is.
All In (Changing Hearts Book 2) Page 12
