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2:25 left. Down by six points. I look on nervously
from the sidelines. I wish I was out there. I should be out there.
“Grace! You’re in” yells my coach. Oh no. Big moment. Six months of
waiting on the sidelines.
As I kneel down at the scorer’s table, my palms begin to sweat. I wipe them off on my shorts, and a shiver runs down my spine as the buzzer rings. With one last glance at the clock, I close my eyes briefly. I’m ready. I have to be ready. Ball’s in. The feel of the ball on my fingertips is so unfamiliar. The soft, yet grooved orange ball that I have come to love over the past five years has caused so much pain and joy in my life. The joy of being able to represent my school and get to know an awesome group of girls, but the pain of being plagued with injuries. As a point guard, my job is to lead. Leading is quite difficult if you have never practiced with your followers before. My coach is yelling plays to run, but I can’t hear her. The game suddenly begins to fall into slow motion, each bounce thudding heavier and heavier. I look up at the shot clock – 23 second left. I pass it. Yes. That’s the safest thing to do. Pass it. Get it out of my hands. I don’t want to mess up the first second I get this season. Despite winning League last year and coming away with the Most Improved Player award, I have yet to feel the confidence that is needed in this game. |
Basketball, the three point shot.
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Somehow, the ball returns back to me with five seconds left. I look up at the clock. Look to see if there’s anyone else I can pass it to – no one. I look up at the basket. A simple three pointer from the top of the key. A shot I practiced about a million times by myself in my backyard. I look to see if there is any defender around me – none. Excited, I square up. Take a deep breath. Focus on the basket. I can see the basket clearly. I see a defender running my way but I don’t care. I release…. Next thing I know, I’m on the ground – reeling. A shocking pain ripples from my ankle to the rest of my body in the matter of milliseconds. I close my eyes. Not again. NOT AGAIN. The referee calls a time out as my teammates rush to carry me off to the bench. Tears are streaming down my face. I can’t figure out if it was from the pain or from the frustration. The tears don’t stop until I come home 20 minutes later. After all the crying is done. Over the past four years, I have injured my ankle three times, my wrist once, and my knee once. My overall basketball experience during my sophomore year of high school consisted more of tears than laughter. Despite all the frustration, anger, and pain I felt during that painful month and a couple weeks of rehabilitation, I discovered why I sweated day after day training. I discovered why I paid hundreds of dollars for doctor bills and camps. I discovered why I loved the game so much. |
I love the sound of the swishing of the net made by a perfect shot. I love the intensity of the game. I love the unified struggle to work together and win. I love being a part of this – machine of thirteen different girls working together as a cohesive body. I learned to love to lean on my teammates to help me recover. Despite missing my chance to move up to varsity due to injury, I pushed that frustration aside to help contribute to my team for the last five game of our season. In the eyes of others, my sophomore year of Lady Falcon Basketball might have been a disappointment, but I see it now as a blessing. It was a miracle that I was left standing (no pun intended) with another league championship. It was a blessing to get to know the others girls on my team and feel like they were another family to me. It was a blessing that I was reminded why I loved the game of basketball so much.
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