can we cast our shadows alone in the dark?
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Monday, September 01, 2003 everything is beautiful when you don't look down... I'm sitting. Flash. Mark says, "I'm shaking." He's not kidding. The palmcorder tosses and turns in his hand. Thankfully there's a clasp on his hand so he can't drop it. But that's not where it begins. A few weeks prior. Town n' Country. 3 seconds left. 72-69. I don't even have to look at the tape. I've memorized those figures. "Don't let 50 get a shot off. Frustrate him." Mark and myself have been designated to stop Thomas from getting a good look at a 3 ball. Bubba and Griffin seemed to like the top of the key at the wrong moments. Both are big, big boys. Needless to say, we had a difficult time guarding him. But he never got a good look. When he WAS open, he was 3 or 4 feet behind the 3-point line. That's NBA range. As crisp as his shot was, it wasn't going to fall. Somehow in the course of Fellowship getting the rebound and passing it to Thomas for another wide-open look, the ball was knocked free. Suddenly, I am in sole possession of it. Mark is behind me. Thomas is behind me. Bzzzzzzzzzzzz.... The game is behind us. We've won. I don't even remember how it happened. It's all a blur to me now. All I know is that, somewhere in the passage of time between Mark and I frustrating Thomas, the ball was knocked loose, I picked it up and ran down court as fast as I could. I flung it into the air as high as I've ever thrown it. I turned around to see a mob of teammates running at me. Now I'm in their arms and on top of a pile, in the loudest building I've ever been to ever house a game. Surrounded by people with whom I have deep connections. Surrounded by friends. Surrounded by people I love. You could call me a hero for the last few seconds. Don't. We already had the game in hand. I won't take credit for an entire win based on 2 seconds. "It was a team effort," as some players have been scripted to say. What's depressing is the fact that the battery on my camera died about a second and a half before I got the ball. Kyle may be the only other person to have it on film. Suck. I wanted to cry, but I would only have cried tears of joy. I had never experienced anything like that. It was amazing. I didn't want it to end. I wanted to continue gasping for air on the sidelines, in the huddles, during timeouts. I wanted to remain in that 2-3 zone. I wanted nothing more than for that clock to idle at one second left. I was having too much fun for it to be taken away from me. Even though winning made me feel complete, knowing that the season was coming to an end had me feeling less than. But that was then. Back to the here and now. "Don't look at me like that," Mark says to Vicki. "I told you, I do not like you." 45-43. 3 seconds left thanks to a key foul. At this point, it is irrelevent who is shooting the free throw. First shot. Swoosh. Pretty nice. Second shot. Clank. Not so nice. The balls squibs into a pile. I had a steal for a few seconds. I had the ball, again, with 2 seconds left. But now it was me that the ball was escaping. Thankfully though, Ruskin hit it out of bounds. Our ball. 2 seconds left. Time-out, no doubt. We get called over to Rodneywood. Get the basic talk. Don't throw it to them (duh). Don't move too much (another duh). Stand where the ref tells you (yeah). Still 2 seconds on the clock. 45-44. I needn't look at the tape for that one, either. I know it by heart. At least for this tape, I got the whole game. Last few seconds and all, including the post-game celebration completely with the obligatory, yet still incredibly corny "WE'RE GOING TO DISNEYWORLD!" lines. I have the ball. There's a huge stack right in front of me. And by stack, I mean a 200+ pounder. Let's put it this way: Vision is not at a premium. At this point, everything slooooooooooows down. We have 5 seconds to use. I take about 1 and a half, get nervous, and call our last remaining timeout. No Chris Webbers here. I assured the ref we had one 30 left. Re-mix. 2 seconds left. Still out of bounds. I've got the blow and again, everything is slow motion. I throw it in to a cutting Travis, trailer still on him like red on a Southerner's neck. I hear a whistle and the ball trickles by me. "Green ball." 1 second left. Our ball. Re-mix... again. The ref tosses me the ball. Travis sprints out to mid-court. I fling it out in front of him. He grabs it. Throws it wildly at the rim, some 45 feet away Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. We win. I open my eyes. Just day-dreamin'.. Goosebumps. The near-invisible hair on my arms stands up and I suddenly have vague patches of platinum blonde where once was just pink skin. To steal a line from Amanda (who, in turn, stole in from someone else -- the author's name escapes me now)... I wake up. Well, good night. overthought at 2:18:57 AM by a hole in the world |
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