glory

The first time I really tasted glory on a basketball court was my freshman year in high school. We'd played a slugfest of a game and were down by 3 with 2 seconds remaining. We had the ball out under the basket and needed to get down to the other end of the court and hoist a desperation three-pointer in order to tie the score and send the game into overtime.

Our coach called a time out to design a play- the idea was to have the ball thrown to me at the three point line where I would turn and pass it to one of our best shooters on either side of me. As a forward/center the only reason I was in the game was to be a nice big target to catch the full court pass. As we broke our huddle the coach actually said, "anybody but Jeremy take the shot." I understood my role and was satisfied trying to do my job.

As soon as the official handed the ball to my teammate it felt like the entire universe went into slow-motion speed. I saw my teammate cock his arm back and begin a football-style throwing motion. His defender jumped up straight into the air with his arms extended overhead. The pass was deflected by the defenders hands and the ball shot up in the air. I knew this was a problem for 2 reasons: 1) the pass would not be accurate, and 2) the clock would begin counting as soon as the ball was touched.

It was a scrum to catch the ball about three feet behind the 3-point line. I went up and came down with the ball. I knew there wasn't any time for a pass attempt. I turned and launched what can only be described as the most-pathetic, catapultish, sad-looking shot of all time. In my excitement, I threw the ball FAR too hard. It smashed off the backboard and fell right through the net! I hadn't intended to bank-shot, not even close. But it was a straight on shot, and it was pure luck that I made the shot.

My team swarmed to congratulate me and our home crowd went crazy. Anybody familiar with our team new what an absolute miracle had occurred for me to make that shot. It was a miracle that I even caught the pass!

And so the game went into overtime. It was another hard fought period. As the game was nearing an end, we found ourselves behind by two points with a few seconds left. We also had NO timeouts left. It was what you might call a "broken play," which is a technical term used to describe total chaos. Our point guard picked up his dribble and was being smothered by a defender at the top of the key. I ran to relieve pressure by popping out to swing the ball. In the corner was an older player who was "on the bubble," (this meant he played a limited role in both varsity and junior varsity games). If anybody should take the shot to make or break or game, it should be him. My intent was to swing the ball to him in the corner for a game winner.

I caught the ball and looked to the corner. He was open to catch the ball and take a shot. But something was wrong: he didn't seem to want to ball. He had a look of fear on his face and his arms were straight, his hands down by his thighs. I wasn't sure he'd even be ready to catch a pass.

Once more, it seemed I had no other option. My defender realized I was beginning my wind-up about half a second too late. He tried to close space between us but I had plenty of room to uncork another catapult. I wasn't thinking about the shot, really. I was mainly irritated that I would have to explain why I took the shot. It was going to look like I was overconfident, like I forced the shot, or like I was trying to be the man. I was bitter that the other kid didn't want to take the shot. As LUCK would have it, I canned the shot- pure swish. It was falling through the net precisely as the buzzer sounded- we had won the game. I had made two buzzer beaters in the same game- my only two three pointers of the season.

That was my last game as a strictly JV player. After that, I found myself on the varsity bench. That was the first time I tasted individual glory on a basketball court, but it was far from the last...