Foul Shot MAG

By Unknown, Unknown, Unknown

   I stand alone.

The beaded sweat runs down my forehead.

A hush falls over the crowd.

They wait in anticipation

Collectively holding their breath.

The dictator in the striped shirt

Hands me the ball.

I cradle it like a baby.

Slowly my hands raise

And the orange sphere

Floats like a balloon in the wind.

It tickles the twine on the way down.

I am victorious.

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