Tim

February 26, 2008
By
Tim was a young boy with bright red hair, a young boy who loved basketball, a young boy who didn't have a chance, his whole life was a million to one shot. He was a criminal on the edge, trying to stay alive(2).


When Tim was born, he had many problems. At week one it was pneumonia, week two allergies, week three who knows what, the point was Tim had many problems as a young boy. As he grew older Tim saw the game of basketball one too many times. First it was varsity high school games, then it was college, then he saw his first professional basketball game ever. Oh he saw a memorable game, game 6 of the NBA Playoffs, when the Pistons threw up that final prayer and Chauncey Billups bricked the ball of the backboard and he screamed,“No!” I swear the players heard him like he had a megaphone and he was standing right next to them.

Tim didn't like the look of Miami going to the Championship. The boys father had to give him money to settle him down. Tim lived in my neighborhood, right down the street. He had the biggest house as far as the eye could see. The pool in the back, the hot tub inside, he was the envy of all of his neighbors, including me. He was always playing basketball even though he wasn't very good at all. That boy had the height of Allen Iverson(1) and had the shot of Shaq, an impossible one to make. He was like the Richie Rich of Everglade Street(3), except, unlike Richie Rich, he had no friends. One day Tim received a letter in the mail saying that he was invited to shoot for 1,000,000 dollars at the Palace of Auburn Hills, at halftime of the Pistons game. He immediately told his parents and they were off for the Palace. After watching half of the Pistons game he went down on the floor, he was like a Daniel with a sugar buzz(2), as excited as you could be. He knew he didn't have a chance at making this shot, it was a 1,000,000 to 1 chance.

“This lucky boy has the chance to make 1,000,000 dollars, young man what is your name?” A friendly man asked.

“My name is Tim,” he answered with nervousness in his breath.

“Best of luck to you Tim,” the man spoke. Tim was handed the ball, he loaded his arm, and resealed. Back and fourth, back and fourth that ball rolled. Then right when Tim decided he could watch no more, he heard a soft swish. The crowd yelled in excitement, Tim turned around to see everything on the instant replay, and he saw it all.


Tim was a young boy with bright red hair, a young boy who loved basketball, a young boy with a lot problems, but he was also a young boy with a lot of friends. All because he made that million to one shot.





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