They are the only ones that give me hope. I am the only one who’s trusted to conquer them. Three taunting minutes with fans screaming in the stands and adrenaline pumping like mine. Three who do not offer sympathy but ease my mind. Three brief moments of desperation in search of victory. From our position, we see them ticking away, but coach just calls out and doesn’t fret about their presence.

Their power is daunting. They send panic through the minds of my team. They warn us and they motivate us and fuel every attempt at launching the leather ball through the colorless strings and produce droplets of sweat that glide down our faces and drip on the very court where our schemes play out. This is how they intimidate.

Let one forget their dwindling, we’d all lose our chance at redemption, each with our own regrets and frustration. Three, two, one they escape our grasp. They flee.

When I am too exhausted and too beaten down to keep fighting, when I am a helpless human against so many defenders, then I look at the minutes. When there is nothing left within me to push on. Three who abandoned me despite my efforts. Three who fade and do not forget to disappear. Three whose only reason is to let me down.