The second free throw was good, and Shintz called his last timeout to draw a play up with a chance to steal the win.  It was tied up at 89 and the scoreboard overhanging the court showed eight seconds left in the fourth quarter.  Everyone as hot and sweaty, but I was frozen from chills. The energy from the crowd, the overwhelming noise from both student sections battling one another just as hard as the ten players on the court.  The towering players surrounded Shintz and I handed the five guys on the bench water bottles as they studied what the coach drew up.

"It's simple.  It's efficient.  It's going to work.  Pops if you can't get the ball to Mel you go to the hole as hard as you can.  If you can't finish you'll get fouled.  Hey boys, I hate overtime, let's step on their throats right here and send all those jackasses in the stands home, pissed off."

My brother, Brian--Pops as he was better known as--brought the team up, "Finish on three. One, two, three.."

"Finish!" Everyone on the team cheered with confidence.

Shintz looked at me and said, "It's gonna work, right little Pops?" I was covered in sweat, some of it my own, most was from the towering players who stood over me.  I nodded.

The coach walked to the end of the bench and squatted down in anxiety.  You could feel the heat from the lights hanging from the ceiling, or maybe it was the magnitude of the moment that was causing everyone in the building’s top lip to sweat.  The players, coaches and I stood up on the sideline, interlocked arms, and prayed to Wilt Chamberlain, Bill Russell and Michael Jordan that Mel could knock down this shot to upset Western New York’s top ranked team.

The hardwood was shaking from the fans, players communicated who they were covering, the referee’s whistle was heard over everything.  My brother passed the ball in, and all went silent in the stadium.  Mouths were moving,hands clapping, feet stomping, but the magnitude of the moment muted everything.  Mel dribbled the ball atop of the key, the screen came, three, two…

The clock moved in slow motion, as the ball left his hand spinning just over the contest of the defender every single person held their breath. Bottoms.  The horn rang.  Game over.

Before I could even process what happened I was in the middle of a crazed student celebration at mid court.  My brother put me on his shoulders and I took it all in.  We just best the best team within 200 miles of us.  Those guys were sending three players to division one programs.  Unbelievable.  No one believed it would happen, because it wasn't supposed to.

They brought out a ladder and and placed it under the hoop.  The team, one by one, climbed the ladder, cut the net, and pumped their fist in triumph.  Then it was my turn.  The ladder was cold but covered in sweat, I didn't even think about it.  I reached the top, cut a piece of the net, waved to my parents and soaked it all in. 
Shintz went last, “This has been an unbelievable run, you all have put in the work, we deserve to be here.  It doesn’t matter if we are the only ones who know it.  There's no group of men I'd rather be on this journey with.”
Now the Section XI trophy was presented, the president gave a small speech himself,

Chills ran up and down my back seeing the nets cut off the rims in person, to this day I get sentimental when I see it happen.  It takes me back to that moment. The moment I fell in love with the game.