My heart beats wildly.
I lick my lips again for the seventh time.
My mouth feels dry.
The ball comes rushing towards me.
I am reminded of how lethally graceful a basketball can be.
I force all my concentration on the ball…
It bounces into my reach.
And then bounces off…
My opponent is too dumbstruck to rejoice in his easy victory.
After all, which varsity player is so stupid to let a ball pass like that?
All of a sudden, my knees feel weak.
A shrill whistle pierces the tense silence that surrounds me like a shroud.
The game is over.
I sink into the bleachers.
I glance all around, the coach turns away.
His face is a heavy mask of displeasure.
All my teammates turn away, shaking their heads in disbelief.
We finally make it to the finals, and lose 1-0?
I sit, numb, trying to comprehend the enormity of this loss.
Single-handedly, I managed to destroy eight years of tradition.
My head feels woozy. I shut my eyes.
My eyes stayed shut, until you come and tap me in the shoulder.
“Grab a bite, buddy?” you ask me, offering me your half-eaten salami sandwich.
I look at you. I smile and take a bite, taking in how wet your basketball uniform is.
You offer me your hand.
I wipe the lone tear on my left cheek and take it.
I press your hand. Wondering how you could be so nice.
I’m thinking of the next game.
How we’ll win, you and I.
The loser and his friend.