Basketball season approaching, tryouts a week away. Wrestling with homework while watching Dwyane Wade highlights was wasting my time with anticipation. My chance at last, shots arced high and splashed through the net. Smooth and connected, smooth and connected. Coach whispers in the air, great pass, Long Shot three ball, smooth finish. Drive dribble, through the legs, Lefty layup air ball. Out the first round. Injured playing pickup. Out for the season. Out for practice. Out of the Rhythm.  The humdrum rebuilding process was a slow, woeful, restriction after that injury. I was wearing school shoes at the gym and the flimsy frame failed my ankles. Okay, I'd come back. I’d rebound on top of the ball. The recovery required relentless rest and relaxation, but the weeks ticked past each one feeling a bit better. Those days over, I was back under the rim.  Conditioning and weights for weeks until, brick!  Backboard rim clanger, no good shimmy shaker. First day mishap, just a warm up shot wishing to swish. Next day gave me the gift of trying again. Pumped up and ready to go, the shots put up were bowling balls hurled at the backboard. Ah It's my form, right. No, my aim is off. That’s it. No hope for this Long Shot. I’ll never make the team. Storming outside the gym and inside the court, I gave up. Off to summer camp with sunscreen and graham crackers. The fire crackles but the s'mores melt from the warmth of our hearts. The whistle blows to warn us that bus B will wind its way up to take us home. The gym never felt more refreshing after camp. It’s time to reclaim the rhythm. Smooth and connected, smooth and connected. Flying through the court. Jump stop, squeaky shoes on the sleek floor. Perfect pull up and splash. The rhythm. I can feel the rhythm. I feel the thrill of the game of basketball, and confidence to make the team.