Hoops and Dreams

[10.2] But we didn't lose either

I wasn't being completely truthful with you when I said my place on the team was just ornamental. That my only job is to hand people water bottles and run across the gym floor raising morale. Well, it is and I am ornamental for the most part.

But that's not all I do.

During practice and in my free time, I fancy myself a sports analyst of sorts. I study plays and tear them apart, recreating them in the most efficient ways in my mind. I watch players on our court and in varsity leagues and in the NBA. I look for their weaknesses and then ruthlessly, mercilessly design plays that another team could use to destroy them.

If player B can make long-distance baskets then use a short-ranged center to rip between him every time he gets the ball. Does Player A only shoot with his left hand? Then study his tics and you know exactly when and where he wants to score. Use your defender to intercept the throw and send the ball in the opposite direction.

Throughout the game I watched Flynn use his left arm to the point of dependency. And I designed a play in my head that centered around him being blocked and sending the ball right into the arms of our own center. It bothered me so much I found a piece of paper and a pen and drew it into existence.

A timeout only lasts one hundred seconds when a coach calls for one and I feel each of them weighing on me as the team gathers around and I explain the play. It's one thing to have Coach convince the players to try the strategy. I know it's in part because he wants to delay what seems to him inevitable, our loss. But to imagine that they will listen and that it might actually work is a heady notion altogether.

I place my crumpled-up piece of paper and hope it's enough. Hope I'm enough.

"Player No. 18 has a weak right arm. He's dependent on his left to score and he'll always approach the net from that angle. " I say pointing to one of the arrows I've drawn. In the back of my mind, I'm surprised I can get the words out without stumbling or shaking. I plow through, perishing the thought. I can't show any sign of wavering. It's hard enough to take a girl in an overweight panther suit seriously as it is.

"It's one hell of a long shot but I think if you lead them to our net and he tries to shoot you can use his dependency against him and create an interception. Then long-range the ball..." I say drawing new lines over the old ones. "Over to the center who'll be falling behind and he can score."

"In less than five minutes?" Someone asks.

"Yes," I nod with all the confidence I can muster. "It's a short play and can work within the time constraints. We just need someone to shoot."

"I guess it's worth a try."

He nods and then Coach Carter is clapping his hands and sending the boys running back onto the court. The whistle to end the timeout blows and then the moment passes. Everything rushes back into break-neck motion and I let out a shuddering breath. My heart refuses to calm down beating even faster, palpitating as though tugged by a puppet master's string.

The second whistle blows and the ball is thrown back onto the court. For the first few seconds, the ball is passed back and forth between players with no rhyme or reason. Then the movements get more controlled and I realize that this is my play in motion now. All coordinated by our power forward, Darnell.

The Ravens gain possession of the ball and head over to their side of the court followed by our players. The ball passes a few hands and then finally reaches Flynn. The Raven side of the court hushes, anticipating another basket. His left-hand twitches and I smile realizing that I've predicted his movements exactly. He moves to score but there's a flash of activity and he doesn't. Because the ball has been intercepted.