Cougars. Hawks.
Purple. Red.
Tonight is the last night we meet.

With two seconds left, I stand
on the freethrow line.

The game is in my hands.
Miss one, and we lose.

At seventeen, my blood furnace
churns relentlessly with fear.

The student body-
heavier than I ever imagined-
is on my shoulders,
like a torture harness.

I feel one mile under water, and
my head is about to implode from
the pressure.

The ball is in my hands now.
Looking at it, my fingers are quaking
and my wrist becomes stiff.
(Remember the routine...)

The first goes in,
and I hear the building explode.

My ears are ringing, as if a grenade
went off under the basket.

Okay...One more...

Time moves like a horse in quicksand,
if the quicksand were cement.

Here's the ball again...
The gym is silent.
(Bend the knees, snap the wrist...)

All I hear is the ball
as I spin it in my hands.
I bounce it, and shoot.

Miss...

All happiness drains from my body.
I feel the emotional sludge
seeping into my bloodstream.

I can barely walk...
My legs feel dead, or sick, or both.

This was my night to be a hero,
but that basketball stabbed me in the chest.

I collapse psychologically.

I just crushed the hopes of hundreds...

Tormented, I stare at the rim,
fifteen feet from a victory I will never win...