The MVP took a day off.
There was no game today.
No practice, no training, no press conferences.
He lazed on his soft king-sized bed
trying to set his mind straight.
Exactly twenty four hours and eighteen minutes ago,
he was in the arena.
Sweating his *** off, running, jumping, scrambling for the ball.

It was the finals, game 7.
Fans filed up in their lines, cheering for the MVP.
Fourth quarter, with only three seconds to go.
The opposing team has possession
His team leading by one.
Ball was inbounded
Caught by his man.
A shot was fired
He jumped
He was too late.
Bucket.
Buzzer.
Fans cried out of disappointment.
The opponent celebrated pouring champagne,
confetti flying around the arena.
His teammates heading to the locker room.
He lied face down, tears gushing from his eyes.
And in that span of a fleeting moment,
his life flashed before his eyes:
His dying father calling his name;
the love of his life that got away;
his only shot at winning the gold.
All those times, he was a moment short.
Short of hearing his father’s voice.
Short of being with his true love.
Short of winning a title.
All that is too late now
because the moment has passed.