The Last Shot

For 32 minutes, we played with heart & passion. We hustled, sprinted back on defense, & dove for loose balls. Win or lose, this season was one full of memories and smiles to never forget.

Up near the shores of Lake Erie, where smoke used to bellow from tall stacks and a crooked river once caught fire, in the land where long ago sports and heartbreak got married and left fans to learn early how to pick the broken bits of themselves off the floor when the clock ticks to zero, we played a basketball game last Saturday on eight-foot rims.

We played not for trophies or championships, but one more for memories and smiles. One last chance for glory while bouncing basketballs on the court where dreams go every Saturday in the winter to see if they can become real. A final shot, then the long wait for next year.

A spring storm ripped through town overnight Friday. Winds screeched and trees rattled, branches snapped and snow-lined the streets. Our growing base of parents, grandparents, and neighbors curious about the hype and excitement ducked in from the cold bundled in jackets but still buzzing to get a look at our exuberant squad.

“Let’s go!” A few shouted, waving their arms into the sky. I point and smile, then look back to the court while our team ran through layups from the right side.

For a moment, I closed my eyes and opened my ears. Starts and stops. Sprints and short dribble-drives. Shoes squeaked between bounces of the basketball. A shot thumped against the backboard, grazed the rim, and I know it dropped in by the quick shout that followed. Another shot rattled the rim while a whistle blew in the distance.

A buzz vibrates inside the gym. It’s the one that comes at the end of anything, when the excitement building for what comes next mixes with what’s happening now, and for a brief, wondrous moment the past and the future connect in one magnificent present. The cheers get louder. The passion heats up. There’s more want to hustle back on defense or lunge for a loose ball when the chance to do so won’t come again for many months.

I opened my eyes and looked around.

For the next thirty-two minutes, one team dressed in purple will pour its heart into a game versus another clad in green. There will be made shots and missed ones. Six people on the court, then only four. There will be frustrated signs when it’s time to sub and big, bold smiles when the ball does go through the net.

We’ll laugh. We might cry. And we’ll certainly look on in utter amusement at times and in complete disbelief at others.

Damn, I thought, I’m going to miss this team.

Quarters 1-3

• Our passes zipped across the court. Our shots swished through the hoop. Ash dribbled once to his left, crossed back right, took a step forward, then back, and made a long two. X gave it to JJ who gave right back to X who made a short jump shot. T snagged a rebound and scored on the putback. It’s 8 to 2 a few minutes into the game.

• Hatch runs the scoreboard. We’ve bonded during the season over a love of hoops and friendly trash talk. I turned to him and smiled. “Ours to win today. Ours to win. Woooooh!” He rolled his eyes. Then entertained me enough to offer a fist pump.

• Then, just as fast we started, everything changed. For the next eighteen minutes of game play every shot we took hit every part of the rim/backboard/rim/backboard and never went in. Meanwhile, every shot they took hit every part of the rim/backboard/rim/backboard and went in.

• A layup rattled out. A foul shot hit back iron. A putback stuck in the hookup between the 8-foot hoop and the real one. They nailed two long two’s and two free throws. Tie game.

• We fumbled a pass at half-court. They sprint the other way and miss a layup. Then missed another layup. Then another and another. Shot five dropped in.

• A layup rolled up the front of the rim and started to crawl into the basket. Then, it changed its mind, spun out, and bounced to them. They raced to the opposite baseline, dribbling occasionally, and heaved a running, one-handed skyhook at the basket. It hit the back of the rim, popped up, then dropped right through the basket.

• Our heads dropped and shoulders slumped. “It’s okay! Keep playing hard!” I call from the sideline. They ignored me and ran back on offense. “Good talk!” I mumble.

• “Yours to win, today!” I turned to see Hatch smiling at me. “I promise I didn’t put a lid on your basket. But, hey, it’s still yours to win.” He grinned and turned back to the on-court action.

• With one minute left in the third, we finally scored. Then, we added a free throw. It’s 15-11 heading into the fourth.

Fourth Quarter

As our shots refused to fall and the loose balls landed in their hands—as their heaves found the bottom of the net and our passes slipped through our fingers into theirs—we lost steam. We stood on flat feet or struggled through sand on tired legs. They glided on a fast track, bouncing end-to-end.

With four minutes left in the season, they led 15-11.

“Subs!” I called.

We needed a spark. We needed…

Spring knows one speed—full go. She’s gutsy and fearless, full of heart and swagger. A baller who plays with a mess with the bull, you get the horns attitude. She’s the spark that ignites our team.

A hurricane.

A tornado.

The storm that whips up frenzies in furious bursts on the basketball court causing mayhem and creating steals on one side, so we get chances at easy layups and buckets on the other.

• “Be the shark!” I yelled. Spring looked over and tilted her head up and down as if to say, ‘I got this, Coach.’

• She divebombed their dribbler. Ash scooped the loose ball and passed it ahead. Easy basket. We trail by two, 15 to 13.

• Spring chased, leaned into, and hip checked their ball-handler until that poor kid ran out of bounds to get away from her. She turns, faces the crowd, smiles, and points the other way like it’s a first down. Ash takes the inbounds, dribbles coast-to-coast, and lays it in. Tie-game.

• Our bench erupted and pandemonium broke loose on our side of the stands. I high fived our team, then gave Hatch a double finger-point and smile.

• They dribbled up across half-court. As Spring charged, they lobbed the ball over our defense where it bounced around and careened off players on each team. Finally, the ball rolled right to one of their players standing alone near the block. If they gather it cleanly, it’s an easy shot for the win.

• Spring beelined from the opposite side of the court and soared through the air. Her arms stretched as far as they could in front of her, and her whole body hovered parallel to the court. She landed on the ball just as they tried to take it up for the shot. She held onto to the ball for dear life—swinging in full circles with her feet dragging across the paint—as they tried, unsuccessfully to shoot.

• Spring let go of the ball and popped up as the ref blew the whistle. Then, she wiggled her shoulders like Steph Curry.

• Jump ball. Still theirs, though.

• Their coach called a timeout. I huddled our team near our bench and knelt inside the almost-circle. “Well,” I smiled. “We have two seconds left in the season, and I just want to say thank you. Win our lose, I’m so proud of everyone. I’ve had so much fun this season, and I hope you did to.”

• They passed the ball to a player standing near the free throw line. All eyes on our team saw it. All bodies ran toward it. Arms crashed into shoulders. Legs tangled. Hips collided. Three of our players tumbled to the floor. Spring staggered back to the three-point line. They’re left wide open and send one straight through the net as the buzzer sounded.

• We fell short 17 to 15.

Post-game

Our squad this year rolled eleven strong. On Monday nights, we played in a small, Cleveland gym and scrimmaged like bumper cars riding from collision to collision. We dribbled relay races and around cones. We ran high on energy and short on attention. We weren’t scared to yell, and we laughed a lot, too.

On Saturdays, we sought chaos with defensive heat dialed up to ten. We tried our darndest to get that little orange basketball through the 8-foot hoop. We missed shots. We made shots. But we always kept shooting because if you throw enough mud on the wall, some of it will stick.

We cried some tears and had our share of bumps and bruises. But we always bounced back up and ran again into the fire.

Last Saturday ended in heartbreaking fashion. But, after it we sang happy birthday to two teammates, ate donuts, and took a photo full of smiles and laughs.

One final moment with this year’s cast of characters.

One final memory to look back on and remember with wonder and joy.

Friends, we love you. And we’ll see you when we see you.