Tuesday, 6 November 2012

P.O.V. FINAL: Basketball



The buzzer goes off and all the players run to the defenders’ side of the court in a frenzy, where all the substitutes had already started cheering for their teams. The opposition team send one of their towering players to the sideline to throw the ball back into the tournament.
This was just the third quarter, the second last, there was one more to go.
Player number thirty-two panics, her dark eyes furiously searching for a teammate. She hurls the ball at player number twenty-one, the one I am guarding. The ball is easily in reach, I doubt myself but then take the chance and sprint forward, jumping up and seizing the ball.
I dribble it across the court to the defenders side and run straight into the free throw lane, continuing to dribble the ball attentively. The sound of the ball slapping the floor echoes as my teammates follow, sprinting behind me. I look around and halt, ready to pass the ball - aware of my surroundings as my teammates try and get around their defenders. I realise that I cannot pass the ball to anyone, they are all being guarded by our opponents- they were not going easy on us.
I go straight for the hoop.
The ball hits the backboard and falls back down on the hoop, spinning around the ring - I anticipate for it to fall through the ring and bounce back on the ground, earning my team another two points.
Everything freezes, I feel my heart pulsating while I stop, trying to maintain my breath. I push my hand across my face, attempting to push back the loose strands of dark hair.  
I watch the ball as if it is a young child about to be pushed off the plank of a ship - but then the child escapes and runs back onto the ship.
The ball drops in through the hoop.
The crowd roars in delight.
The score was now 26-24, in favour of my team.
My teammates run up to me - ecstatic grins all over their faces - and start congratulating me on presenting my team with another step close to the win.
The adrenaline pumps through my body, the blood rushing up to my cheeks as I run back to the midcourt line, ready for the last quarter.





The buzzer goes off and all the players run to our side of the court in a frenzy- we were defending, all the substitutes had already started cheering for their teams. My team sent me to the sideline to throw the ball back into the game.
This was just the third quarter, the second last, there was one more to go.
I start panicking, the number thirty-two on my jersey a blur as I pivot around, my eyes furiously searching for one of my teammates. I could see no one. My hands start trembling and I hurl the ball at player number twenty-one, she was being guarded by a girl with hair as dark as charcoal. As soon as the ball leaves my hands I can feel that the ball is easily in reach for her, she hesitates for a bit and then sprints forward, jumping up and seizing the ball.
I scowl at my teammate in frustration.
The girl begins to dribble the ball across the court to our side, the sound of the bounces echoing throughout the whole gymnasium. We all run after her, forgetting who we had to guard ourselves. My body starts tensing up as she runs straight into the free throw lane, continuing to dribble the ball attentively, looking around at us and trying to make eye contact with one of her teammates. Her teammates follow behind us, sprinting. She halts and tightens her grip on the spheroid - she could not pass to anyone, our defending was solid.
I wince, noticing that none of our teammates are guarding her, she could easily shoot. My heart stops as she lets go of the ball and it hits the backboard, falling back down on the hoop, spinning around the ring. I run under the hoop, hoping that I am able to catch the rebound.
Everything stops, I continuously repeat the same words in my head, trembling, “Please don’t go in, please don’t go in.”  
It did not help. I watch the ball helplessly, seeing it drop in through the hoop and stand there in awe.
The crowd starts roaring in delight.
The score was now 26-24, in favour of their team.
Her teammates run up to her, their shoulders bumping into ours while we stand there in shock, our hands resting on our waist as we remorse over our obsession over the ball and not the player.
The blood rushes back to my body, as I drag myself back to the midcourt line, despondent for the last quarter.


2 comments:

  1. Wow, that's amazing writing. I love the way you show the scene with descriptive words. I can really picture this in my mind, wonderful writing.

    ReplyDelete