By: Ed Dzitko
His teammates, at midcourt, were bandaged, bruised, and sucking wind, holding the bottoms of their shorts. They were spent. This one’s on me.
Head and heart pounding, he faced the basket. Can’t have OT. Hope there’s a little magic left in this run.
“Ready,” the ref said. “Three shots.” To make two. Breathing deep, he toed the line. Focus. FOCUS. The noise faded.
Shot one snapped the net. So did shot two. He was feeling in rhythm. The ball again rolled off his fingertips. Snap! He barely realized the result before he was supporting a pile and struggling to breathe.