SuperNova Afterglow: End Of Days

Walk Off Three

What a difference being prepared makes for an afternoon of basketball. I remembered my Alleve, had the wife super-glue my busted rec specs so I could see, downed my energy drink at 10 a.m. and got to the gym early enough to go through my routine of stretching, shooting and thanking my maker for the opportunity to do what I love.

And then, it rained threes.

The level of competition was just where I needed it. I was faster than the guys chasing me and getting to open spots to nail three-pointer after three-pointer from beyond that arc. The first pass thrown to me in the corner was deflected by a defender jumping the passing lane, but I eyed it and grabbed it and smoothly went into my shooting motion with firm determination to score and it went down. That first one is what you need to start any good day of shooting.

They were getting me the ball and I could feel the love. I knew I could score. I had no doubts and no one yelling at me to pass and not heave. And heave I did! At one point, I had just scored on the previous possession, when I got the basketball on a ball screen at the top of the arc. Two guys were running at me from either side and I have a split second to decide, but my green light was on! Heave! I don't think I even saw the basket, just threw it up because everything was going in and down it splashed between the nylon ropes.

Everyone was hollering about that shot, even after the game. The legs were getting tired and my defense was good but a bit lax. I did not chase as much because I was conserving energy for offense. The final game was coming up. I had gone from being on the losing team to the winners, thanks to everyone on my team catching fire. It was infectious...and enjoyable.

Last game to 21 and I made one three pointer and was too tired to get myself open mid-game and just ran up and down the court to ensure the other team didn't blow us out as we fell further and further behind. But we made up ground and caught up, down to last basket to win. Only, we needed a three and they only needed a two.

I was flying about on defense then and wearing myself out. I double teamed every player with the ball. I forced them into decisions, some bad. They could not get down one shot. Meanwhile, on offense, we couldn't get a decent attempt at a three-pointer. I had one look in the corner, but I alligator-armed the release. Probably because I was running on fumes.

We had a guy on our team that had dominated other players early in the day, but you could tell he had little in the tank and took his time making decisions with the ball in his hands. He couldn't catch up to a pass I placed in front of him leading him to the basket -- a play that I pitch to perfection every time I find that crafty cutter who can get behind his defender.

We had one more chance after getting a stop on defense. This guy I just mentioned was dribbling up the court on the left while I was filling the wing to the right just a tick behind hoping the defense would sag on the ball and leave me alone. And they did! His eyes met mine and that was all I needed to know, hitting me with a pass without hesitation he yelled, "Make that!"

That is a command I love to hear. A direct order is something I cannot disobey. In perfect rhythm and stride, I went up with the ball securely held in my hands and stroked the shot like I have done thousands upon thousands of times before. My body was finely tuned and conditioned for this day and watching the ball nose dive over the rim and ever so harmoniously play with those twines was such a sweet crescendo for this symphony.

There were high fives and remarks how the final game was the best they had been a part of and I had a hand in it. We all talked a bit after the game, which was good for a change. I wasn't off on my own muttering about something I was bothered with. I finally could wink and nod and walk off without regretting a turnover or that I should have done something differently or better. This was satisfying.

I'll be in the gym one more time tomorrow. It will go differently, but not if I can help it. I will try to prepare. I will make sure I order another pair of sports goggles, because if my old pair break again I'll have to make do with my regular glasses, and that could be disastrous.

I would give up writing, if I could have the same athleticism I had in the peak of my youth. I would not waste another second tinkering with words, if I could merge what I could do with the game now with that body of yore. What a splendid union. And now I regret that I didn't make more of it back then. But, I was young and ignorant. And, in many ways, still am now.

Of course, I would not trade this for that. This is the natural progression for my talents. I am nearly ready to be finished with this game and return to the sideline pines of life, yearning for something new and exciting the way basketball took up the void in my youth.