Game Winner Essay

The Game Winner

        Basketball has been a part of me for as long I can recount, however, at age fifteen I was barely better than the twelve year old kids playing at the local park. One would think that a kid whose dream was to hit a game winning shot and whose childhood hero was Allen Iverson, rather than the occasional SpongeBob Squarepants or Scooby Doo, would excel in a sport he has adored for so long. I mean years of playing in my local township leagues, and having an older brother who had played for his high school team would make one think the skills would rub off on me, yet that would be wrong. Although I was able to hit the occasional jump shot, I was not the mirror of the player I thought I would be when I was younger.

        My township team that year was named The Cougars, however, winning a mere two games, my teammate’s hopes for the season faded just like my dreams of being a basketball star. Yet, during the playoff tournament we somehow managed to make it to the semifinals, having only one game in the way of making it to the championship. The game came down to the final possession with my team down a basket and holding the ball for the final shot. As the ball was knocked out of my teammate’s control, it landed straight into my hands and surely enough, just like in my childhood dream, I had the opportunity to win the game for my team. It was like a moment only seen in films, the skinny kid who was on the bench for most of the season had the chance to advance his team to the championship and be a local legend. Sadly, this was neither one of those classic Hollywood movies nor Michael Jordan moments, and with the game on the line I missed the mid- range jump shot, throwing my hopes and dreams out the window. In major disbelief with myself, I spent the next few weeks in moral hibernation, watching the same shot over and over again in my mind. The thought that The Cougars could have completed a Cinderella moment, advancing to the championship after winning only two regular season games devastated me, and nothing that anyone could say would make me feel any different.

        As time passed and summer came, I was playing a pickup basketball game with my same teammates at our local park. However, I noticed that the image of missing the game winner that would have advanced us to the championship had left the minds of my friends, and that the true reason why no one was upset had hovered over my head. Although reaching the championship with my shot would have been a day to remember, I realized that we all played township basketball that year not to win the championship, but rather because we simply all loved to play the game. In valuable hindsight I did not need my childhood dream or to fulfill living up to my childhood expectations to love playing basketball with my friends, yet I definitely needed that missed shot to remind me of it.