Long Shot Chapter 1

2o comments. That feeling. Your calves burning, your breath short, air burning your lungs. Everything about that feeling was what I loved about sports. I loved how after every play we would smirk, run down the court, and play defense untill our asses fell off. I loved the way we were a team. Not a group of girls who played for themselves. We played to win together. I loved how music pumped through my head as I played. Run, pass, shoot. Lyrics running through my mind. It was just me, the court, and my team mates. The stadium of people were nothing. What mattered most were the people on the court, and the score on the board. 54-4. Another slaughter for our team, but that didn't stop us. We played our best, knowing that later in the locker room, our coach would yell at us for playing too hard. Though, we all knew he was always pleased with us. He tried to challenge us, put us in different positions to mix us up. It didn't matter. We were the best. It wasn't like we wanted to win so well. We just naturally, were the best. Al, our point gaurd was on her game. But when was she not? She was amazing. The kind of girl that's good at every sport. She was kind, and athletic. A barbie doll. Megan was the nice one, except on the court. That's when she got mad. She was center when I was on point. She grabbed the rebounds and power moved everyone off the court. Savvy and Alyssa, our power forwards. They could run, break presses, and pass everyone by. Everyone was amazed by our team. Our effort. It was certain that this small team would make it. We were the untouchables. We were assured to make it big. But college was so far away. So, very, far away. And yet we were playing on levels a year ahead of us. We had a chemistry, no one could break. 10 girls on the team, but we were the 5 that the coach put in when we were in trouble. When someone wasn't sure if we could win, they put us in. The other girls groaned during practice and shot us glares. We would just play, run hard, do the extra lap. We knew where the other person would be. Such chemistry was hard to find. And during the game we talked, screamed, yelled in eachothers ears. I stared at Al, threw the ball to Megan, Megan fakes. Cutting to the basket, she passes it back to me. Squaring up in a second, shoot, it's 56-4. "COME ON, GIRLS!!" the other couch screams. The other team's heads are low. We smirk and keep playing. My eyes flicker to Al. She has her eyes set to the ball, and in a second. She's stolen the imbound and made a lay up. I don't even hear the crowd roar in cheers. "Way to go, Al," Megan cheers. Her face bright. This game is over. It's been over since the first ten minutes. -music.music.music.- Any beatles song. I could play it. The beatles were my Jesus and Neil Diamond was my God. I grew up with music. My dad played piano, violin, and the gamba. My mother sang all the time. I ended up learning the piano and the guitar. And writing was my passion. Sitting down and putting what you feel in a song, a story, a poem, was amazing. But what did I want to do when I was older? Psychology? Law? Music? Writing? Sports? Why won't anyone answer me?