Never Look Your Defender in the Eye, a descriptive essay on a basketball game
Never look your defender in the eye. Some say basketball is an easy game, but if it were, everyone would be playing it.
In the locker room I hear the murmuring of the girls talking about their day and the rustling of them getting their jerseys and shoes on. Coach walks in, the room silences. He gives his speech, his voice echoing off the lockers, everyone hanging on his words. Then we huddle, we talk game strategy and whose armpit smells the prettiest.
Outside the change room we can hear the crowd roaring "lets go blues, lets go!" We leave the security of the odorous, stale, stuffy change room and head out to the floor, where the crowd is almost now defining.
"Buzz!" We all look at each other, its time to start. The first touch of the orange leather ball is exciting, the bumps stimulating to the touch. We got the ball, and the first basket is scored, then the next and the next as the first half of the game seems to fly by. When it hits half time the score is tight and everyone, including the crowd is tense, waiting and wanting a win.
It buzzes again, and then the whistle of the referee. The next half has started and it goes by just as fast as the second half. And then a roar of excitement goes over us as we got the tying basket.
"Time out!" Yell the coach of the opposing team. Running to the bench, we sit and try to listen to see how we will play the last 45 seconds. We are so close to each other that you can practically hear the heart beats thundering in the other girls' hearts. Coach's lips are moving and there is a small breeze from his hand moving so fast telling us where we have to position. All anyone is thinking is that we need to score.
While waiting for the other team to return to the court, the smell of the concession is being wafted into the already stinky and hot gym. The smell of the popcorn is appetizing but we are too anxious to get this done to think of food. The salt from my sweat is stinging the cut that the big butch girl thoughtfully
In the locker room I hear the murmuring of the girls talking about their day and the rustling of them getting their jerseys and shoes on. Coach walks in, the room silences. He gives his speech, his voice echoing off the lockers, everyone hanging on his words. Then we huddle, we talk game strategy and whose armpit smells the prettiest.
Outside the change room we can hear the crowd roaring "lets go blues, lets go!" We leave the security of the odorous, stale, stuffy change room and head out to the floor, where the crowd is almost now defining.
"Buzz!" We all look at each other, its time to start. The first touch of the orange leather ball is exciting, the bumps stimulating to the touch. We got the ball, and the first basket is scored, then the next and the next as the first half of the game seems to fly by. When it hits half time the score is tight and everyone, including the crowd is tense, waiting and wanting a win.
It buzzes again, and then the whistle of the referee. The next half has started and it goes by just as fast as the second half. And then a roar of excitement goes over us as we got the tying basket.
"Time out!" Yell the coach of the opposing team. Running to the bench, we sit and try to listen to see how we will play the last 45 seconds. We are so close to each other that you can practically hear the heart beats thundering in the other girls' hearts. Coach's lips are moving and there is a small breeze from his hand moving so fast telling us where we have to position. All anyone is thinking is that we need to score.
While waiting for the other team to return to the court, the smell of the concession is being wafted into the already stinky and hot gym. The smell of the popcorn is appetizing but we are too anxious to get this done to think of food. The salt from my sweat is stinging the cut that the big butch girl thoughtfully