Trent Leonard, GPC Student

The Raiders

The recreational basketball team for which I played when I was in the eighth grade was the best in the league by far, and it made us quite the cocky bunch. My older brother and I supplied the height and rebounding, and three quick, shifty guards provided timely scoring and ball handling. Simply outclassing the competition, our team would win some games by thirty to forty, even fifty points without even trying. We cruised through the regular season undefeated and then dominated the opening rounds of the playoffs to reach the final game, where I learned the truth of that old axiom “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch."

Our team, the Raiders, dressed in black jerseys and black shorts, arrived at the gymnasium forty-five minutes before tip-off, as was our custom. Entering the gym as one collective group, we were aware that every eye in the stands turned to stare at us. I remember the smell of sweat and the cacophony produced by rapidly sliding sneakers on the highly polished floor; the air was electric with energy. The game in progress was between two teams we had annihilated earlier in the season. Most of the knowledgeable players and attentive fans recognized us as the soon-to-be champions. We Raiders moved to the top of the stands to watch the proceedings with a regal bearing that seemed to befit our upcoming coronation.

The Cobras, the opposition for our championship game, bounced into the gym in various states of readiness about fifteen minutes before we were set to begin. Our warm-ups had already started, so we paused for a second to take in the likely losers for the day. The Cobras had seemingly fluked their way into the finals, with a poor showing in the regular season but a couple of last minute wins in the playoffs, followed by a lucky three pointer to clinch their semi-final game. Needless to say, the Raiders were not impressed, and some confident parents were actually predicting another double-digit blowout.

The first half of the game was fairly uneventful, with both sides playing well and the score never rising quickly. The Raiders were not as dominating as many spectators had thought we would be, but our rationalization was that we would overwhelm the Cobras in the second half. During half-time, we casually sipped on water and relaxed on the bench, while the Cobras shot around haphazardly on their half of the court. When the buzzer sounded to signal the beginning of the third quarter, our well-prepared team gathered ourselves to begin our concentrated assault.

As the seconds ticked down late in the fourth quarter, our game plan had failed. We were losing by two points, thanks to some wayward passes and poor shooting. With only fifteen seconds left until the Cobras would receive the trophies originally designated for us, we drew up a nifty plan for our in-bounds play under their basket during a timeout. I would take the ball out of bounds, and the other four players would run an intricate series of cuts to try and get an open lay-up. The timeout ended, and the official handed me the ball. Everyone was flying around the court trying to shake their dogged defenders, but my only option was the safety route to one of our worst players near the half-court line. Normally, Josh would not be in the game at such a crucial time, but one of our starters had twisted his ankle on the previous play and was unable to walk.

I took the ball back and launched it to Josh, who caught it and paused for a second. Confidence began to seep back into the Raiders during the next few milliseconds as we excitedly realized that we controlled the final outcome of the game. Unfortunately, what transpired next would stun us all into an open-mouthed state of shock. Josh, confused about which goal was ours, sprinted for the other end of the court, where there was nothing but empty space between him and two points for the other team. Josh made the lay-up, an accomplishment in itself for him, and sealed our fate. As the seconds on the clock ticked down under ten, the Raiders simply gazed in disbelief at the now ominous scoreboard. Andy, our explosive point guard, flew down the court to attempt a miraculous comeback, but his supreme effort did not affect the outcome.

The defeated Raiders, mystified over what had just occurred, stumbled off the court when the final buzzer sounded. It did not seem possible that we had lost the most important game of the season to such a rag-tag bunch. The most striking thing about the game is how I still remember it so vividly years later. I now remain confident but not so cocky and assuming during all aspects of my life, as the memory of the crushing defeat reminds me that nothing is guaranteed.