Coach is talking
the scoreboard buzzing
final three seconds left, down by only one
you feel like you weigh a ton
as the sweat is dripping
your palms plastered with blood
the ref blows his whistle
this is the final straw.
The pounding in your skull of the ball on the court,
coach yelling from the sideline
But it is all just a blur.
Championship game and it is all on you,
But you tell yourself not to forget your teammates too.
The shot goes up
And so does your hand
You stand there staring,
as the crowd takes a stand.
Rolling around the rim,
third times the charm.
out the ball goes
you fall to your toes.
Coach is on the sidelines dissapointed as hell.
Your teammates are too, you can just tell.
Yet nobody looks at you, they just shake their head.
Throwing their hands up to their head, faces locked to their knees
you would think they were dead.
Three years later and that memory still lingers,
and you still remember the look of your fingers,
dangling in the air as if you were a singer.
They all say it doesn't matter,
that it is all just a game.
But you do not feel the same,
you ruined your one minute of fame.