In the Spotlightfor a Moment

By: Sierra Wegener

The crowd stares in awe as the hoop swallows the ball. Seconds

before the buzzer went off, the team scurries to pass the ball to the

one player they know will sink the basket. The crowd, the team, the

opposing team, and the rest of the town that would hear about the

game later, knows exactly who would score the winning shot. That

would be the star athlete but this story isnt about the star athlete; this

story is about the not so amazing bench warmer, scoring a basket that

didnt win the hyped up rival game. It wasnt even a varsity game but

JV. And it wasnt even the end of the game, just half time.

The routine for each and every game almost seemed like second

nature to me. At the beginning of every game the team would hop off

the bus and head to the visitors locker room. The synchronization of

our team was always off. We dont act as a team off the court. We

came from a very cliquey school, which resulted in us being a cliquey

team. Once we stepped off that court, we were just a group of girls

that were forced to be around each other. I did have one soul to

interact with though; her name was Abby. I had known her for ages.

Ive always referred to her as my sports buddy because we interacted

through basketball and track.

Its ironic that I call her my sports buddy because sports is sort

of how we met. We were 5 years old and our parents signed us up for

the same ballet class. At the time we werent really interested in ballet,
even our ballet instructor could tell it was our mothers pushing the

dance thing. Its obvious, now, that neither of us belonged in a dance

studio. But, we didnt fit into the basketball scene either. Us not

belonging on the court was the whole reason why we became so close.

We sat our butts right next to each other each game without having

any anticipation of being called to be put into the game.

The locker room pre-game would be in utter silence if it wasnt

for the power of an Ipod speakers. You would think there was a fight

between us but the silence was normal to us. As the songs progressed

we dug into our bags, pulling out those ugly black silk uniforms with

numbers to indicate what our number is. Mine read 20. Then we

continued to pull out our socks and sneakers. Everyone on the team

wore the same matching socks: black and red. The very last step in

getting ready was the hair. Its funny how we are going to go out there,

run around, and shoot some baskets; yet, we still care about how our

hair looks. Most or us took a good five to 10 minutes on our hair,

except for Abby. She just throws it up in a ponytail, which was her

usual hairdo.

Knock-Knock. There is the coach pounding on the door to let us

all know it was know time for our heads to focus on the game, no more

messing around and dancing. We yell back at him, All ready! to let

him know everyone was dressed. He opened the door, dressed head to

toe in the dress clothes. The long, white, buttoned up, collared shirt
was accessorized with a blue ford tie. The ford tie was my favorite

touch because our coachs name was Mr. Ford. The rest of the outfit

was topped off with blank dress slacks and dress shoes.

He continued to walk up near the white board as we all sat in a

circle around him to listen. The talk we receive before each game isnt

really a peppy-good luck talk. He was a very stern coach. So no, it was

more offensive and defensive strategy. It gets hard to keep my mind

focused, knowing I barley played so what was the point. Abby was the

opposite. She plays a lot less than I do but pays a lot more attention to

the speech the coach gives us. She has the determination to do well,

no matter how much she played.

The coach finished up the speech by getting the team in a

huddle and saying some chant like, GO DOGS! The team hustles onto

the court for our warm-up routine. The clock is set for 15 minutes. Our

team had designed a warm-up routine that consisted of passing, lay-

ups, stretches, and scrimmaging. My favorite portion of the warm-ups

are always the scrimmaging. It gets my head in the game like

situations and I always do my very best on those because I know I

dont get the playing time I want; scrimmaging is what makes up for

those lost played minutes.

The clock read one minute until game time. My teammates and I

grabbed our balls, put them into the basket, and hustles over to the

bench. Coach Ford reminds us of the offensive and defensive strategies

that we decided on for this game based on the star players on the

opponents team. The team had five starters that rushed onto the

court. I always had a dream of being on the court at the beginning of

the game, permanently. I know I never worked hard enough and didnt

have the motivation to be persistent enough to ever get that. The rest

of the team sat on the bench after the coach. There wasnt a set sitting

arrangement but it was implied that the kids who actually get to play

need to sit up by the coach. Me and Abby took our seats, always at the

very end of the bench. It was the usual. Abby was very attentive to the

game while I tried talking about almost everything, from who is going

to do the best in the game today to what homework we need to work

on after the game is over. But there was always one question I always

asked her, Do you think we will play today?

There are always two most exciting times in a basketball game:

minutes before halftime and the last seconds before the game is over.

Five minutes before halftime, coach Ford yelled out, Hey Sierra, come

over and sit by me. I nervously got up and sat by him. I know I want to

play but everytime I have to go in Im so nervous Ill mess up. I always

wanted the chance to play but whenever he actually put me in, my

heart rate would spike up and all I could think of is how Im going to

screw this up for myself. Okay, Im going to put you in for Rachel. Do

your best okay? He said those words as if he didnt have faith in me,
which always hurt because even if I didnt have faith in myself, he was

my coach and I needed his faith.

After those words, I ignored my racing heart rate and just let my

mind go to the game. Im the type of player that doesnt want the ball.

Im scared of it. The clock continued to count down. I didnt see the

clock until I was at the top of the three point-line because I always

stare at the floor while dribbling. A teammate passed the ball and I

could hear the crowd counting down from 10-9-8-7so I began to

panic. I did not want to be stuck with the ball. I had the ball and no

idea what to do with it so I dribbled it, hoping and begging I could pass

it to someone.

The crowd continued to chant 6-5-4-3. I thought to myself, I have

to shoot this and Im going to do my very best to make this. I didnt

believe this when I heard it in my head but I had to have the

confidence in myself. I refused to shoot the ball, ever, unless I have to.

When the crowd began to get to the number 2, I threw the ball up, not

expecting to hit anything, not looking at the basket but somehow I

made it. The team jumped up in amazement and we all gasped. None

of us, including myself, could believe I made that shot. Everyone was

so thrilled.

I looked over at the my coach and he pointed at the scoreboard

and yelled, KEEP GOING! It still read 10 seconds left in the first half.

The opposite teams fans were the ones that were counting down. I
was tricked. Our bodies were filled with excitement even though we

didnt make the buzzer shot. I felted cheated out of that thrilled of

scoring a buzzer shot. We fought those last 10 seconds before we ran

off into the locker room.

Coach Ford began his half-time speech with the words, Great Job

Sierra! What an amazing- lucky shot! For the first time in a long time, I

was receiving the recognition in a sport other than a team player. I

know the shot was complete luck and no skill involved at all. Even

though, I wasnt the star player scoring the winning basket, but for the

first time I felt like I was a player that mattered. I finally had the time

to shine in the spotlight, for a moment.