Mate, you know that feeling when you’re down two points; your legs are tired as fuck and each time ya Jordans hit the deck you feel a shudder through ya knees? Sweat dribbles off ya brow falling silently to the floor. Zoned out man. Outside the lines becomes blurry like looking underwater, inside the lines the vivid orange sphere is crystal clear. The outside lines can’t keep the sound waves of the clock from squeezing through as it clicks down to the buzzer.
You’re gonna have to go for the three pointer kid.
But I’m not sure my arms have got it in them. They feel dull man, barely hanging on. Fuck it...
LET IT RAIN!!!!
The ball slow-mos through the air. My head surfaces through the water, eyes wide open. Outside the lines I can now see mouths wide open. Orange orb spins.
My feet are planted and I can feel my weight seeping down into my soles. My fingertips braced tracing the trajectory of the ball. I’m paralyzed yet my eyes are sharp mate. Watching the ball circle the rim for the last three months and then that penny drops, you land that bucket: BOOooOOooOOm fucking BOOM!
Slow-mo stops and fast forward kicks in.
The buzzer goes and you’re off down the court kid. Chasing nothing, running from nothing. Your knees don’t hurt anymore. You don’t notice that sweat anymore. It doesn’t need you to notice. Jersey torn off. Arms stretched high. Mannnnn that feels good.
Nothing but net!
S W I