CHARLOTTE
The crowd is angry,yelling at the refs as the buzzer sounds.
We’re back in LA after winning all three games in Philadelphia. And as luck has it, we are ten points down.
“I’m going into the locker room,” I tell Franklin.”
“Be invisible, Lottie.” We’re all eager to hear Coach’s plan, but if Byron and BJ see you, it might mess with their head.”
Walking through the tunnel, I barely hear the click of my heels with the noise of journalists, photographers, and sports commentators lining the walls. Cameras are shoved my way, and through my nerves, I crack a smile, waving the lens away from my face if they try to block my path.
“Charlotte. Charlotte,” is called repeatedly.
“No interviews until after the game,” I shoot over my shoulder.
As I near the locker room, the door is closed, and I can’trisk opening it and disrupting Coach Mathew’s speech. It’s not a problem as he is yelling so loud, I hear him from the other side.
“Nobody is playing the way we must towin,” he shouts. “We have gotten here one game at a time. Today is no different. You allneedtobelieveand keep your head high.Focus. Buckle down and be ready when you go out there. The next quarter is yours if you want it. But you have tofight.”
I back away. The team doesn’t need a plan. They have practiced and practiced and know what they need to do. It’s up to them, but they have to want it more than Philadelphia does, more than anything at this particular moment in time. When I returned to my seat, my brothers asked what was said.
“Nothing. He said it’s up to them.”
Jobe considers it. “Well, there’s not much anyone can do at this point. They have learned everything they need to know regarding how to win.”
“Exactly.”
For the next quarter, we climb our way back, and it’s goal for goal until the buzzer sounds at the end of the third quarter.
I stand up and wiggle my legs. I’m so nervous, I don’t want to talk to anyone. My thoughts drift, imagining lifting the NBA cup into the air, the streamers falling from overhead and covering the crowd like confetti. The post-game speech with journalists and television crews. The financial benefits for the club. The sheer joy of our fans. I see it so clearly that I can almost taste the sweet victory.
Halfway through the last quarter, I unclench my fists, shivering at how my nails were digging into my palms, and yet I didn’t feel a thing. For the next few minutes, Philadelphia stopped guarding. Our guys notice and attackthe hoop at every chance, sinking the basket and getting a foul for a free throw.
Within minutes, we hit the lead.
Four points.
Six points.
Nine-point lead.
We dominate rebounds.
We collect fast-break points and second-chance shots, and the opposition has lost their efficiency from the three-point line. Our guys are bigger than theirs, and we block the next three attempts at goals.
With one minute left on the clock, my heart races, anticipating the win. My knees bounce nervously, and I hold my breath with every attempt Philadelphia has at goals. I try to control the excitement, but it’s almost bursting out of me. However, as the clock counts down, it’s clear we are going to win.
The buzzer sounds, and I fly out of my seat, both arms in the air.
My heart is racing as though I was on the court myself.
My family hugs with excited laughter.
We have just made basketball history for our team,and I’m so fucking proud.
Our players are jumping around, swinging their jerseys in the air.
Finding some composure, I head down the stairs and stand with the NBA executives as they wheel a stage onto the court, where the commissioner takes the mic.
