The Last Walk Off the Court: A High School Basketball Career Ends in Reflection, Not Regret
In an empty gym, before the crowd arrived and long after it left, one final game became a meditation on pride, loss, and knowing when you gave everything you had.
The building was cold, but clean. The maintenance men were just leaving. They finished mopping and waxing the floor, the bleachers were pulled out and dusted. The janitors had done their job and left the gym to us to do ours.
It was two or three hours before game time as I entered the gym. I sat in the bleachers and took in the solitude of the empty building. I wanted to settle my nerves and get focused. Meditating in the isolation helped me get ready for battle. I just sat there suspended in thought. I knew that after this game, I would never again walk into the gym as a player. In just a couple of hours my solitude would be broken, and the empty bleachers would be filled with parents, students, scouts, relatives and friends.
For about an hour, my mind was completely blank. If I did have something on my mind, I couldn’t remember it. Then, the broken door that led to the small arena rattled and I snapped back to the reality of the day. It was a playoff game and the other team, who was highly favored, began to enter.
My mental emptiness was not filled with thoughts of the game and nothing else. I wondered if our opponents were as good as advertised. I wasn’t too phased by all the hype surrounding them. I was determined not to end my high school career with a loss, especially in front of my friends and family. This was my gym and I had no plans on losing no matter how good they were. I came with a little hype myself.
The papers said that I was a force not to be taken for granted.
The game is now over. I sat on the sidelines reflecting on the game, the season and my career. The building seemed a little colder than it did before the game. The people that filled the stands just a little while ago have been replaced with candy wrappers, programs and empty cups. The building that was full of energy and excitement is now subdued.
As I walked out of the door, I barely noticed the tears running down my face. I was well aware that this was the last time I would ever leave this gym as a player.
When I reached the exit, I turned and stared at the court one last time. All the games in which I played seemed to flash before me. I glanced at the scoreboard that still told the story of the game. We lost 75-73. However, I wasn’t disappointed. I felt a sense of pride.
We fought hard and that is really all that matters. I smiled, walked out closing the door behind me, never to return.
(Editor’s Note: The author of this column has chosen to remain anonymous. Atlantic City Focus honors that request.)
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