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I shoot the ball from the three point line; it drops in with a loud SWISSH the surrounding boys look in awe as the park lights illuminate the particles of dust being expelled from the hoop. "That's game", I say with smug satisfaction. "I win ten-zip." The boys who had all played me leave in disappoint insisting on a future rematch. I never understood why they were so upset they were beaten by a girl. As the seven o' clock darkness began to infest the sky, the park became uninhabited. The once populated park was now empty leaving me with the vestiges: 24 oz. Cotton Candy C&C bottles, empty Kisko freeze pop packets, and the stench of stale chips. This was always the best time for me to practice. At night alone free of other eager hands that want to shoot the ball. Practice for me can be summed up in a single regimen; layups, jump shots, and dribbling. But I don't practice as if I am alone; I practice with an imaginary player. Staring down the night I contemplate my future moves while questioning myself. How will I get this ball into the hoop? The ball travels through my legs and around my back tricking my opponent, forcing him to go the other way. Now I am open but I don't get the easy way out, my opponent has already recovered from his temporary tumble. With a spin and a couple of crossover tricks I am open once again taking this opportunity I gracefully lay the ball into the hoop. ALL NET, portraying the most sophisticated example of ghetto ballet. I run back to the foul line for a check up1 while yelling out, "One -Zip!"
1 The act of which the player who shot the ball will bounce pass the ball to his opponent and the opponent bounce passes the ball back. This is a way of clearing the ball.
I shoot the ball from the three point line; it drops in with a loud SWISSH the surrounding boys look in awe as the park lights illuminate the particles of dust being expelled from the hoop. "That's game", I say with smug satisfaction. "I win ten-zip." The boys who had all played me leave in disappoint insisting on a future rematch. I never understood why they were so upset they were beaten by a girl. As the seven o' clock darkness began to infest the sky, the park became uninhabited. The once populated park was now empty leaving me with the vestiges: 24 oz. Cotton Candy C&C bottles, empty Kisko freeze pop packets, and the stench of stale chips. This was always the best time for me to practice. At night alone free of other eager hands that want to shoot the ball. Practice for me can be summed up in a single regimen; layups, jump shots, and dribbling. But I don't practice as if I am alone; I practice with an imaginary player. Staring down the night I contemplate my future moves while questioning myself. How will I get this ball into the hoop? The ball travels through my legs and around my back tricking my opponent, forcing him to go the other way. Now I am open but I don't get the easy way out, my opponent has already recovered from his temporary tumble. With a spin and a couple of crossover tricks I am open once again taking this opportunity I gracefully lay the ball into the hoop. ALL NET, portraying the most sophisticated example of ghetto ballet. I run back to the foul line for a check up1 while yelling out, "One -Zip!"
1 The act of which the player who shot the ball will bounce pass the ball to his opponent and the opponent bounce passes the ball back. This is a way of clearing the ball.
