Saturday, March 21, 2009

March 21, 2008.

Up five. Up five. Up five.

Oh my god.

Text from Mason: You got this shit son! Curry is the truth win or lose.


Gray clanks one and suddenly it’s a bit more real, and so many things race through my head all at once, and Thomas fouls so Daye goes to the line, but suddenly I’m just not as nervous…

Daye’s first one rattles out and we roar with approval, closer, closer, oh my god closer… and he misses the second one but as the boys start to back away from the line, the ref blows his whistle and comes out onto the court, waving his hands. I don’t know what happened, but now Steve is waiting to throw the ball in. Steph catches it, dribbles around a defender, then slips right through two, making them crash cartoon-style into each other and cuing us up again: “OHHHHHHHH!”

FOUL! YES! YES YES! Please, foul our best player. The best player on the court. In the country. I dare you.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” 80-74. 80-74. 14 seconds. Holy shit.

I am rational, I know you can’t make up six points in fourteen seconds. It’s screwed us over before, it will save us today. More than save us—oh my god—

He hits the second one like I knew he would.

And suddenly I’m not paying all that much attention to the game anymore.

I only know one thing. And I have to say it out loud.

“We are going to do this.”

I pause after I say it, look around, look down our row, look at the court, at those dear dear boys, look at Patty, repeat.

“We are going to do this!”

Did I actually just say that? Did I say it actually knowing that it will happen, not as a hope, not as a wish, not as a frustrated profanity screamed to the rafters?

Truth? Is it the truth yet? The truth for the rest of my life? PLEASE?!?!?!?

How did it become so important?

Patty isn’t looking at me; she’s focused on the court, a wry half-smile on her face. “Talk to me in about ten seconds.”

I would be glad to talk to you in ten seconds, Patricia!

Steph gets fouled again and Sonya Curry’s tear-streaked face appears on the big screen above us as she dabs it with a tissue and yells, “Finish strong, Stephen, FINISH STRONG!!”

We roar back with her. Yes, Mom!

Swish. Forty.


Seven seconds and I don’t quite know what to do with myself. WHAT DO I DO WITH MYSELF?

The Davidson guys on our row who I know by sight but not by name are murmuring disbelievingly--this has only happened in dreams, there’s no frickin way it's happening for real right in front of us in a matter of seconds. Years of waiting, years before we were born, before we knew anything about this school that has become our home, suddenly come crashing down into our reality. “Oh my god,” I say to them, searching their eyes with mine and finding the same indescribable emotion, “OH MY GOD.”

And then the buzzer sounds.

It feels like yesterday and a million years ago, all blurred together. Those ten days have impacted my life to an immeasurable degree.

1 comment:

WB said...

It was nice to read that. I could feel the emotion. If I could change something about last year, it would be that I would have found a way to attend one of those games. However, those games were all pretty much "remember where you were when it happened" type of moments.

I remember running out my front door at my house when we won the Gonzaga game yelling at the top of my lungs, arms extended overhead in victory celebration. Two of my neighbors were outside and wondered what was going on. They later told me they figured I had won the lottery or something.

Since I was not able to go to any of the NCAA games last year, I'm flying across the country to attend the St. Mary's game in California for the 2nd round of the NIT. It's not quite the same, but it's still tournament basketball.

Go Cats!!!