Page 151 of Coach
Another chance.
Ten seconds to go. Still tied.
Gabe drove to the basket.
His shot was blocked. It flew out of bounds.
Five seconds left.
Our ball.
I called our final time-out.
The crowd’s cheers were deafening.
Adrenaline roared in my ears as I crouched before my huddled boys.
“One shot. That’s all we need. Michaels, you take the screen. Gabe cut left, dish if you have to—but make it clean.”
The whistle blew.
The ball wasinbounded.
One pass.
Another pass.
Shot faked.
Pivot.
Then disaster.
Gabe lost his handle, and the ball sailed into an opponent’s hands.
No!
The guard took off like a rocket, cutting through open court like we weren’t even there.
Two seconds.
One second.
He launched it, one step behind the three-point arc.
Half a second left.
The buzzer sounded.
The red light behind the backboard flared.
Swish.
The gym erupted. Fans screamed.
Our side fell silent.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t move.
