Swish      

  The buzzer above the backboard screamed for everyone to hear. Hi, I’m 13 year old Austin Johnson, I play for the Los Angeles Clippers, and I've always despised hearing all of that ear-piercing sound. To me, it always sounded like the death cry of a goat. The buzzer signaled for halftime and I still hadn’t played a second of basketball yet. Charlie, my teammate and best friend, jogged toward me with an arched eyebrow. “ I saw that look. Just hang in there!”
Easy for him to say. He had played for the entire game so far. I took a seat in the back next to Charlie and just sat there and stared at the board. Towards the end of the lecture coach called my name sharply “Johnson! You’re starting the second half! Unless you want me to start Chris.”
His eyes drifted away and half joyfully, half desperately I sputtered: “Yes! I mean no! I mean I’ll start!.”  I tore my warm-up jacket off as fast as I could and picked up a ball as the ref came in and called the team back outside. I sprinted out and handed the ref the ball as he set everyone up for the game to resume. Anthony inbounded the ball to me as the ref blew his whistle for the game to resume play. My heart did jumping jacks as it sailed toward me. I sprinted down and passed to Charlie. Then I opened up Anthony by setting a screen on the enemy center. But Charlie was not able to pass through the double team that was applied as soon as he got the ball. So he just turned around and gave me the ball with a two-handed chest pass. I grabbed it out of the air and didn’t hesitate to pull up. Airball. The ball missed the hoop COMPLETELY. I got back on defence and watched the enemy guard dribble up to me. Five seconds later I was panting hard and he was smirking at me as he sprinted back down the court having picked up 2 more points.
The rest of the game went by slowly. I ended with 0 points, 7 turnovers, and 4 fouls. My teammates didn’t say a word to me, coach simply regarded me with a quizzical expression and said, “Well………. everyone has flat nights. Just hit the court harder next time.” I could tell he was utterly disappointed. The team had lost by 18 points. Fourteen thanks to the turnovers and 4 thanks to the fouls that I had committed. I just grabbed my stuff from my locker and biked home. I didn’t stop running when I got to my house. I just sprinted upstairs to my room past my mom who looked surprised to see me so upset. I showered and changed my clothes. Some of you guys might find this unusual and weird but whenever I need to think, I go into my basement. It’s creepy and smelly but it clears my head. I picked up my basketball and rubbed it as if for good luck. Suddenly frustration overcame all of my other emotions and I threw the basketball at the ground. To my surprise it ricocheted off of a black box and hit me squarely in the chest. I cautiously approached the box and picked it up. It was inscribed with large golden letters that read “WILLIAM JOHNSON”. Confusion flooded into my mind. What was this box doing here? William Johnson was my grandfather who had passed away about three years ago but all of his property had been inherited by different branches of my family. I gingerly opened the box and looked inside. A gorgeous silver shooting arm embroidered with gold stitches and a cotton pad  were laid inside. I felt the stitches and gasped at how smooth and comfortable they felt against my fingers. I picked it up out of the box and carried it to my mother who softly said, “Austin, what you are holding is a family heirloom that was given to your father by your grandfather just like his father had done before him. Your father was planning on giving it to you on your birthday next month but now that you’ve found it, you can have it.” I put it back into the box and put it into my backpack.
“Thanks Mom.”
The next day, school was painfully slow. I was just dying of anticipation for the game that afternoon. I got to the stadium 1 hour early. I slipped on my newest accessory and began shooting shots. The arm felt so comfortable it improved my stroke and increased the arc on my shot. When the team finally arrived I felt confident. When I saw the downcast looks on my teammate’s face I couldn’t fight the urge to bite.
“What happened?”
“Chris got hit by a car,”  a few of them mumbled back.
I staggered over to an open chair. Chris Wilkins was my best friend next to Charlie and not knowing that he was in a hospital with serious injuries made me feel guilty. “We tried to call you the other day but your mom said that you weren’t letting anyone talk to you unless it was about some sort of an accessory you found,” coach said.
Was that accusation in his voice? Coach delivered a speech about perseverance and mental toughness to the team and we all listened to him in admiration, if anyone could inspire you in the weariest situation, it was coach. The guy was the most positive person I knew! Then he pointed at me,
“Kid, I’ve known you since you were 6 and if there’s one thing I ever saw in you, it’s that you never give up. So tonight just focus on playing ball, leave all of the other distractions behind and keep your head up, and most importantly: believe in yourself no matter what.”
As much as I appreciated coaches words, I didn’t know if my teammates could forgive me but to my surprise, when I looked up, all I saw was encouraging grins. The silence was broken by the squeaking of sneakers against the hardwood. I looked up and saw former conference champions, the San Antonio Spurs looking around on the other side of the court. Our coaches embraced each other with hugs and warm words but the Spurs’ players did not oblige. They merely nodded at us to acknowledge they knew we existed. Their coach gave them a cold and perplexed look as if to silently reprimand them for their behavior. Then the coach pointed to the visitor’s locker rooms.
About half an hour later, the stadium was packed with fans. Anthony, Charlie, and I
decided to come to the court a few minutes early to get our offense straightened out. After that, the game was ready to start. I took my place to the back of the two centers, ready to fight for possession. The referee jogged to the center of the court, walked a few paces, and then launched the ball in the air. Charlie caught it and advanced the ball. The Spurs must have been big on studying their opponent, because as soon as he passed the half court line, my defender left me and went to help on Charlie. Charlie gave the ball to me via a left- handed bounce pass.  I caught it and shot a reluctant three. I turned away not wanting to see the result of my shot. I heard a swish and the crowd cheering. In that moment, coach’s words came back to me; “believe in yourself no matter what.”
For the rest of the game, that became the mantra that I kept chanting in my head. I couldn’t believe the results. Ending with a new season high double- double 28 points, 11 assists, 5 rebounds. Coach smiled and gave me a high five as the fans chanted “MVP, MVP, MVP!!!!!!”
Over the next few weeks I got several hysterical phone calls telling me to join their team during free agency. I rejected most offers as the regular season turned into the playoffs. I went for 6 games straight with double-doubles which helped my team finally end with 2 consistent sweeps of the Golden State Warriors and the Dallas Mavericks. The season looked like an easy championship for us until the western conference championship. The San Antonio Spurs made alarming progress, blowing us out in the first game. We managed to pull even when Charlie had an amazing game in the second clash we had. I performed relatively great in the rest of the games but we still found ourselves in an elimination game at home: game 7, with the winner earning a berth in the finals. The operative word being “earned”.
I set my feet on to the hardwood and closed my eyes. This was it. If I managed to pull my team’s weight and win this game, we would be in the finals. The FINALS. Six weeks ago, if I had been told that we had a chance to become champions of the league, I would’ve laughed and called the person telling me this a liar, but now I was a different person. More confident and both willing and able to work my tail off to achieve even the most obscure of goals and it was all because of one thing.. A few days ago, I had traced all of my good luck back to one event. The day I had found my shooting arm. So either it was that my grandfather had somehow been a magician and enchanted the arm or that I just had found one of those objects that made you feel confident thus have good luck (I watched a documentary on it).  My thoughts were interrupted by the buzzer. I cringed after hearing the sound but still walked over to my usual spot in front of the two centers getting ready to fight for the ball. The referee launched the ball into the air and Anthony was the first to react to the ball and won the tip easily. Charlie caught the ball and threw it to me over the outstretched hands of the defenders. I saw a huge gap in the defence of the other team and I sprinted in and made a reverse layup. The crowd roared as the Spurs coach lost his head screaming and spitting and cursing.
The rest of the first half was easily our best of the playoffs. Our sharpshooting and lazy defence from the spurs was the perfect formula for an 18 point lead heading into halftime. The second half is where the story began though. The Spurs chipped away at the lead, scoring 8 quick points and cutting the lead down to 10 and coach called a desperate timeout. He sat down and took a deep breath. Then at last he gave us a serious look and said, “ You are exhausting yourselves and that team has feasted on exhausted teams all through the playoffs. Slow down our plays and use as much of the shot clock as you have to in order to get a wide open look. Lets go!” I stepped back to the sideline from where we would get to inbound the ball. The referee gave me the ball and blew his whistle. I threw the ball immediately, but a small Spurs player anticipated the pass and caught it before Anthony could. Two other Spur players came on the fastbreak so it was 3 on 1. The rather large and heavy- looking center of the Spurs received the pass from their point guard and barrelled toward me. I set my feet firmly on the floor and braced myself for the contact. I felt the weight of the world come down on me, the referee’s frantic whistle and everything went black.
I woke up about 2 hours later in a hospital bed and I sat up. Black spots danced before my eyes but I didn’t care, I just needed to get back out there. As the spots cleared up, I saw the entire team and surrounding my bed along with my pediatrician Dr. James and of course, my mom who immediately began fussing over my hair and the huge bump in the back of my head. Dr. James made me promise to have at least 2 weeks of rest and to make sure that if any other concussion- like symptoms arose, I should let mom and him know immediately. I nodded hastily and turned my attention to my teammates.
“What happened in the game?”
“We won, but nobody really cared about that when you got hurt. Sorry about your head man.”
A new voice rose from behind the mob of people around my bed, along with the squeaking of rubber against the granite floor: “He’ll live.” A familiar monkey-like face popped out of the crowd as a smiling Chris Wilkins limped over on his crutches. 
My reunion with Chris was short lived because I had to go home, where my dad ,as proud as can be (and worried), gave me a bear hug and pounded me on the back. I was happy to be back with my family then a thought suddenly struck me harder than the concussion had.
“Wait mom. Dr. James said that I can’t play for the next TWO weeks but the finals start in 4 days..and I didn’t have my new shooting arm on in the hospital, where is it?”
My mom bit her lip and exchanged a nervous look with my dad, “Austin, honey, I know you're going to be disappointed but Dr. James is saying this for your own good… as for your shooting arm……….” She glared at my dad for support and he said:
“What? Oh. Yeah, your mom’s right Austin, you can’t charge into something and end up not being able to play for the rest of your life, forget these two weeks!” Then he reluctantly held out a tattered silver cloth with a smashed cotton pad hanging on by a golden stitch.  I held back the tears in my eyes and ran upstairs into my room.
I woke up the next morning and insisted on watching my team practice. The Cavaliers were the only team standing in our way of a championship trophy and I reviewed film of their playoff games and snuck in as many pushups as I could without coach seeing. I completely hated seeing my team being blown out in game 1 of the finals and winning a close game 2, still had me shivering at the thought of going down 2-0. The back and forth series finally swung in our favor when we tied the series at 3-3 in a decisive game 6 blowout. Then at last, it was time for me to get back out there. It felt amazing to be able to play in the most important game of the season. I stepped out and looked at the Cavaliers. They were tall, so we had do a good job of rebounding if we wanted to win. In the first 3 quarters we kept it close: the scoreline read 83- 79, Cavaliers lead by 4. Twelve minutes to either win or lose a championship. It was up to me now. I dribbled down the court and passed the ball into the post where Anthony had a big mismatch. He caught the ball and got to the basket with ease and dunked it. We were back within two with 11 ½ minutes remaining in this must win quarter. The next 7 minutes went back and forth and the game was eventually tied at 103 all. I sprinted down the court and threw a lob high up in the air. The pass was cut out by a long armed player on the Cavaliers. Coach yelled from the sidelines: “Don’t get too fancy. Just focus on scoring!”
Okay, now I had something to remember not to do. The Cavaliers slowed down the game and advanced the ball at ease. Big mistake. I ran straight at the unaware player and stole the ball. Running down the floor, I got an easy layup. We were up by two with one and a half minutes remaining. The Cavaliers recognized that Anthony was tired and brought him to guard their newest substitution by switching player positions in the blink of an eye. Their sub quickly outdistanced Anthony in a foot race and dunked the ball. Tie game. Anthony threw a long inbound and it was stolen by their sub. I ran into his way and fouled him, forcing him to inbound the ball and allowing our defence to reset. The inbound was in as soon as the referee allowed it and they decided to  wait out the clock and have the second to last shot of the game. With six seconds left. A short and nimble Cavalier stepped back on Charlie and shot a three. We all watched it sail towards the hoop and got ready to fight for the rebound. The shot rattled around and I nearly sighed with relief until I saw it go in. Shocked and surprised, I took the ball in and dribbled down the court. I took a breath and raised up for a 3. Time slowed down as I shot. All of my playoff experiences and the changes I had went through came flooding into my mind. I watched the time I hit the three that had started it all, the time I jumped onto Anthony’s back after we won the second round, being hit by that center against the Spurs. I released the ball. Splash, wet, money, whatever you want to call a swish went through the net. I inhaled the sweet stadium air as the crowd screamed their heads off.
Later that night, I set my Finals MVP, and 2014 champions trophy down on my desk. I turned on a light and it dimly lit my room. I smiled and pulled out a notebook and pencil. Then I wrote:
swish- noun: to make a shot perfectly in basketball. Also known as the best feeling in the world and only experienced when a skillful shot goes through.