“Wheeeeet”! the sound of the whistle rings in my ears. My hands are clammy and covered in sweat. As I lift my head, my shaky eyes begin to focus on the hoop. My stomach aches as I begin to move my legs. I know that I shouldn’t be playing basketball, but I have no choice. I couldn’t recall the last time that I had felt this sick. The thought of giving up keeps reentering my mind. “1997 NBA Finals Game 5, Chicago Bulls VS Utah Jazz” is blaring from the screens above me. As much as I want to go have a seat on that bench, I know that I can’t. The game just began and I already feel like quitting. The other team starts to move quickly on the court. I’m struggling to keep up with my teammates. This game is crucial for us to win the finals. I look around and see my team fighting for the ball. I mustered up my strength and began to run down the court. I took the first opportunity that I had and grabbed the ball. Using the rest of my strength, I laid it into the basket. I felt exhausted after just one basket. “Will I cost my team the championship”? I thought to myself. I gathered my energy and put another basket in. I’m not sure how much
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I can see the worried faces of our fans. The head coach is debating on keeping me in the game. “Maybe you should sit this one out Michael,” I hear behind me. “No,” I answer firmly. I get up from the bench and begin walking toward the court. It’s the second quarter and my team is down by sixteen points. I take a second look around the stadium. “These people believe in me,” I think to myself. The whistle blows and both teams start charging for the ball. My stomach still aches, but I work through the pain. I don’t know how I got this sick. I rush toward the ball and push a layup into the basket. It doesn’t feel as tiring as the last. I go for another layup and put it in with ease. My teammates all look at me in awe. The crowd is cheering loudly. “Maybe we do have a chance for this game,” I think to
I can see the worried faces of our fans. The head coach is debating on keeping me in the game. “Maybe you should sit this one out Michael,” I hear behind me. “No,” I answer firmly. I get up from the bench and begin walking toward the court. It’s the second quarter and my team is down by sixteen points. I take a second look around the stadium. “These people believe in me,” I think to myself. The whistle blows and both teams start charging for the ball. My stomach still aches, but I work through the pain. I don’t know how I got this sick. I rush toward the ball and push a layup into the basket. It doesn’t feel as tiring as the last. I go for another layup and put it in with ease. My teammates all look at me in awe. The crowd is cheering loudly. “Maybe we do have a chance for this game,” I think to