A Game Can Last A Lifetime

I've coached games which were long--longer than a car ride across Texas, longer than a plane ride to Africa, longer than it takes to swim, run and bike a triathlon. The moments in these games don't even tick; they don't have a sound that goes with time moving. The moments in these games are like a slow ride into eternity.

Most of these games are ones in which we are playing poorly, where the players eyes are glazed, their minds have separated completely from their bodies, and timeouts are useless forays into a swamp of confusion. Most of them.

On Thursday night, it wasn't the entire game which moved excruciatingly slowly; it was the last three minutes. In those last three minutes, an entire NFL season could have been played.

We had a ten point lead with three minutes and five seconds to go. All we needed to do was protect the ball, take good shots, play smart defense and we were assured the victory. This is the point where a coach usually looks at clock and feels relief not the desperate need to pray for the right ending which I must now confess I was doing.

We fouled. They made the first free throw and missed the second. We pushed the ball down the floor and missed a lay-up. They scored a lay-up. We were up 62-55. They pressed. We got the ball inbounds close to the end line where Ali Tobias was trapped with the ball. As the seconds ticked and the official counted, the bench collectively held our breath. Ali called a timeout, and as a unit we exhaled.

As we came out of the timeout, we were able to get the ball inbounds safely, get by the first three defenders and then, we passed to the wrong jersey color. Praying, cursing, watching desperately from the sidelines as the Vulcans looked to score a certain lay-up. We fouled. They made two free throws which made the score 62-57. I looked at the clock. Only seven seconds had passed.

When the ball came out of the basket, we quickly pushed it up the floor beating the press and then stopped, waited for them to resume their traps, and looking quite helpless, we stood transfixed on the court perhaps waiting for a moment to tick by, or waiting for time to move. Then they had the ball again, scoring another lay-up (62-59) and we were still waiting for the time to move.

A nine point lead had elapsed into a three point lead, and the neon numbers of the score clock on the wall were stuck in a time zone where only the Vulcans could make it move. I called a desperation timeout and made a passionate speech about the need to play for the victory. We were playing not to lose which is always the precursor to a loss. You must, I screamed, play to win.

Tiana Beatty's eyes were glued to mine during the speech, and we connected in a way only coaches and players can. On the next possession when she received the ball, she shot it with such certainty that it sailed perfectly out of her hands into the net. With a five point lead, the time finally felt different. It wasn't as fatal. We could make the clock move; we could shift the numbers on the scoreboard.

There was still time to play. In fact, we scored four free throws. They scored four points. We crossed the mid line of the court five times. I practiced breathing and mentally moving the numbers on the score clock.

When the buzzer finally did go off, time flew by and we were done. The celebration was completed, the post game talk over, the parents and fans gone, and the time without any thought to lingering went right to the preparation of our next opponent.

ONE HEART. ONE DREAM!