The Last Shot Joe Walheim
“Mom, do I really have to play in this basketball game?” She looked at me and laughed. This was the only way I could get some exposure for college coaches. Even though I did not enjoy playing basketball, I had to perform well for my city and represent the east side. My father was a professional, so I grew up around the game, and he was always trying to groom me into being one of the all time greats. in high school, standard.
Even though I was only a sophomore
I was always held to a higher
We arrived at the gym. The place was packed. The line to get in extended all the way to the street. Scouts were everywhere and for one reason– me. Although unmotivated, I was the best player on the team and led the district in scoring. The pressure has always been on my shoulders, so it just felt like another game to me. My school was in the district championship against our biggest rivals. It was East versus West. This was much more than a basketball game. It seemed since the dawn of time, the Eastside and the Westside have battled 44
back and forth for who runs the county.
Filled with
crime, murder, and betrayal, this “war” has split the county.
Every time East vs West came up on the schedule, something bad was bound to happen. Last year, when we played West at their homecourt, a
fist fight broke out in the stands between parents.
Tensions were always high when people from the Eastside and people from the Westside were in the same building as each other. The game began and it was back and forth from the start. We could not break away from the other team, and if it felt like we were beginning to, they would crawl right back in. I was having the game of my life. Three pointers, slam dunks, shifty crossovers… the whole nine. West was winning 7271 with ten seconds left in the game. I had the ball and drove to the lane and got fouled. This was it, I could win us the game. I got to the line, did my two dribbles, and released the ball. The first one shot went in. 72-72. I started my routine again for the second shot. The gymnasium was dead silent until all of a sudden, “Pop! Pop! Pop!” People could hear those bullets being shot off from miles away. I layed there on the ground fighting for a breath, and the last thing I saw was the scoreboard adding a point. 73-72 East wins. Game over. Background Art by Ben Franzone
45
