btw...

By the way, our varsity basketball team lost in the sub-state. To make a long story short, we didn't make it to Nashville. We came up one point short, and I still can't decide if it was because we didn't score enough points or if we ran out of precious time. Either way, it was a heart-breaker. When the final buzzer went off I felt the hopes of the State Championship crumble. I watched our seniors walk off the floor with their heads bowed, headed to the locker room for the last time. I thought about how those boys would remember that walk for the rest of their lives. I knew that someday years later they would drive home from work and out of nowhere they would hear that buzzer go off. I wondered if they would tell their kids about the game, like I tell my kids about the last high school game I played in. I wondered if they would sit in the locker room wondering how they could replay the game.

I also thought about how I refused to take my uniform off after my last game in high school. When my coach was finished with the post-game speech my teammates showered, changed, and boarded the bus. I remained seated, planted in the moment. I replayed the previous four seasons and I thought about all the times when I didn't give it my all. I thought about the times when I didn't want to listen to my coach and I wondered if I would do it all differently if I had the chance. I sat in my uniform with my high socks, one blue and one gold, and for the first time in my life I knew what it meant to have a broken heart. I somehow thought that if I could figure out a way to keep that uniform on, I wouldn't have to give up the experience. I had been through so much: homelessness, family turmoil, winters with no heat, summers with no water, and many days with no food. I was a kid that knew what it was like to eat at soup kitchens and what it felt like to wake up in a shelter. I had seen so many things go wrong that I started to think that life was nothing more than a series of unfortunate events. But through my sport, I finally got to have the feeling of being a part of something bigger than myself. I got to see what it was like to be hopeful. I realized that I had finally found something that I believed, and it was over. Just like that...it was done.

I replayed the images in my head and at the age of 31 I stepped back into my 18-year-old shoes. I sat in a corner of the gym consumed in my thoughts. I must admit that I was lost in the moment. Then something caught my attention. I saw Lori sitting in the bleachers with tears in her eyes. She believed. On her lap sat Young Pog, who was sobbing uncrontrollably. I walked over to them and she gave me a look that let me know that she wasn't sure what to say. I took Pog into my arms and I asked him what was wrong.

"I thought we were going to win" he said. "I wanted to win."

I thought I would cry. My boy was 7 and he already knew what it was to believe. It took me 18 years to get there. I took a seat with him on my lap and we talked. I talked to him about how important it is to prepare. We talked about how it was ok to lose a close one if you had done everything in your power to prepare every day. I told him that we would have a chance to make another run. It's never too late to make another run. I told my son that in life it's impossible to acheive your goals without proper preparation. Then I told him that the same holds true for everything in life. It's important to put your best foot forward every day, because you never know when it could be your last. He looked me in the eye and said that he understood. I pray that he does.