Ben Talks Ball

This was originally a class assignment for creative writing, but I figured it had some value on this site.

A boy follows his grandfather into the arena, the cacophony of stimulation overwhelming but so exciting. The boy inhales the joy of his grandfather as they jump around together, riding each wave of emotion as if nothing else mattered outside of this game. They hug as the buzzer rings in victory. The boy is hooked.

The team is terrible. If the boy were to sue for false advertising he’d have a case. Over the summer a new player is drafted. The boy decides that because this was the first pick made since he became a fan, it only made sense that this player would be his player.  

He watches all the games, glued to the screen. The boy’s player is good. No, his player is the best. He jumps like there’s a pair of rockets strapped to his shoes, slicing through defenses so fast the boy’s eyes can barely keep up. It’s pure joy, blissful and untapped. The team continues to lose. That’s alright. He has hope now. 

All year the boy begs his parents for a jersey. When he unwraps it Christmas morning he nearly tackles his mom into the tree. But there’s more. The boy is going back to the arena. 

The boy arrives two hours early just to watch his player warm up. Below his brand new jersey he carries a Sharpie given to him by his grandfather, just in case. As his player walks back to the locker room he’s stopped by fans asking for autographs. The boy didn’t even know you could do that. He sprints over, dodging fans and hopping rows of seats. Last one, sorry folks, the security guard informs the crowd. The boy is crushed. His player looks up, makes eye contact, then gestures over. One extra, then I gotta go. That jersey still hangs above the boy’s bed back home. 

As the boy grows up he argues with his friends. The team is awful, sure, but his player is better than any of theirs. Or so the boy says.

Years go by and the boy becomes a man. He heads to off school. He meets new friends and has the same arguments. Then the unthinkable happens; his team starts winning games.

Everything he’s said is coming to pass. People are agreeing that his player is as special as he says. To an extent, of course. Gotta prove it. The team has their best season in years. The man watches his team in playoff basketball for the first time. His player dominates and they win Game 1. The man figures he must be dreaming.

They lose the series, but this was a sign of things to come. He calls his parentss and grandparents to debate what the team needs to do next. There’s momentum here.

It’s the hope that kills you. Or maybe it’s death by a thousand paper cuts. It could just be reality catching up. For whatever reason the next season just isn’t the same. Players miss time with injury, fan favorites disappoint, the last second breaks start going for the other team. The simplistic rush of miraculous success has been replaced with the burden of real expectation. His player doesn’t falter though. Doesn’t miss games, doesn’t regress. If anything he actually takes a step forward while everything else plateaus. Not that it made a difference. The year ends and the team fails to return to the playoffs.

This one hurts more than all the losses that came before. At least with no expectations you can never be disappointed.

Still, the man knows that as long as they have his player, things will turn it around. Just some bad luck is all that was. There’s always another year.

Yet tomorrow comes and nothing changes. Frustration grows, his player finally runs out of patience. First the early rumbling that he’s unhappy. Then the reveal that the team is open to trading him. The media circus descends. The man knows it’s over. But it still stings a little when the official announcement comes through.

The man stopped himself and wondered, Why am I even upset by this? Logically a move had to happen. Sometimes these things just don’t work out. The man knew he shouldn’t have been surprised it’d gotten to this point.

Honestly; why did it even matter in the grand scheme of things? Why should he care that some millionaire moved across the country to work a new job. This wasn’t real life.

The man knew all of this to be true, yet that night he found himself watching highlights, reminiscing. He recognized the absurdity of it all. There was no real success. No banners hung. They never even came close. All of this being nothing more than a game where grown men try to put a ball in a hoop. This whole thing is absurd.

Eight years, and it didn’t even matter at all he laughed. 

He let the tears fall anyway.