Descriptive Essay On A Basketball Game

Growing up, the only thing I looked forward to was playing sports throughout high school. I played basketball, volleyball, and softball in the rec league. It was my favorite thing to do, I loved being active. I was on a traveling basketball team in 5th-6th grade which was a transition from leaving rec sports to traveling with my friends. This is when competing against competitive teams from different towns started.

A few months ago late in August 2016, the most nerve racking day of my life was approaching. This was the day after Woodbury High School's three day volleyball tryouts, and I had to wait two terrible hours to see if I had been cut or made a team. The teams would be posted on the doors inside the activity entrance of WHS at 12 o'clock sharp. Previously, the three days of tryouts lasted four hours each, it was held on four courts that felt as though you were in the sahara desert when playing. The courts ranged from beginner to advanced, so some days I would do great on the worst court. The coaches would constantly move me around which nearly gave me a heartattack.

Last night I made the 65 minute trip to Mechanicsburg, Ohio to take in the division six ,region 24 playoff game, between undefeated Mechanicsburg(10-0) and 7-3 Miami East. This was my first time seeing Miami East play. I was hoping to see a battle for four quarters, but felt the home team was going to be moving to week twelve.

Basketball is one of the greatest and most sort after sports in the world. The fast-paced, up–tempo aspect of the game shift the players often like the values in the stock market. The game requires speed, quick thinking, agility, endurance and swift reaction towards the opponent. Since it is a popular sport, the love of the game led to the architecture of the American Airlines Arena. The Arena is home to an iconic basketball team by the name of Miami Heat. Whenever I travel to Miami, Florida, I always make it a point of attending a game. Upon entering the American Airlines Arena, the atmosphere is entirely in full anticipation of the season`s profound play.

I laced up my shoes as tight as a business man's wallet. I stepped on the court the hardwood feeling like clouds under my feet. I was getting ready to make the jump not a doubt in my mind that I couldn't do it. And then I took off like a bullet coming out of a gun.

I would come here at all times. If I was mad at my family, bored, or had just watched Lebron James highlight mix tapes for the past hour, I would get whatever ball I had at the time, at most times worn down to a fuzzy or sandpapered surface and would migrate toward the alley. Leaving the real world behind, I unlatched the gate and stepped out of my boredom and stress and onto the rough, gray, paved runway for my enjoyment. My fascination of basketball started somewhere not far from there.

As my alarm clock startled me from sweet dreams, I grinned realizing game day had come upon us. I leapt out of bed in excitement as I skipped to the bathroom. I filled the bathroom with “Today’s Hits” on Pandora, sprang in the shower, and danced while scrubbing my hair. After showering, I brushed my teeth, gave the mirror a cheesy smile, and headed to my room. I slipped into my Crestwood Girls Basketball long sleeve and a pair of jeans. I combed through my hair and decided to let it air dry. I gulped down my breakfast in three bites, grabbed my book bag, and zoomed out the door. After an exhilarating start to the day, I anticipated tonight’s basketball game would bring more delight to that wonderful day.

The author takes a transition from the early positive position centered around comradery to explain the offseason losses the program has suffered within the past year. Losing long-term captain Shea Weber in a trade for the younger P.K. Subban and then soon after, losing Weber’s replacement Mike Fisher due to retirement. Ryan Ellis is out due to a knee injury and James Neal was taken in the Las Vegas expansion draft. Frederick Gaudreau and Pontus Aberg did not make the roster despite top performance in the playoffs. Rexrode gives no evidence or further explanation for these player loses and I believe an explination to why losing these men could be so crucial to the franchise.

As Seth came running out of the locker room the crowd went wild, it was his senior year and he already had all the college scouts after him. He has been the starting point guard for the Bozeman Hawks since his freshman year and has averaged more points and assists throughout his career than any other player to go to Bozeman. They are 6-0 and tonight is the night they play their rivals, the Livingston Rangers. Seth and the rest of the team would have to been on there A game if they wanted to beat the Rangers, who are also 6-0. Seth was not feeling like himself as he was warming up, but figured it was just his nerves and tried to ignore it. It was time for tip off and the Hawks got the ball; right away seth passed it to his best-friend,

The summer before seventh grade my mom and I were talking about school and what sports I was going to play. I knew that I was definitely be playing basketball, but my mom kept bringing up cross-country. She said she thought that I should try it because I have long legs, which is good for running. I always thought running sounded boring because all you do is move one foot in front of another. I decided to still try it because of my mom and because for all I knew it could be something I really enjoy. I didn’t enjoy much then, I didn’t have many hobbies. I did like art, but not that much, I only did it when I was really bored. I loved basketball, but even I knew I was completely horrible at that. No other sports really appealed to me and that is why I was going to give running a chance, because I was desperate for a hobby.

My freshman year of high school basketball was almost coming to an end. Our record was pretty stellar, and we needed one more win to get the wildcard, which meant we would automatically make it to state. My team was playing against Malcolm, in a really tight game. We were down by two points and Coach Henkel put me in to shoot a three-pointer, but both of our hopes and dreams were short lived. I missed the shot, and I lost the game for us. I was devastated, and so was everyone else. As I sat in the locker room, all I could do was stare at the ground. The only thing running through my mind was, no one is going to trust me with the ball anymore or worse yet, everyone is going to be mad at me. These thoughts were slowly tearing me down, day by day. But that was until Coach Henkel talked to me, and told me not to worry about missing the shot. He told me everyone misses, and that he wasn’t to worried. So, I was given two options, dwell on the past and let that affect my playing, or forget about it and move on.

“This is my moment, I’m going to kill this ball.” I said to myself while staring onward as the other team tipped the ball to our side of the court. There was one more point for us to win the set and I wanted nothing more for our team to win against our opponent. The audience was on edge, many of them were on their feet. This was the biggest audience we ever had in a volleyball game, particularly because it was the first. “Four, Four!” I yelled to my setter on the outside left and she quickly nodded her head as she was about to set the ball to me. As I started my approach, I raised my left arm and my right arm was bent at an angle besides my ear. I waited for the ball to be at a perfect height and with my right palm spread wide, I hit the ball as hard as I could muster. The ball went straight down to the other team’s side but it went out of bounds, meaning it was outside the playing area. As I came down, my right leg twisted inwards causing my body to shift its weight towards my left leg. I landed only on my left leg causing me to lose my balance and I felt myself falling, and because of the tremendous force, I heard a loud popping sound coming from my left knee. The pain was immediate and I clutched my left leg and while during so, I heard gasps amongst the audience and it quickly fell silent.

One day my mom told me that I was on the Upward Basketball Team, a church league for basketball. I was furious because I did not like basketball at all, but my mom loved basketball, which is why she wanted me to play on the team.

Entering the gym resonates an immediate feeling of dedication. Double glass doors open, making an odd creak that only those two doors are able to make. The sound of these doors opening brings a chill down the spine. Once the gym is entered, there is a large brown trashcan that hides in the corner, like a child that has done something wrong and is hiding from his or her parent. Its orange bag loves to poke out past the can itself like a baby kangaroos head from its mothers’ pouch. Two black ball holding racks lean against the wall. Each rack has three rows that hold five basketballs per row. The metallic feeling to these racks are very cold and intense to the touch. Life is a basketball, constantly bouncing up and down. All of the great basketball players used one common tool to keep life more on the upside of the metaphor, a basketball. Michael Jordan. LeBron James. Tim Duncan. Like they all used, the basketballs on this rack are exactly identical. Deep Tangerine Men’s basketballs, that have a light yellowish tint to them. Majestic stripes swirl around the balls as like the markings on a zebra. The bar codes on the basketballs are all whited out so that people cannot take and resell the balls. “Jimmy Floyd”, is written in large black letters across the front of the balls. This is written to protect the basketballs like a mother duck protects her ducklings.

The whistle sounded, and the game began. The ball was being played back and forth, points being scored by both teams. The score was twenty-three to twenty-four. If Hillsboro scored one more point, they would win the game. The ball hurled over the net off the serve, hit the arms of the opponent, and popped into the air in the perfect position for the setter. The setter tossed her arms up and pushed a quick set to the outside hitter. It was all in slow motion. Across the net, Alex Ratzlaff propelled off the floor, met the ball, and sent it like a bullet toward the floorboards beside me. It was in bounds, so I knew I had to dig it. I threw my arms across my body toward the ball, but my legs were like trees rooted deep into the ground. As I reached for the ball, I heard a strange sound. It was like one hundred Rice Krispies popping in a bowl of milk. I fell to the ground in the splits position. At