Descriptive Essay: The Boston Latin Player

My first championship game, I was in the eighth grade. It’s like it was yesterday, I could see the crowd standing and cheering for both teams, both teams getting hyped up in a continuous rumble through the gym. We come out on the court as team captains meeting the other team's captains. Both teams have cold hand during tip off, they win jump ball and we immediately start to play M&M (Man To Man) defence. They score first and continuously score for about a minute and a half, while we still have zero points. Finally we get a steal and a score, that actually hypes us up. It’s going on 10 minutes left in the first quarter, we call a timeout. Coach says “Come on yall we gotta do something out there these guys are embarrassing

As I got settled in the dugout, I heard my coach yell, ¨Michael, youŕe batting second in the lineup, and

"MOM! I do not know! PLEASE, calm down all I remember was the ball coming in my direction and I could not save myself," I continued to tell my mother everything that the athletic trainer said and

"Wing right 127 boot pass right on one," whispered coach. I ran out to the huddle and repeated the play.

It was the fourth quarter in the conference championship game and the bright green scoreboard read 40 to 39 with 10 seconds left. The fans were out of their seats flailing their arms with wide eyes. The glowing lights in the gym beamed off of the shiny court which smelled like glossy wood. I had butterflies in my stomach ,and my heart was racing. As soon as I heard the high shrill of the whistle, I was ready to play ball.

I opened the door and lost my footing as I was reaching for the light switch. I fell down the stairs, each step hitting my body on the way down. Until, in the quiet darkness, my head hit the cold concrete floor

By then my coach had ordered everyone for some space and he knelt down and said, “Whats wrong”.

I pack up my stuff and make my way out. I know coach is going to question me. He always does. He's very concerned about his plays. That's why I like him. I pushed open the door, letting out a squeal.

“ Ok, thanks.” I responded. I stood in the goalie cage, and saw the field being covered

The game was on the line, down 96 to 98. Kevin shot 3 feet behind the 3-point line, with 3.9 seconds left. Not even acknowledging the fact that Gage was open for the cut to the basket and dunk the state title to victory. But as the ball left fingers the crowd all moaned “AWE” even they knew that the ball was nowhere near the hoop. But Kevin didn’t care, because he knew that he had been fouled. Right when the spinning ball reached its peak, the referees blew their whistles signaling a shooting foul. Tommy and Gage both looked towards the bench from the court at the junior varsity players and among them was Henry, at this time he was a measly 5’10” - 160 lbs. Henry sat back down as the players lined up for Kevin’s three free throw shots.

Finally it’s time, the teams are both ready for war. We run out from the tunnel of our locker room and there’s more people there then the population of the city it seemed. The atmosphere was perfect, flashing lights, loud audience, and our rivals. We strike first in this dogfight with a thirty-five yard run by our cheetah like All-State running back. Around the second quarter, I was running to go block a short stocky kid. I see someone dive at my legs. His helmet goes directly into my knee bending the opposite way it should. I instantly feel a pop in my knee. I fall in agonizing pain. The trainers rush to me and asked “what hurts?” I tried so hard to speak and tell them what hurts but words just couldn’t come out. I point at my knee. This tall bald headed man who i’ve never seen before clears his throat and said “I hate to tell you this but you dislocated your knee cap.”

"Alright," I replied. I pulled my boots back on and wrapped my scarf around my neck. Beckett merged onto exit ramp and took a right into a rest stop. I hopped out and stretched a little, reaching my arms above my head.

We continued with the conversation for a few more minutes, said our goodbyes, and then hung up. My mom began

Once inside the locker room, I almost passed out. I slumped against a locker. I felt dizzy and weak. And then I cried, and felt ashamed of my tears. But coach knew exactly what to say. “It’s okay,” Coach said to me, but he was talking to the whole team. “If you care about something enough, it’s going to make you cry.

This man, like me, was missing most of his teeth. But he, unlike me, was not waiting for his permanent teeth to arrive. I had to devise a plan to get this man to smile again. As the resident tooth puller on Lincoln Street, I looked forward to an opportunity to utilize my hands. One tooth pulling lemonade stand attempt and small collection of my teeth later, my illicit dental practice came to an abrupt halt. My mother, then