Our hands converged to the center of the circle. Our bodies rose and fell and swayed in kinetic discord. We lifted our hands and our voices crescendoed into a fierce growl:
"One, two, three. STAFF!"
We stretched our quads one last time and exuded confidence with every look into each others' eyes. This was no ordinary pick-up game played after school in the old gym of the Paul Robeson complex. This was the student-staff basketball game, and we meant business.
There was the cat-like Hara, the unequivocal leader of the team. The lightning-quick Joudrey. The wily Clarke. The Big Dog, Abramson. And the math teacher (me). On the other side of the half-court line stood the boys' basketball team, which had failed to win a single game all season. Just part of their plan to lull us into a false sense of complacency. We were up to their ruse. This would be no walk in the park.
The game was tight from the opening tip. Missed lay-up to missed jump shot, we matched each other at each end of the court. When one of the reserves on the boys' team missed two free throws at the end of the 20 minute period, giving the teachers a dominant 1-point victory, there was little need to celebrate. Our masterful display out there was a celebration of the game of basketball.
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