THE ROAR OF THE CROWD

It departs your hand, the ball, beginning its magnificent parabola. Your hands are high over your head, indeed, high over your opponents hand, which claws desperately at yours, striving, in futility, to stop the ball ere it commences its graceful arc. You see it soar, with just the right amount of hold and counterclockwise spin. As it rotates, eerily reminiscent of our dear planet as it plows onwards with its eternal journey, a smile creeps onto your face. Not a smile of victory, not just yet. You have learnt your lesson about counting chickens well. A smile of admiration, it seems, no more. It seems so stately, so elegant, and so regal. Almost as if it senses the stares of every person in the arena, and is determinedly holding its chin high.

Nonsense, you say to yourself, it is naught but a ball. Don’t personify it, you admonish yourself. And yet… it is now more than just a ball, more than a spherical construct of hide and cloth. It is, and has been ever since it left your hand, the world, the whole world. It is the center of the veritable microcosm that is the arena.

You shake your head inwardly, now descending from the heights of your leap, left leg cocked, ready for a soft landing. The ball still soars, now beyond all human control. Strange, you think, that it should end like this. Ironic, it is. A season of grueling games, almost an entire year of preparation and training, and in the fag end, all is decided by this one shot, this one flight of the ball. C’est la vie, you say to yourself and turn to something stranger. Acutely aware of your body, you start to feel the throbbing in your limbs that you have blocked out for so long. As your hands fall to your sides and the ball of your right foot touches the varnished wood of the floor, you begin to notice every bead of perspiration, every lub-dub of your heart, every burst of adrenaline, every place where your wet jersey adheres to your skin, every shallow breath which does nothing to alleviate that stabbing pain just beneath your breastbone.

As your knee buckles ever so slightly, the product of years of training, calculated just so to mitigate the impact, you look at your teammates. The look on their faces shocks you. You look towards your opponents. They bear identical expressions. Never before have you seen so much raw, unbridled hope on a face. Of course, you realize, they are probably hoping and praying for exactly opposing things, with perhaps equal fervor, and yet, perhaps to the same god. Boy, is he gonna have a tough time!! A humorless smile crosses your face momentarily. C’est la vie, you say to yourself again.

You are now back on terra firma, and your attention returns to the magnificent orb, now seemingly hovering, motionless at the apex of its path. Slowly, even as you look on, it commences the second half of its fateful journey. Strange, you think, how time seems to decelerate as that thing moves inexorably along its path.

Turning to the crowd now, you see every pair of eyes riveted on the ball. You seek out your coach. There he is, half standing, poised to charge onto the court. It’s comical, you observe with almost a detached amusement, how his jaw hangs open. Ah, the grand old man, you think with a mixture of affection and admiration. Your eyes move, into the bleachers, seeking somebody. You find her face, and are stunned. She is watching the ball, but surely…surely, she is praying?? Her hands are clasped, wrung around each other, nails bitten to bloody stumps. Almost as if she senses your eyes on her, she turns, and your eyes lock. And you know, you understand, in that instant, why she is that special someone.

Your eyes turn back to the ball, though not before you notice the great standard, that majestic flag under which you have toiled countless days, rigid, almost as if it too is holding its breath. The orb is now in the final moments of its fateful journey, one way or another. You, a lifelong atheist, begin to bargain. If there is indeed a god in heaven…

The spin of the ball is mesmerizing, hypnotic. You can see every contour, even read the small green lettering. Your eyes are watering; you have forgotten the last time you blinked. This is it, one last breath…

SWISH!!!!

All net!! A perfect shot!!

The explosion is instantaneous, thunderous. You fear that the roof might actually cave in this time. Pandemonium reigns. You sink to your knees, the championship yours to hold high. Strange, you think, why am I not happier? You can see your teammates charging towards you, your silver standard flies high and happy. Thumps on your back, your hand being pumped. It hasn’t sunk in yet. Why, you ask. Why all this? As the adrenaline drains, a strange overwhelming numbness fills you, removing all but the question. Why? You look at the beaming, ecstatic faces of your teammates. They’ve given it their all, each and every one of them. But that’s not it. Neither is it the gloomy, crestfallen looks on your opponent’s faces. You turn to the crowd, every last one of them blessing you with their eyes. You look at your coach… Aww.. the strong, silent man is in tears. This is his victory. He has seen you through so much. But that’s still not it. Where is it? Where is the answer? You turn to her, her face like a beacon for you. The joy in her face, her glistening eyes are there for all to behold. She blows you a kiss. You smile back at her, but it is a hollow smile. This isn’t it either. Why does it elude me so?

You close your eyes, your muscles relaxing. A long sigh escapes your lips. You hear nothing specific, you see nothing in particular. Her face melts back into the crowd, as does everyone else’s. A dull throb fills your ears. A throb, you sense, of immense power. It rises and falls, at some points reaching a soaring crescendo. Your eyes snap open. THIS is it!!! You turn around; take in the crowd, not as many individuals, but as one single entity, an entity with power immeasurable. This is the answer. This is why you pushed your mind, body and soul. This is why you spent, quite literally, blood, sweat and tears. Something which lifts you, sustains you, fills you with a warm glow in your belly. This is why you did everything you did. This is why you will do it again. You close your eyes, a blissful smile on your face, and let it sink in…

The roar of the crowd……

Disclaimer: The preceding text is intended purely as a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person or event, past or present, is entirely coincidental.