Missionary Kid's March Madness

We were on our way to the infamous basketball tournament in Central Asia . Our team consisted of two tenth graders, two ninth graders, two eighth graders, and two seventh graders (we crave symmetry). Now I'm not gonna lie, we have some serious ballers on our team, especially our two tenth graders. That said, we were all well aware of what we were getting ourselves into. This tournament was made up of eight teams, most of them made up of six foot five giant twelfth graders who can dunk, or teams that practice five hours a day, six days a week and who have played together since they were four.

Our first game was against our cross town rival TIS. TIS is where the diplomats and business men and the like send their kids. They've got some big boys too. Our coach is a random guy, in his mid 20s, who came to teach and just happened to have a lot of basketball experience. For their coach they hired the former assistant coach of West Point . Despite their size, age, numbers, and coaching, we were determined to make a game of it.

And make a game of it we did. In fact, we were ahead by four at half time.

Then the foul trouble hit. Imagine taking out your star player in the biggest game of these kids lives, and replacing him with a seventh grader who had never even played basketball before this season. But our kids hung tough, and managed to stay within six late in the game. However, those of you watching March madness know that six is nearly insurmountable when "late in the game"

becomes "seriously, the game is almost over."

So we found ourselves down by six with forty seconds left. Most all of starters were in foul trouble. But these guys just wouldn't quit! With thirty five seconds left, our big guy made a lay up and got fouled. The crowd went crazy. The gym was packed, and they couldn't believe that this undersized, undermanned, under aged team was still in this game. Everybody loves an underdog, and this crowd was no different. They were all behind us. After our guy hit the free throw, we were only down by three.

There was no shot clock at this tournament, so they could just pass the ball around and wait for time to run out. I watched from the bench in agony as second after second ticked off the clock. With about fifteen seconds left, they threw up a shot. No good. Our rebound. We rushed down the court in a flash. With ten seconds left, one of our best players spotted up for a three. I don't think I was breathing. I managed to maintain consciousness just long enough to hear the crowd erupt when it went in. Eight seconds left... tie game.

This time we couldn't afford to sit back and wait. So with seven seconds left, our point guard fouled their best shooter. He got two shots. The crowd was going crazy trying to drum up as much noise as they could. I literally looked out the window, trying to imagine how peaceful it must be to be taking a stroll through the parking lot. I heard the collective groan as his first free throw went in. Now we were down by one. I held my breath for his second shot. This one I watched.

With seven seconds left, his second free throw bounced of the rim and into the right corner. Our best and biggest player chased it down. He met the ball at the exact moment the shooter did. Our guy wrestled it away with five seconds on the clock. He took off down the court. He crossed half court with three seconds left. The crowd was literally thundering. I couldn't see straight.

He had one guy in front of him, their biggest, nastiest defender. Our guy ran straight at him. Two seconds. One second. Pass to our tiniest guy, hanging out in the corner. Shot... Buzzer... Pandemonium! We rushed onto the court Hoosier style. It had gone in. We won by one point.

I've seriously never seen anything like it. I used to think those guys who ran out on the court screaming and hugging and generally making fools of themselves were, I don't know, maybe faking it. Not true. It was huge.

- Anonymous, Central Asia

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