Game Over

As I stood at the three point line, the ball seemed to be in slow motion.
Screams from the crowd came as the ball dropped through the net. Not only did
this shot go in but it dropped through the net with such force that it made a
sound that was heard throughout the gym. The gym was packed and the fans were on
their feet, I had just hit my first three pointer of my varsity basketball
career. As our team set up the press, sweat dripped from my face. I was close
enough to kiss my opponent, there was no way he was going to get the ball. He
shoved me backward and he planted his foot on mine, he then pushed off and ran
for the inbounder. I fell back a few feet and sprinted towards my man. As the
inbounder released the ball with a firm push I stuck my hand out in hopes for a
steal, SNAP! As the ball was deflected towards the right my man ran and picked
it up. I quickly looked down at my finger and with fear and pain walked over to
my bench. My pinkie-finger on my right hand was at a ninety degree angle, as
sweat dripped down may face I could feel myself getting hot. My stomach seemed
to drop and I was feeling as if I was on a roller coaster. The game had been
stopped and I was brought into the coaches room. My assistant coach led me into
the room and sat me down on a wooden chair. I began to feel very cold, and my
finger began to have a shooting pain. This pain was not present before and was
no making itself known that there was something wrong with.

My parents entered the room, my mother carrying a face that I never had seen
before. My father with a calm collective look to him. The assistant then began
to explain that there was to deal with this, either go to the hospital and miss
the game or deal with it write in the room. My mother stared over at my coach
when he relayed this message to me and my father seem to agree with my coach. I
looked at my coach with eyes of trust and horror, and then laid my hand in his.
He then took his hand and placed it over my pinkie. Which by now was swelling
and extremely painful, he then got a firm grip and with one quick tug my finger
was now vertically correct. My coach then looked at me with bulging eyes and
asked how it felt. Being the starting point guard on my schools varsity team
there was no way I was going to say that I needed to leave the game. With a
convincing nod and a energetic response I was on my way back onto the court. I
reentered the game and the crowd began to applaud, I was so nervous. It was like
the first time I had ever played basketball in front of a crowd. The game
resumed and I ran down the court, my finger throbbed and I could not help but
think of it. My teammates snapped the ball quickly over to me and I caught it. I
felt like dropping the ball and running to the sideline but instead I got rid of
the ball as soon as I could. I then proceeded to run over to the sideline and
with a look of pain in my eyes I let my coach know that I needed to come out of
the game. As I sat there and watched my team lose the game I could not decide if
I was hurting more from my finger or form the fact that I was not in there
helping my team. As the coach was screaming and yelling in the locker room I
could not help but think about my finger, the pain was no shooting down my arm
and I was praying that I did not break it. I showered and proceeded to get
dressed. Each time I buttoned a button on my shirt I would get a shooting pain,
I began to believe that I should go to the hospital but I did not want to let
anyone know. I walked up the steps and there were my parents, my Mom gave me a
look of compassion and she seemed very concerned. Sternly,