Creative Work Compilation

Walking in to our enemies’ heated gym late last October, I felt chills throughout my body, from my ears to my toes, and from the looks of my teammates I wasn’t alone. It was a gym we had played at three times before and lost twice, but there was a different feeling about it today. The gym itself seemed bigger than when we played in it before but at the same time we felt smaller. A vast number of people showed up because it was the sectional semi-finals, and the thought of this game being their team’s final game of the season forced them to come and support us. We felt like ants compared to all the people there and the enormity of the gym but we still walked in with our heads held high, knowing that we came there on a mission.

We began warming up, understanding the gravity of the situation and what we had to do to pull off the Cinderella story and upset the Goliath standing in our way to the championships. Every small moment felt bigger than it really was to us. The strides we took while jogging to warm up sounded like thunder on the wooden floors, even amidst the rowdy noises coming from the stands. We quickly got into a circle and started our routine stretches, loosening everything from our necks to our calves, trying to focus on the game and tune out the other team, the fans, the refs, and at some points even our coaches.

I began my own routine, trying to keep it the same as I had done the last eleven games. Sitting down on the bench while everyone else started peppering the balls around; I began to put on my red, white, and black game shoes that I had consciously tried not to match with my purple and gold outfit so that I could stand out. Not wanting to miss any more of my warm-up, I rushed the rest of my routine. I quickly grabbed my kneepads and left them hanging around my ankles, pulled my high purple socks up and grabbed my bag over to me. I quickly glanced at the funeral/prayer card of one of my closest friends with me in my bag that I looked at before every game to remember what I was playing for, took off my rosary, and headed off to serve and spike with the rest of my “brothers.”

I barely got in a couple of serves before the whistle blew to start the game. This was the start of the moment of truth; where months of watching videos, doing Pilates, running until we collapsed, and constant drills at five in the morning would pay off. I started feeling the chills, the goosebumps, and the butterflies in my stomach with the current atmosphere. With the flip of the Eisenhower dollar coin, we were awarded the serve and they were forced to receive whatever we had in store for them.

With the support of our home fans we circled up into our huddle and began our chants to energize ourselves and at the same time instill fear into our rivals. Ending it with our signature, “1-2-3 Win, 1-2-3 Now, 1-2-3 North,” we stormed onto the court and got into our positions ready to start off what none of us knew would be one of the most memorable games of our lives.

The game was a best of five series and from the first set we were a different team than we thought we would play like. We were nervous, the pressure was getting to us and we were letting the butterflies win over a game that had been second nature to us. The game that normally made the linear motion of physics look easy was falling apart. We weren’t spiking the balls at our normal 45° downward angles, which worked perfectly. Instead we were hitting the volleyballs into the net or fifteen feet out of bounds and before we even recognized what had happened we were in a 0-2 deficit in the series.

Trying to stay alive, we knew there was a very real possibility that our volleyball seasons would be extinct for the next year, and for the seniors on the team, gone forever. Everyone stopped talking at the same time and stared into the eyes of their fellow teammates in the huddle, thinking of all the memories shared together the months before. Thinking about the journey we had taken to get here, how we had gone from just a bunch of guys that barely knew what volleyball was, to a band of brothers who would never be separated, we wiped off the sweat that was dripping down our eyes and darkening our purple jerseys, and brought ourselves back on to the court ready to take the game one point at a time.

The worst part about losing is the quicksand feeling. The harder you try to fight to quickly get out of your slump the faster you sink into the sand. That feeling quickly changed the next two games. We felt more like an avalanche. Once we started racking up a few points nothing could stand in our way. Volleyball seemed like a new sport to us. The way the sounds of the game changed so quickly, from the quiet, barely perceivable sound of a perfect back, jump set to the thunderous sound of a monstrous spike. With every point came the extra momentum that carried us, making us feel even more invincible. Blowing out the next two games like we were playing little kids, we felt unstoppable until the final game.

The game that felt like an avalanche of purple reigning down supreme on the lesser brown trees that stood in our path only to be demolished, quickly turned back into the brown sand sucking us in like quicksand. We started the fifth game too conceited and quickly found ourselves in a hole too big to climb out of. We needed ten more points to win while they needed just one. If we faltered just once, they would take advantage and crush our Cinderella story. We needed our spark; the one pin drop or clap that would start the avalanche. It came in the form of a single person waiting in the stands: a player from Suffern, another rival of ours, taunting us because they were already in the finals. The smirk he had on his face when we were in our darkest state of mind angered us reminding us that the night was darkest just before the dawn. This was our darkest hour and our dawn was awaiting us ahead. That was our pin drop that began our avalanche. One point after another, we began out storm that wouldn’t stop; attacking the volleyball so hard that even it was begging for mercy. Winning the game by a final score of 27-25, our fans stormed the court leaving a brown gym filled with a purple and gold avalanche of fans.

Third Creative Work: Keys to Success: (Inspired by quote at beginning)

New Project 1 – Medium