Making History

By: Tiffany Esmailian (Grade 11)

BEEEEEEP! The game is over, and I’m still stupefied about how we managed to pull it off. The crowd cheers, the coach claps, teammates hug, but I still can’t absorb the fact that we really did it. Actually, I’m a bit lost at the moment, and can’t figure out if people are congratulating me or trying to comfort me. Tears, hugs, and words of encouragement: I’ve seen them before. I’ve seen them at funerals, and I’ve seen them at graduations. Therefore, at this moment I’m pretty bewildered about what is going on. I look up to see the brightly lit score on the board, and it finally clicks. Wow. I never thought I’d be a part of history at this school.

I’ve been told to keep my head up. I’ve been told to keep going. I’ve been told to stay strong. But, I’ve also been told to give up. I’ve been told to stop trying. I’ve been told that it’s not worth it. For some reason, I hear the first three ringing in my head way more than the last three. Why? It’s because basketball isn’t just a hobby. Basketball is a part of me. Take that part away, and I won’t be a complete person. All those losses, injuries, sweat, tears, and pain are what make me happy. They’re what make me feel deserving of that victory.

Growing up, playing with all the boys wasn’t my favorite thing to do. Having girls look at me with confused faces, thinking I was such a “tomboy,” wasn’t what I looked forward to everyday. Just because I had strength, perseverance, and confidence, it didn’t mean I was any less of a girl than they were. Maybe, back then I’d prefer a new basketball over a new Barbie doll. Maybe, instead of going to the mall, I’d rather go to the park and shoot some hoops. Maybe, instead of wearing the cute little clothes from Limited Too, I’d rather wear my basketball shorts with a Lakers’ championship t-shirt. That’s just the kid I was.

Basketball has taught me how to be dedicated and devoted to something. Missing a practice makes me feel careless, negligent, and lazy, even if I have a legitimate excuse. Coaches, teammates, referees, and crowds don’t even matter sometimes. It’s just me and Mr. Spalding.

After attending AGBU Manoogian-Demirdjian School for twelve years, I began to think of my school days as routine. I’d wake up at the same time, wear the same uniform, sit in the same car, go through the same classes, and come home and do the same homework. There was no excitement, no change, and definitely, no surprises. If anything added a little spark to my day, it was my basketball team. But even that became a bit monotonous after a while. That is, until one day when our team was informed of a very significant piece of information.

Our school, unfortunately, did not pay much attention to sports, or at least, they didn’t pay as much attention as they should. Therefore, it was no surprise that we did not know that our Girls’ Varsity Basketball team was just a few small steps away from making AGBU history. We were informed that the furthest that any sports team at AGBU Manoogian-Demirdjian School had gone was the quarter-finals in our CIF league playoffs. With this piece of information, tremendous dreams were about to be made real.

Something inside all of us sparked; the burning flame of passion was instantly lit. We knew our goal, and we knew our incentive. There was absolutely nothing in the world that would get in our way. Eight determined minds, eight hearts set on the prize, eight reasons why we knew we were doing this. All eight of us were in this together. It was one goal, one team, and one mindset. We were ready to give it our all, regardless of the consequences.

When all of this hit us, we were about mid-season. That meant that we had half a season to play hard, win, and qualify for the playoffs, which we did. Sweat, blood, and tears: on our journey, we saw them all, but thought “No pain, no gain.” With players sitting out due to injuries, long bus rides to away games, loss of sleep due to arriving home late from a game and having to finish up leftover homework—personally, I think we did an exceptional job.

A major disadvantage we faced was not having a gym to practice in for most of the season. Playing outside on our plastic basketball court was beginning to become very irritating, not to mention a dangerous hazard to our bodies. It was December, which meant the sun went down earlier. This cut into our practice time, and well, I think you get my point. The odds were against us, as if that mattered. Try telling a young, determined mind, “No.” I dare you.

So, there we were. The day of our first playoff game, and boy, were we excited. We all frantically ran into the newly renovated gymnasium, to wait for our game to begin. We decorated the place with signs and posters, and we tried to get ourselves the biggest hyped-up crowd that we could. Our opponents from Southwestern Academy entered the gym as if they were tyrants preparing to demolish our team. Little did they know, a little heart goes a long way. We ended up winning by the humiliating score of 78-15.

It was time for round two, and honestly, we were a bit intimidated. We were ranked as the number thirteen team, and we were scheduled to play against the team ranked number four: Saddleback Valley Christian. At this point, rank obviously meant nothing because we were the victors of this game, too, by a score of 49-43. I honestly did not think the amount of pride and sense of accomplishment in that gymnasium could have been measured. We vanquished them on their own home court, and nothing in the world felt better than hearing that buzzer at the end of the fourth quarter.

The buzz about our team grew around campus, and more and more spectators planned on showing up to our next game. This next game just so happened to be the game that determined our reputation. If we defeated our opponent, Highland Hall, we would have officially made AGBU history books as the team to go the furthest in the playoffs. What a sense of accomplishment, don’t you think? We were in it to win. Nothing, no one, and no words could take this away from us.

BEEEEEEP! The game is over, and I’m still stupefied about how we managed to pull it off. The crowd cheers, the coach claps, teammates hug, but I still can’t absorb the fact that we really did it. Actually, I’m a bit lost at the moment, and can’t figure out if people are congratulating me or trying to comfort me. Tears, hugs, and words of encouragement: I’ve seen them before. I’ve seen them at funerals, and I’ve seen them at graduations. Therefore, at this moment I’m pretty bewildered about what is going on. I look up to see the brightly lit score on the board, and it finally clicks. Wow. I never thought I’d be a part of history at this school.
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Addendum: Thank you to Akantha for adding on as a follower of Saroyan's Ghost.