The Pamberton Panthers have always been one of the strongest teams in the valley. Known for their three-point shooting and tenacious defense, it's no surprise they were ranked amongst the top teams in the province last season—of course, along with ourselves. Jackson Macintosh, a 6'10" big-man from Saskatchewan, is ranked second behind me in the British Columbian top players. His size and agility played a key factor in their winning streaks last year, and he'll be a problem tonight down in the post for Kevin and Jeffrey.

          "Okay," Coach Meldrum says, drawing on the provided whiteboard inside our home locker room. "We need to lock in defensively tonight if we want to play with these guys half-court. Obviously, we gotta keep Macintosh off the boards, and we need to make sure we're taking care of the ball on offence."

          "Kevin and Jeffrey will need help down in the post," Coach Anton adds, even though he rarely speaks. "Be ready to switch when the picks are set."

          "As usual, we're gonna start in our regular zone defense," Meldrum continues. "They're a bigger team, so we can leave shooters open more than often, but don't be fooled. They have a guard named Zachary Middleton who can knock down jumpers or one-dribble pull-ups. T-roy and Rashard, you'll be running Gonzaga as usual, but make sure we're careful with the ball."

          T-roy and I nod at one another. We had success against Pamberton last year, winning both of our games, but were close matches that went down to the very wire. Both of us know we need to execute our game plan and play hard.

          "We're gonna go with our black uniforms tonight," Meldrum says. "We'll hit the court in fifteen minutes. Talk amongst yourselves for now and get ready mentally." With that, he and Coach Anton exit the locker room and leave us to ourselves.

          "Let's go, boys," Tony says, hyping us up for the game. Even though he doesn't play much, that kid's got spirit and heart inside him.

          Kevin is standing by the wall, doing some calf stretches to loosen up. He and Jeffrey are discussing how they'll match up with Jackson Macintosh.

          Getting ready myself, I decide I'll wear my Kobe shoes tonight, considering I didn't play too well against Notre Dame with the LeBron's. I prefer their flexibility, and strangely, despite being low-tops, I feel they provide better ankle support, which I've happened to endure numerous injuries throughout my career.

          The sound of the home crowd cheering emerges through the locker room walls. I absolutey love playing in this gym. I adore the fans who come and support us. It feels like we're all one big family, with one goal in mind, and that's to repeat as champions. When I finally make the big leagues one day, I'll be playing in front of even bigger crowds, with more pressure. Not to mention live television with people watching across the world. So it's only fair I get used to it now.

          Moments later, Meldrum pops his head back in and gives the signal. One by one, we line up behind each other, ready to hit the court. I bounce up and down to myself, really hyping up my energy.

          We gradually make our way to the court, welcomed by screams from the supporting fans. Each of us grab a ball from the rack, jogging with our warm-up shirts on, naturally forming into a layup line. I look in the crowd and see Dian, sitting in her usual spot. She smiles and blows a kiss, with me pretending to catch it.

          The music plays loudly as the game edges nearer and nearer. Like always, I jog to half-court and touch the centre line after laying the ball in.

          Watching Jeffrey and Kevin slam some two-handed dunks, I feel like joining the hype.

          So, switching the layup line to the left, I dribble into the paint and take off.

          However, unlike in the past, usually accomplishing with utter ease, I get viciously denied by the rim. In other words, not able to jump high enough.

          What the? I'm always able to dunk in warm-ups, ever since the tenth grade. Maybe I just didn't time it properly. Maybe I had a poor jump.

          Regardless, I keep getting my body ready.

          I jog to centre court another time, Jackson Macintosh and I acknowledge each other. We're not exactly friends who talk on the phone every night, but we played together two summers ago, at a camp for the best players in the nation—so we got a chance to hang out a little.

          As usual, with two minutes until tip-off, Meldrum calls for another prep talk, again, going over our assignments.

          It's at this point, I notice I'm a little...tired.

          Truthfully, it's not the first time today. In class earlier, I had a difficult time focusing, as I seemed more intrigued by the lovely foods I fantasized about eating.

          Nonetheless, I listen to Meldrum's speech, reminding myself to stay composed.

          After player introductions—myself hyped up, being announced last—we set the court. We've got the same referees as usual, Bryon and Malcolm. They invite us to half court, prepared to start the match. This time Jeffrey will be taking the jump ball, as Meldrum wants Kevin playing the high post.

          Just like that, the ball's thrown in the air, Kevin tipping it to my hands.

          The game is on.

          Hearing yet another cheer, I pass the ball to T-roy, letting him bring it up. Right away, he's holding a fist, preparing for Gonzaga. I get into position and set the screen, allowing him to free his check. T-roy dribbles for a moment, passing back as I roll to the basket. As I receive the ball, I notice Kevin open down low. I send a bounce pass to the chest, laying it in for two.

          We give one another a high-five on the way back, me getting my first assist of the game. Locking in on defense, I get into position in the right corner for our zone. I see that Jackson Macintosh is sealing Jeffrey down low in the post, calling for the ball. Going with my gut instinct, I naturally help side by getting low and creating a double-team. A Pamberton player attempts to dump the ball in, yet Jeffrey swats it away, causing a turnover.

          Right away, I get on my horse and sprint down the wing of the court, as we now have an opportunity to score in transition. Our small forward Melvin Direton sees me cutting to the basket with speed, giving a nice lob pass over the defense. I catch the ball and lay it in, leading us up by four. Dang. Not a bad start. I already got one assist, caused a turnover, and two points. This is a much better way to lead off the game than I did against Notre Dame. I'm feeling good and confident. Let's fucking go.

          But about three or four minutes into the game, I'm starting to feel even more tired. This is quite odd, considering I'm usually pumped up and energized for every game that I play in. That's always been my burning desire, to compete and push myself against my opponents, but right now I'm not feeling that same motivation to run up the court and give it all I have. My bones feel weaker than normal, and I'm not as tenacious overall.

          By the time Coach Meldrum calls our first time out, I feel a slight sense of relief. To know that I can sit down on the bench and take a rest gives me comfort. To make things clear, I'm not dead-beat exhausted, but this is probably the first time I've ever felt this kind of laziness on the court. I grab a green Gatorade bottle filled with icy-cold water and take a slug, feeling the sweat pouring down me. Jeez...I really have to get my head in this game. So far both teams are tied, with four minutes left in the first quarter. We need to get this win.

          We make our way back onto the court. The fans are cheering loudly as usual, yet the atmosphere and heavy noises are almost strangely overwhelming. Again, I would usually love this kind of environment, but I'm still feeling a bit out of it. Regardless, I push myself through the discomfort, making sure that I'm there for my team. We inbound the ball and T-roy brings it up as usual, again throwing up a fist for Gonzaga. I run to my position, this time not setting a screen, because I don't want the other team predicting our every move.

          Once the ball's in my hands, I start backing my check down, posting him up like a Kobe Bryant signature fadeaway. But just as I'm about to take the shot, the ball is stolen out of my hands, and Pamberton dashes down the court for a three-on-one advantage. Jackson Macintosh eventually gets the ball and dunks it for two, hanging from the rim and slapping the backboard with one hand. Running back and forth down the court tonight seems more like a job than a passion. I'm still not exhausted, but I just can't seem to muster up the energy I need to compete at my highest level.

          As usual, Coach Meldrum subs me out the game around the two-minute mark. As I walk down my row of my teammates, them giving me high-fives, I take a seat on the bench. I grab a towel and wipe the sweat from my face. I watch as Pamberton goes on an 8–0 run to close out the quarter, now up by twelve. I can tell that Coach Meldrum is frustrated by the look on his face. In a constructive manner, he goes on a rant about how we aren't playing together as a team, and need to take more care of the ball.

          The second quarter of the game begins, me still sitting on the bench. It seems like the team is doing everything Meldrum told us not to do, as we turn the ball over yet again, giving up another two points in transition. The once loud, positive cheers from the home crowd are beginning to quiet. There's more of an apprehensive tension going on in the gym, as this is not the start we were hoping for. I can't help but feel some worry as I watch my team miss shot after shot.

          Eventually, Meldrum subs me back into the game before halftime. After getting a nice long rest on the bench, I really felt I was going to get a boost of energy. But once again, after running up and down the court numerous times, I sense that lethargic feeling coming back. There's a small cramp beginning to form in the right side of my stomach. 

          Long story short, I do absolutely nothing productive for my team before the half, turning over the ball three more times and missing two open jump shots. I'm playing even worse than against Notre Dame.

          After talking things over in the locker room, now down by twenty at the half, things don't get any better for us in the second portion of the game. We go on a quick run at the end of the third quarter, but overall we just can't climb our way back into the game. Just like the last match, Meldrum subs us starters out with a few minutes to go, and puts the benchwarmers in, including Tony. Feeling frustrated, I sit down on the bench once again, disappointed in my lack of effort tonight. I end up with nine points, four turnovers, and only two assists—definitely not what a number-one player in the province should be producing. Jackson Macintosh made me look like a chump, capping off with twenty-one points, twelve rebounds, and six assists. Most importantly, getting the win for his team.

          The locker room is quiet after the game. There isn't laughing and chatter, like last year when we would demolish teams and go celebrate after. Instead, I'm in the stall to one of the showers, feeling the warm water trickle down my body, the same frame that seems to get slightly larger every day. I run the shampoo through my hair, knowing that I really have to step things up. Nobody could have imagined we'd start the season with zero wins and two losses. We were the best team in the province by a landslide, and now we've opened the year so poorly.

          Regardless, I just want some good food to forget this night and move forward.