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The Night God Spoke

Tears Fall

By Timothy KincaidPublished 3 years ago 9 min read
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Our Clemson University bus pulls up to the Dean E. Smith Center. The Clemson Tiger Men’s Basketball team had never beat the North Carolina Tarheel Men’s Basketball team on their home court. As for me I had experienced a measure of success at The Dean Dome. A rush of images race through my mind. The stage is set, all 4 high school boys state championships are to be played here at the Smith Center. It’s my senior year at R.S Central High School. In the closing seconds I assisted on the go ahead bucket, stole the ball from the opposition, got fouled and with 5 seconds remaining sank 2 game sealing free throws. Forever cementing my R.S. Central Hilltoppers into North Carolina basketball history.

The burning question that comes to my mind: will my Clemson Tiger team make a bit of history on this fateful winter evening. We enter the Terror Dome with the best chance a Clemson team has had in decades. Less than a month ago we slayed the Dragon in Tiger Town in one of the greatest victories in our school’s history at Littlejohn Coliseum.

Tonight I visualize what it’s going to take to win. A perfect game and nothing less from my band of brothers. In order to defeat an Empire led by the God-like figure of the building’s namesake: Dean E. Smith. The only human capable of holding Black Jesus aka Michael Jordan under 20 points per game. The living legend is larger than life, a trend setting trailblazer who sat in with activists at White Only diners during the Civil Rights Era. He actually made it possible for myself and other African Americans players the opportunity to play in the ACC, with his recruitment and signing of the ACC’s first black player, Charlie Scott.

My transformation from happy go lucky student to warrior takes place as I enter so called Blue Heaven. The arena is as enormous as I remember. My cousin Reggie and I made the same walk inside the empty Dean Dome a few years earlier while still in high school. We were in awe. Today I’m not in awe but hell bent on destruction. Destroying the dreams of all 20,000 fanatics coming to watch a slaughter of my fellow Gladiators.

I understood the enormity of the challenge. It’s been some 20 years since a Tiger team came close to popping its cheery and finally losing their virginity with victory. Tonight it will take laser like focus from our entire team to find a small chink in the Armour of the Immortals. Their huge front line of past McDonald All-American and future NBA stars will be the ultimate test.

It’s going to take a heroic effort from a small town friendly boy to find the elusive chink, pierce a hole that slowly will bleed out Goliath, draining him of his superior strength and power. And as he weakens, pounce on him, bringing him down to earth. Lowering his stature just enough to where we can decapitate the Giant and with the head gone, the building will crumble. We will leave the scattered debris of the fallen Empire for someone else to clean up. We will not drag the dead corpses from the battlefield but escape stage left with victory and our lives still intact.

My team and I approach the entrance. We are stopped by security. He informs us one of the Carolina hostesses will usher us in. I spy a familiar face, it’s Elizabeth, her christian name. She’s Izzy to me. Izzy is an alumnus of my beloved RS Central High. This Hilltopper hottie is the baby sister of my Queen’s beard, her white boyfriend, while we were in high school. I’ve known her since she was a wittle fresh faced frosty in the ninth grade. Izzy has blossomed into a gorgeous college coed. The funny thing is I don’t think of her sexually even though she is a vision of beauty, poise and professionalism. I want to protect her as if she is my lil sissy.

I’m in Warrior mode with no time for extended pleasantries. However, she is my home girl; I want to tell her how proud I am and that I love her. She speaks. I give her a head nod and a smile. She informs The Chief (Coach Ellis) and Reno, our team manager, of all the information they require. Izzy ushers the entire team through a maze of halls and rooms that lead to the visitors locker room. Elizabeth is the perfect tour guide. I have a scary thought. If this is an Evil Empire, how can sweet, smart, beautiful Izzy be a part of it. She bleeds the same Hilltopper blood as I. We share the same home town history; She is a part of me; I am part of her.

I wipe out such blasphemous thoughts from my mind. They have obviously brainwashed my fair maiden from Small Town Friendly; she is under their mind control. Just as I willingly would sacrifice my cousin during battle. This sweet princess would be collateral damage during the destruction of the Empire. We make it to the locker rooms: they are immaculate. Usually visitor locker rooms suck for lack of a better term. The Dean Dome is the exception to the rule. Each player has huge wooden lockers, big screen TV’s and showers so clean it would impress your mama.

I bring us out for warm-ups, the most critical time of any game. I am laser focused. Fearless rage is the only emotion cursing through my veins. I’m not 6’8” with a 7 foot wingspan and forty inch vertical. My game is a mixture of bravado, rage, fearlessness and hour upon hours of repetition. I’ve built up such a lather I’ve ditched my warm-up jacket.

I’m being fed the ball by our managers shooting jumpers when one ball gets away. I go to chase it down. Somehow I don’t know if it’s Divine Intervention like Moses being given the Ten Commandments by God himself or Lucifer tempting Jesus in the desert, offering worldly pleasures. The ball rolls to Coach Smith, as I approach him to retrieve the ball GOD (Coach Smith) speaks. His words forever ingrained into my soul. Hi Tim, great game last time. Good luck tonight ( I had 12 points, 7 assists and 3 steals in our victory). He gives a perfect chest pass. The only thing I could muster out to say to GOD: thanks Coach.

The psyche of a baller is a very delicate thing. One thing out of the ordinary can change the course of history. Two unexpected events can bring a fledgling revolution to its knees. Napoleon had attempted to invade the Russian Empire and bring her down. Mother Nature had other ideas helping Russia with unexpected subzero conditions to stop world domination by one small Frenchman. Hitler tried to disrupt the natural order of things. Only to be stopped by a force no man or army can stop. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. April showers bring May flowers, the natural order of things. The Tarheels never losing at home to the Tigers. The natural order of things?

Tonight I dare to think for a second that this Empire isn’t evil. That at its core is good. Assembled by a Great Man not an Evil Dictator. Its agents pure as the driven snow, a Hilltopper above reproach: Izzy.

We put up a Herculean effort but like the brave 300 souls from the Small Town Friendly country Greece. Who fought valiantly against the Persian Empire. Superior play, a strategic game plan along with the deafening sound from 20,000 fanatics are too much. We retreat to live and fight another day.

College athletes don’t shed tears after a defeat. They understand that no team goes undefeated. Let it go, move on to the next game. However, my game is emotional. When you give blood and sweat, tears sometimes follow. I walk onto the floor to my Queen. She is there for me when my sunshine turns to showers. When my dreams of beating the Tar Heels on their home floor comes up short. My love offers a tender kiss, telling me how much she cares.

I hug her, tears come from defeat and loss. Baby, are you crying? She asks. Embarrassed. A little. I reply. Aw honey. She wipes my tears. I tell her how much it hurts. I feel like such a loser. I say. Baby don’t think of it that way. You didn’t lose. You just ran out of time. I hold her face. Thank you, baby. I love you. I reply. We kiss as if nobody’s watching. One of my teammates yells, Hey Lover Boy, the Chief will leave your ass. He says. Tell him I’m coming. I reply. Can you just come with me. Court says. No, but we will be in Greensboro to play Wake at the Greensboro Coliseum in a few weeks.

It’s a cold winter night, we walk out to the bus hugged up like the lovers we are. It begins to snow. Huge snowflakes fall. I don’t want you to go. She says. Her tears flow much more freely than mine. I kiss Court through the tears and the snow. The snowflakes falling from Heaven are almost as beautiful as my Queen’s angelic face. She chokes back her tears to compose herself. Baby, I love the snow. Isn’t it pretty? She says. We both take a moment to enjoy Mother Nature’s gift. The bus driver blows the horn. Court ignores it. She tilts her head back and extends her arms; the snow falling directly on her face. I’m holding her waist. Her smile returns. Baby, you are my perfectly unique snowflake. I say. Give her one last kiss goodbye. I run to the bus and take my window seat. Court is blowing kisses at me. I smile and wave.

Her aesthetically beautiful image standing in the moonlight as the snow falls around her will forever signify to me how differently falling snow is perceived. To an invading general, it can be a hindrance to his plans of annihilation and destruction. For a warrior after losing a battle it can signify rebirth and renewal. For my Queen it represents joy, happiness and the beauty of Mother Nature.

What I take from this defeat is sometimes the natural order of things is best left alone. Don’t worry about things beyond your control. A true warrior never relents, never accepts defeat, but sometimes he just runs out of time. Time: the Gift and the Curse.

School
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About the Creator

Timothy Kincaid

A freelance writer who offers ghostwriting ebooks, FaceBook posts, article & blog writing services. He works with B2B & B2C companies providing digital marketing content designed to drive traffic, increase conversion and SEO.

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