¨Against the Odds¨

I could still see it happening 5 seconds left down by 2. I catch the inbound and sprint up the court past the pressing defenders. Just past the half-court line, I let the ball fly with the flick of my wrist. It was like everything was in slow motion. The crowd went quiet while the ball rotated in a perfect circle. BRRRRR!! I held my followthrough as the ball swished through the faded white net and my team tackled me right where I released the best shot of my life. That’s when I snapped out of my daydream and back into reality. I listened to the radio as my mom drove down the wet black pavement of the road. Rain pounded on the windshield and echoed throughout the vehicle. The car came to a halt at a stop sign. The engine revved as the car moved forward. That’s when I saw the headlights coming straight for the front passenger door. 

I woke up in a hospital bed to the smell of soaps and cleaners that filled the room. My doctor was talking to my mom. She had a worried look on her face. 

¨Mom?”

“Hey, how are you feeling?”, she asked.

I couldn’t feel my legs but I didn’t get anything out of my mouth before I drifted back to sleep.

I spent the next few days in the hospital and occupied myself by playing NBA2K. I had many of my teammates and friends come in to check how I was doing. Every time my answers were always short and dry. It was when I saw an Instagram post about my injury that realized I might never play basketball again. I never got to commit to a college. I also will never get to fill out my dream. Even though I had people all around me I never felt so alone. No one understood what I was going through. I was zoned out when my mom walked in with her phone in her hand.

“Hey look what I found on Facebook,” she said as she handed me her phone.

It was an article about wheelchair basketball. I never thought that this was going to be me. That I would have to spend my life in a wheelchair. Although for the first time since the car crash I had hope. I felt like I had no purpose without basketball but maybe there was something here.

A week later I was in a wheelchair basketball practice. Nothing was the same. My shot wasn’t the same. I couldn’t go up and throw it down like I used to or even make a layup. The ball would bounce off my wheelchair when I attempted to dribble. Nothing was the same. I saw an Overtime scout taking a photo of myself bricking a layup. Later I would see the post on Instagram. 

After the practice was over I was on my way to my mom’s car when I was stopped by a tall skinny man with a LA Lakers shirt on. 

“You must be Carter,” he said.

I nodded my head.

“I heard about the accident,” he continued, “I can give you an opportunity to get your old life back.”

“How,” I asked.

He reached into his pocket and took out a rough looking white bottle of pills. The stickers with the igreedients were faded and rough to the touch. 

“Are those steroids?” I asked with a worried sound in my voice.

“Yes, son, the kind that can bring back what you worked your whole life for.”

He ended up giving me his phone number. I thought about being normal again. Being able to continue my dream and have a purpose again but the thought of steroids terrified me. I never thought I would be the one to use them. Although I told myself I wasn’t going to, it was all I thought about.

Three days later I received multiple texts and calls from Duke, Syracuse, South Caroline, and other D1 colleges that have offered a full-ride scholarship. Every single one of them gave me their sympathy and pity. While it was good that they reached out to me they also brought news that would end my dream of making it to the NBA. They all canceled their offers. 

I had been going to therapy for months and still haven’t been able to walk on my own. I knew that there was a way back but I didn’t know if I could risk it all to take that chance. Yet what did I have left? I decided to give the LA Lakers guy a text. I met him at the city park at midnight and we exchanged money for pills. I wheeled away thinking about how my life changed drastically in only a year. I was on my way to being a top 10 recruit and now I’m in a wheelchair buying steroids from dealers. I knew how dangerous it would be but I had nothing to lose. 

The next week at therapy I was able to stand and limp along with some support. Everyone who saw my improvement cheered for me but deep down inside I knew why I had improved.

I progressed for the next three months. I was able to walk on my own. As time went on my health got better and better. A few months later I was able to perform light practices with my team. I could practice shooting, dribbling, and sometimes 5on5. Everyone was amazed at my progress and recovery. That was until one night after practicing Coach pulled me aside.

“There has been a request for a drug test,” he said.

“What from who?”

“The league has issued a test for the whole team, not just you, and I know you have had success with your recovery so be honest with me,” he continued, “Have you used steroids?”

My heart dropped with silence. I didn’t even have to say anything for him to figure it out. We talked about how he understood how I felt like everything was on the line because if I didn’t come back now I never would. I was expecting him to cut me from the team but he said he’d help me out. He would swap my drug test for his. 

“Coach, you could lose your job”.

“I know but you are young and you make mistakes. You shouldn’t have one mistake affect the rest of your life, especially because the accident wasn’t your fault.” 

I thanked him many times before I got in my car and drove home.

The next morning I was at the school taking my test. When I finished I placed it with the others on the cart. Coach came in behind me and replaced mine with his. Then I walked back to class and took on the rest of the day until practice. 

Later at practice, we prepared for the biggest game of the year. Earlier in the week, I was given the all-clear by my doctor. It would be my first game in almost a year and a half. I was able to move around the court just as well as I could pre-accident. I even performed a couple of east bays on fastbreaks. The oohs from my team gave me the confidence that they were glad I was back and at my best but they didn’t know the real reason I recovered so well. It was because of steroids.

“It is what it is,” I thought.

The next day was the big day. The day that I have been dreaming forever since the crash. Some students in school passed me and wished me luck. I felt like everyone was cheering me on. I felt pressured but I knew I could handle it. I continued on with my day with a smile on my face but I knew once it was game time I had to be locked in. 

I waited in the locker room before the team would run out on the court. I went through my pre-game routine stretching and rolling myself out. I could hear the crowd as well as the band. 

“Alright fellas it’s time,” yelled one of my teammates. 

I led my team out of the locker room when Coach pulled me aside.

“I know you’ve been waiting a long time for this but don’t overthink everything. You got this.”

“I know,” I responded.

After warmups, the 5 starters were announced. I was the last one.

“The 6’3 190-pound guard, CARTER JOHNSON.”

I ran through the two lines of my teammates as the crowd exploded with the loudest noise since I hit the game-winner my freshman year. 

The two teams shook hands and lined up for tipoff. The ref threw the ball up and our center tipped it back to the other point guard. I flew down the floor toward the hoop and caught a pass from the guard and threw it down with authority. The whole first quarter we dominated. I was hitting step-back threes as well as some fadeaways. I felt so good. The second quarter started and the score was 40-22. I already had 18 points and racked up some steals and blocks on defense too. The second quarter went the same way as the first. With 10 seconds left in the half, I was at half court about to take the last shot of the half. The crowd was on their feet. I felt a little dizzy but thought nothing of it. The clock counted down. 6, 5 I made my move, 4, 3, 2. I released the shot at the three-point line and watched it swish through the net.

The locker room at the half was blaring with yelling and excitement. Coach walked in and we all went quiet.

“I am very proud of you guys, but we aren’t done yet. We need to keep pressuring them and we can’t let them think that they have a chance of coming back in this game.”

“Yes sir,” the team responded.

The 3rd quarter was a mess. We started turning the ball over and the other team fought back. By the 4th quarter, the score was 56-50. Although we were still winning we did not have any intensity.

We came out flat on the 4th. There was 1 minute left in the game and they were up by 5 points. Our point guard had the ball at the top of the key so I faked towards him and cut backdoor. He threw the lob and I caught it and dunked it. I got fouled on the dunk so I went to the free-throw line and sunk it. The opposing team drained the clock until there were 20 seconds left. Then they tried to shoot a three but they missed. I got the rebound and sprinted beyond half-court. Coach called a timeout.

“Alright Carter, they know it's going to you, but they can’t stop you so it doesn’t matter. You’re going to get the inbound, wind down the clock until 5 seconds, and then it's game,” Coach said confidently as ever. 

I got out on the court and took a deep breath. I spotted a Duke scout in the bleachers. My heart rate started to pick up. The whistle blew and I ran to get the inbound. I dribbled at half court until there were about 5 seconds left. I faked left and crossed over the right. Then I went between my legs to the left. I noticed I was in front of the three-point line so I took a step back and released the ball. I held my follow through as the ball spun in a perfect circle. The crowd went quiet as the ball swished through the net. The crowd stormed the court. We had won. Except it was getting hard to breathe. I stumbled a little bit while pushed around in the mosh pit. That's when the lights went out. For the last time.