The final seconds of the clock start ticking. I catch the basketball with my sweat-filled palms and create a large stance by spreading my legs. I jump to shoot and from behind another player bursts through and slaps my arm so hard that it was heard from outside the earth’s ozone. I get fouled. At first I’m ecstatic realizing I have the chance to win the game for my team but after further consideration, my joy turns to dread as I realize that I can’t shoot a free throw to save my life. The ref whistles for me to head over to the line and to get ready to shoot. I start to panic and think about the other 3 free throws I’ve missed during the game. Sweat beads down my forehead like Niagara Falls and my legs shake like tree trunks during a tornado.

I start my pre-shot ritual; 2 dribbles and a deep breath. I stare at the rim and shoot… and I missed. Now I panic for real. I‘ve never had butterflies in my stomach for sports before this and now, NOW I had to get it. My blood starts pumping like a bullet train that’s late for its stop. I can feel my hungry stomach rumble.

“I wish I ate that Cliff Bar my mom gave me.” I mutter under my breath. The ref Whistle again and I get back on the line, “at least now I can tie the game,” I say nervously to my teammate beside me. He chuckles sarcastically. That creeps fear back into my mind, causing me to rally my thoughts into a nice neat folder and helps me get my shit together. I start my pre-shot ritual again; 2 dribbles and a deep breath. I shoot and just pray. I watch the ball go through the rim like a motorbike going through a ring of deep, blazing fire. I yell out and the game goes to overtime. From then on I put as much pressure on myself to get the best result because Diamonds can only be made with a bit of pressure.