Dreams die, though. I lost my NBA Finals and national championship dreams before I hit middle school, but I didn't lose my state championship dreams 'til I hit high school. Stuck in a 6A school in Missouri that was oozing with talent, I saw a world I didn't believe in. It was no longer about how well you played the game. It was politics at its worst (or best, depending on your point of view). I played on the freshman team that year and led the JV team in scoring at a tournament the following summer. I was far from a varsity player, but I was getting better. Most of my teammates figured I was a lock to start on the sophomore team.
But, like I said, dreams die. And when I walked into the coaches' office three days into practice (when everyone thought cuts were over) my championship dream evaporated. I was just too small, they told me, for a 6' guard. They said not to come back and try out the next year. I was 125 pounds and was never going to be big enough. I was relegated to pickup games where I was nothing more than a serviceable role player. Guys like Mike Dixon (freshman PG at Mizzou) and Todd Fletcher (starting SG at Air Force) made me feel like I was still playing, but I knew there was no box score for these games.
Fast forward to a few weeks ago when I realized I never should've stopped dreaming. Sitting in the locker room before the championship game, I knew I was about to be part of something big. I had done a large part of the scouting for our opponent and knew it wouldn't be a close game. Two hours later, I was part of a championship. But, looking at the distraught underdogs (the 7 seed, overcame huge odds to meet us in the final), I couldn't help but feel sorry for them. For their seniors, it was over. They had fallen short.
For all but one the season ends with a loss. And for the champion, it rarely works out exactly as you envision.
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