The Orange Ball

People say that I'm not good enough.

Deep inside, I know the truth all too well. I'm not good enough. I'm just not good enough--

Here I am, atop of the little hill with the tree on it, under the shade, sprawled all over the ground, gazing, watching, listening.

Down behind, the unmistakable sound of rubber against concrete, the unique screech of soles against floor, fill the air.


That word has haunted me for ages. A year ago, young, raw to the sport, to the game, I picked up the orange ball and started playing. I had friends who played, seniors who did. They were all better than I was. Every single time, every single rare moment I caught hold of the ball, someone, someone better than me, would call out and I would pass, and he would dribble, fake, drive and score, and I would be left there hanging alone to get back on defence.


I leaned back and felt the soft grass beneath me. I sighed.

It's been a year since, and I've hadn't gotten better. Two of the guys are now in the school team, practicing hard on the courts below me. And the rest, well, at least they are picked before me. It sucks to be the last guy to be picked. Every time. Every single goddamn game.

What was there to do? What could I do? What could I say? I was just a nobody on the court, this invisible shadow that slithered between the swift-moving players. What could I say?

And yet nobody knows that deep down inside, I feel pain. I feel the passionate need to express, to show everybody that Yes! I can play. And nobody knows that everytime I try to do that I just hit a blank wall straight in the face. Blam. I can't go any further. I'm just not good enough.

Damn. This talk is getting to my head. It's too depressing. I shouldn't be talking to myself this way. But it's all so real.

I heaved myself up, picked up my bag, stole one last look at the basketball courts below and walked away.

A little sad story about a guy who loved basketball too much. Hehe.. It's amazing what you can write when you stop telling yourself "I'm going to write a story about blah, blah, yada" and just pick up a pen, scribble on bits of paper and just let it flow. Let it flow. Ahhh... ~Shinoda.