By: Benner Rogers
As I sat down in the stands for last Friday’s women’s basketball game, I knew I was about to watch the most important game of my life. The stakes could not be higher. This game was not just between Carnegie Mellon and the University of Chicago: it was a battle between my mother and I.
My mom played varsity women’s basketball all throughout college. In fact, she was quite good at it. And every year, without fail, she would play against Carnegie Mellon’s beloved Tartans. Today, her basketball career is over. But my mother is not one to forget the past; she still follows the Maroons with a steadfast loyalty barely rivaled by her love for her children. And now she was sitting in the stands, clad in a UChicago women’s basketball shirt and a “Carnegie Mellon Mom” baseball cap, having driven four and a half hours with my father to cheer against her own daughter.
I could not lose this game.
Though my hands dutifully played The Star Spangled Banner, my mind was swarmed with doubt. The earlier men’s game had once again shaken my confidence in Carnegie Mellon athletics. But when the ball entered play, I forced myself to slow down and take a deep breath. I had to stay strong and have faith in the Carnegie Mellon Women’s Basketball team. Fear would get me nowhere. The Tartans needed my support, and, armed with my flute and my cheers, I was ready to give it.
From the beginning it was a tight game, with neither team letting the other get more than a few points ahead. With every basket and steal I yelled so loud I wasn’t sure if I’d have my voice the following morning. My dad laughed when he saw me leap to my feet in excitement after a particularly beautiful three-pointer.
“Since when were you so into sports?” he chuckled. I found it hard to explain the newfound school spirit I was bestowed when I first joined the Kiltie Band. All I could do was shrug before Chicago stole the ball and I was thrown back into the action. In the background, I heard my mom’s cheers.
As we entered the final quarter, the score was tighter than ever. Each team could only hold the lead for a couple of seconds before the score was tied once again. I had never been this stressed in my life. I could tell my mom was on the edge of her seat, just as full of adrenaline as I was. The clock ticked down to a minute: the Tartans were in the lead, but only by two points. At fifty seconds, the unthinkable happened. Chicago made a steal followed by a three-pointer to secure a one point lead. We had to break through their defenses to win, and we had to do so fast. I’m not a very religious person, but I was close to praying. Chicago went for another shot. I closed my eyes.
By what I can only describe as an act of providence, the shot hovered on the rim for a split-second that felt like an hour. It wobbled on the edge, as if fate was deciding who should win this match. And then, it fell back down. Directly into the outstretched hands of a Carnegie Mellon player. At thirty seconds, we drew a foul. Despite the earlier missed free throws that had plagued us throughout the game, Number 22 sank the shot easily to tie the game. All we needed was a basket. And at twenty seconds, we made it.
As I basked in the glory of another women’s basketball win, I looked towards my mom. Though defeated, I could see a glimmer of respect in her eyes. She may not talk to me anymore, but the feeling of sweet, sweet victory was worth it. I can’t wait for next year’s rematch.
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