One. Two. Three. – A Photo Essay


Time slows to an immeasurable crawl. The space, once dominated with raucous cheers and thundering applause, falls silent. Players in vibrant jerseys move in predetermined paths, blurring together like a Jackson Pollock. Each breath painstakingly slow, a taunt: “Do it.” But why rush?

Lights flash out of sync. Monitors record every side glance, every half-step, unforgiving by nature. Blinding fluorescents beaming down, illuminating each bead of sweat in a halo of liquified diamonds. Millions of eyes fixated on a single mark. “What makes you so special?”


Every practice shot, every after hours scrimmage and early morning workout session has led you to this moment. You line up the shot. If it goes in, all of it will have paid off. All the bruises and sweat, the anger and hard work. If not? The voices of every person that highlighted your insecurities echo like fireworks. Memories of every missed shot pour into your mind; a black sea of doubt and anxiety. Onyx waves spill into your lungs, stealing every ounce of oxygen in reserve.

You wear contacts, but the world is fuzzy. All eyes on you. Muscles scream in protest. “Move. Just move.” All eyes on you. Every breath amplified. All eyes on you. Everything rushes back in. Lights. Screaming. All eyes on you. Too much heat. Too many people. All eyes on you. It’s too much. All too much. The waves, once confined to your lungs, have reached your eyes. Everything is black. All eyes on you.

A whistle blows. The buzzer sounds. Camera shutters whisper: “Look at me.”