by Don Davidson (copyright 2018)

Christmas Day. Jimmy DeGrange had long dreamed of playing in one of the NBA’s showcase Christmas Day games. Today he was getting his chance in the arena of the team he most wanted to beat—the Houston Rockets.

Everyone in the crowd was on their feet, yelling encouragement to the home team. Jimmy knew he could silence them with one shot.

As the Golden State Warriors huddled near their bench, the coach drew up the play—a screen to set up Jimmie for what he and his teammates hoped would be the winning basket.

The Warriors trailed, 113 to 112. Seven seconds to go. If he missed, there would be little time to try again.

 The timeout ended. The Rockets left the bench and set up their defense on the court.

The Warriors broke the huddle and Jimmie strolled to the middle of the basketball court, just behind the three-point line. The Rockets each took a man. Their lightning-quick guard, James Harden, faced Jimmie less than a foot away—close enough to smell each other’s sweat.

Stephen Curry, the Warriors all-pro guard, took the ball from the referee for the throw in. As he held the ball, the spectators chanted in unison “De-fense, De-fense.”  

Jimmie’s muscular teammate, Draymond Green, moved to set the screen. Jimmie was supposed to dash just behind Draymond, forcing Harden to trail behind or duck in front. Either way, the screen would give Jimmie just enough room to get off his shot.

But Harden was ready for it. He sprinted between Jimmie and his large teammate—in perfect position to avoid the screen or possibly even steal the in-bounds pass.

Stephen yelled something. The words were lost in the uproar of the spectators. Stephen pointed in the air. Jimmie winked.

He took two quick steps toward Stephen. Harden followed, trying to stay between Jimmie and the ball. Then Jimmie suddenly stopped and stepped back. Stephen lofted the in-bounds pass over a startled Harden. Jimmie caught the ball and fired it toward the basket—

“Jimmie,” his mother called out. “Christmas dinner’s ready. You can play with your new basketball later.”

“Okay, mom,” he replied, keeping his eye on the flight of the orange sphere. “Just a minute—”

The ball bounced high off the back of the rim. Jimmie raced for the rebound. Bouncing the ball once on the concrete driveway, he launched a perfect layup.

As the ball swished through the net, the backboard lit up red. The horn sounded. The clock showed all zeros. The Warriors celebrated. The crowd went silent.

Jimmie hurried inside to wash his hands and eat Christmas dinner.