I was 14, playing basketball in a summer league. This was a mixed gender league so my sister and I were playing with the big boys. My dad signed us up for the league every summer because he knew if we could play with the boys then it would toughen us up for the Fall when we were playing against only girls.

And so it was that we found ourselves in a heated situation. The other team gave us no quarter; we had no rest. We had to fight and claw for every point. But we had a strong offense and gave as good as we got.

Our star player, Seth, led our team. He was the best shooter we had, a great center, and an amazing defender. His little brother Sandy was short and scrappy and our point guard. My sister and I were in the forward positions, and our other guard was a kid named Joey. Together we were fighting a team of very big guys. They killed us on height and girth, so we kept our game fast and didn’t give them time to set up. They were definitely slower than us.

It was the final quarter. We were tired, but we wanted to win very badly. Coaches were out of their seats shouting orders to our team. People in the stands were cheering and booing with great verve. Parents in the stands were biting their nails and shouting advice.

We were nearing the end of the game. And we were one point behind. With just 2 seconds left on the clock, we called a time out.

We knew we only had one shot. We huddled. Our coach had a plan. We had possession of the ball under our own basket. All we had to do was have Sandy pass the ball to Seth so he could make the final shot at the buzzer. It was a solid plan. Our best shooter, 2 seconds left, let’s get it done!

We took up our positions on the court. I stood on one side of the key under the basket, while my sister stood on the other. Seth positioned himself at the top of the key where he was planning to take his shot. Joey was near the half court line because he wanted to take at least one defender out of the mix. And Sandy stood out of bounds with the ball, ready to get it to Seth.

But wait, what’s this? Where’s my defender? And where is Sandy’s defender? Both on Seth, along with Seth’s own man. Three out of 5 of their players went to guard Seth. Duh. They knew with only two seconds on the clock that we’d try to get the ball to our best shooter, and they meant to keep him away from that ball no matter what.

I stood there hoping Seth could find a way to get free from 3 defenders.

The referee handed Sandy the ball. Seth started running around trying to shake the boys guarding him. Agonizing seconds passed as I watched Sandy try to find a way to get Seth the ball. But it wasn’t going to happen. Seth simply could not get free. He was surrounded on all sides. In fact, the only person open was…me.

And that’s when something horrible happened. Sandy had no choice. I might have done the same thing if I were him. He threw the ball to ME!

Nooooooooo! Nooooooo! Don’t give this ball to ME!! I do NOT want to be holding this ball. Why? Why did you give the ball to me? I’m not supposed to have the ball!

I thought all of this in a nanosecond. As you’ll recall there were only two seconds left on the clock. It was up to me. I had to shoot the ball. There was nothing else to be done. If I missed the shot, we’d lose the game by one point, but if I made it… victory in the final seconds!

I took the shot.

Now everything was in slow motion. The stands held their breath. I could practically hear the ball whooshing through the air. The shot I took carried with it the desperate hope of my team. It was the final shot of the game, and for good or ill, our fate rested on my aim and accuracy.

I realized that if I missed the shot, I would carry not only my own disappointment, but that of my team. Sure, I could make an excuse. “The ball was supposed to go to Seth. I wasn’t ready.” But it wouldn’t assuage my guilt.

I didn’t want to disappoint anyone. I didn’t want to be the reason we failed. But I did the best I could. I had shot the ball. It was out of my hands.

The ball banked off the backboard and went right into the basket just as the buzzer sounded.

Oh. My. God! I did it!

My team erupted into cheers. Our coaches flew off the bench and before I knew it I was encircled in a team bear hug that threatened to crush the breath out of my body. But I didn’t care. I did it. I took the shot and I made it. Me!

My teammates were thrilled. People clapped me on the back. People hugged me. People said, “I knew you could do it!”

Suddenly I knew what it felt like to be a hero. When the chips were down, I came through. It was an experience that boosted my self-esteem immensely.

And I learned in that moment that you don’t know what you’re made of until you’re put to the test.

So now I ask you. Where in your own life are you holding the ball? Are you standing there with a clear shot at the basket, but you’re too afraid to take the shot? Are you surrounded by defenders who don’t want you to succeed? Are they holding you back, blocking you from taking your shot? Or is the block in your own mind?

I could have just as easily missed that shot. I would have felt bad, sure. But I would have gotten over it. That was one game in a string of hundreds that I played. In basketball, you take a shot every few seconds. You don’t make them all. You don’t expect to. But you miss all the shots you never take. And every time you miss a shot, you learn, and you get better at taking the next one.

Look at the ball you’re holding. How long have you been holding it? When will you take your shot?

Our first team was named the Cowboys and we represented the West Valley. We were up against the East Valley, North Valley, and a few other teams in the area. We were a great team and were doing quite well … that is, until we played North Valley.

North Valley was another story entirely. The girls on the North Valley team were from an economically depressed area of the valley. They were amazing athletes – tall, fast, and fierce in their dedication to the game. When we played North Valley we got trounced every time. I don’t just mean trounced like a score of 50-42. I mean buried alive. Usually we were lucky to score 1 or 2 baskets against these girls while they would easily rack up 60-80 points. It was pretty demoralizing to play a game whose score was often 80 to 2. Our coaches, including my father, tried to negotiate with the North Valley coach to get his girls to ease up a little so we could all enjoy the game, but no quarter were we given. There was no “easy” to be had. We were told that many of these girls’ only chance to go to college would be to win a sports scholarship, and their dedication really showed. They were in it to win it. We started to really dread our games against North Valley because we knew we were in for a beating. But we persevered.

I remember one particularly brutal season where the North Valley players decided that it wasn’t enough to win the games, they had to also make us wish we had never showed up to play at all. They played very aggressively and often our players were intentionally injured during fouls. I remember one game we had to forfeit because we ran out of able-bodied players! Luckily that year our coach was a paramedic so he used to bring his little black bag and fix us up as we got sidelined with injuries. A plea was once again made to the North Valley coaches to ease up, but again we were told if we couldn’t take the heat to get out of the kitchen.

For five years we played North Valley with no hope of winning. Not once did we ever come close to winning or even making it challenging for them. It was like a mouse trying to defeat a lion. Then we all went to high school.

My sister and I immediately joined the high school basketball team. My father was invited to act as our assistant coach. Life was good until we had to play Kennedy High School, which is where all the North Valley girls ended up. It was like Wolf 359 (or for you non-trekkies, it was a slaughterhouse). Now our rivals were taller, fiercer, and even more athletically gifted. Kennedy was undefeated and had a history of going to the city championships. We had no hope of ever beating these girls or this team. Or did we?

One day our coaches took us aside and gave us the pep talk of all pep talks.

“Do you girls want to beat Kennedy?”

“Uh yeah, sure… maybe. That would be nice,” we replied half-heartedly.

Coach said, “No, I mean it. Do you want to beat them? Yes or no?”

“Yes, we want to beat them. But it’s been years. How are we supposed to do that?”

“First you’re going to change your attitude. You go in with a defeated attitude and you’ve lost before you ever get out onto the court. Second, we’re going to change up how we run our plays, and we’re going to play to our strengths, keep them totally off guard about what we’re doing. We’ve been studying Kennedy and we’ve found some areas where they’re weak and we’re going to exploit those weaknesses. Third, I’m going to ask each of you to work harder than you ever have on your basic skills like shooting, dribbling, and passing. And fourth, you’re going to spend an hour every day improving your fitness, endurance, and strength. I’ll tell you this right now, you CAN beat Kennedy. But you have to want to win and you have to believe you can.” We were in!

For the next several weeks we were totally focused on our goal of beating Kennedy. We worked harder on our skills, stayed later at practice, took it upon ourselves to practice on the weekend when we could have been out partying, and went jogging voluntarily to build our endurance. We designed all new plays. We worked harder at rebounding and assisting. We were dedicated to our goal. We started to imagine what it would be like to actually beat our biggest rivals. And we started to believe it was possible.

When the day of the big game arrived we walked onto their court not with an air of expected defeat, but with intensity, focus, and concentration. We decided that every time we had the ball we were going to score a basket. And every time they had the ball we were going to work our hardest to make sure they never made their shots. We were going to stay present and in the moment and make every second count.

Basketball games start with a jump ball to determine who gets possession. I stood face to face with my biggest rival and decided I was going to jump higher and stronger than I ever had in my life. When the ball went up, I leaped into the air like Superman and tipped the ball to my point guard. I don’t think we had ever won a jump ball in any of our games. We were off to a great start.

We played exactly like we practiced. We snapped the ball super fast, passing at least 6 times before even attempting to take our shots. We positioned ourselves strongly under the basket and pushed out our opponents with our butts in order to get the rebounds (totally legal as long as you don’t use your hands.) We cherry-picked the ball down the court to our point guard who positioned herself under the basket early in case we got the opponent’s rebounds. Our fast breaks were lightning fast and well coordinated. We ran our new plays, used double screens when we could, double-teamed their ball handlers, kept our hands in their faces to make it harder for them to shoot the ball, and moved powerfully under the basket. Our shooting averages were up, our foul shots were going in, our passes were connecting where they needed to be. We kept the pace fast, never letting up, which we could do now that we were all in better shape physically.

The game turned super intense. Kennedy’s coach actually got up out of his chair and started yelling at his players to get on the ball. Time outs were called as the other team tried to adjust to our new strategy. But it was too late for them. They didn’t know what we were going to do and didn’t have a defense ready. They started playing more fiercely and aggressively, and we endured the pain but didn’t crumble or go down.

I have never felt more in control, confident, and focused as I did on the court that day. We could taste victory. Throughout the entire game there was never more than a 4 point spread. As we neared the end of the game, we were tied. When the buzzer rang, we were tied. We went into overtime, tired, but still completely driven. The crowd in the bleachers was going wild. They had never seen the Kennedy girls so challenged. We played through overtime and were tied again when the buzzer rang. So close! We went into sudden death. Whichever team made the next shot would win.

And so it was, in the final moments, as we pushed and pressed and passed and took shots that… Kennedy made the game winning basket.

But something very strange and unexpected happened when the final shot was made. Our team started hooping, hollering, and high-fiving like we’d just won the NBA Championship game, and the Kennedy girls looked… defeated. That’s right. We didn’t win the game that day, we won something more important. We won a moral victory. We proved to them that we could take them, that we were a real threat, and that they couldn’t walk all over us anymore. More importantly, we proved to ourselves that with determination, teamwork, concentration, and focus, we could achieve anything! What we used to think was impossible was now totally possible. We walked off the court that day as winners in heart, body, mind, and soul. The Kennedy coach shook my father’s hand and said, “I’m not going to wish you guys luck anymore. You don’t need it.” We sang “We are the Champions” on the bus all the way home. And we celebrated our victory long into the night.

You see, in life it’s not about the score. It’s about how you play the game. Are you giving it your best effort? Are you improving your ability to succeed? Are you challenging your limiting beliefs? Are you adopting beliefs that serve you better? Are you improving your “game?”

If you want it, you can have it. Believe it is possible, adopt a positive attitude, set your goal, take action, persevere, and don’t give up until you achieve victory.

So… what do you want? And how are you willing to improve your skills to get it?