Shame, embarassment, and regret wash over me all at once, as the buzzer signals the end of the game.
It's the same story: Shohoku loses, miserably scoring twenty points behind the opposing team. The members of the team head back to the locker room, heads hung in shame.
But in the locker room, they forget about the loss almost immediately. "It wasn't a bad game," one would begin. Another voice would express agreement, and would go on to say that the opponent was just tough. A third voice would add that the team hadn't played at their full potential, since not too many members had been able to attend the practice--although it was understandable, and they weren't to blame for it. All that can be done is to practice hard for the next game...
My mind fades out of the present. I already know what's going to happen. A bunch of oaths, pathetic shows of bravado, and small-minded men talking about things like guts, teamwork, and discipline--preaching about things they do not practice. They swear to achieve victory upon honor which they neither have nor deserve.
It's all bull. They'd just throw words around, but in the end the words are just left in the locker room, where they will probably stay. Every damn game...
Nobody understands. Not even Haruko. Oh sure, she knows that losing games upsets me, and she thinks I'm upset because we were beaten or outscored. I'm a basketball player, and it's natural for players to abhor being defeated by their opponent. I'd be lying if I said that my pride isn't hurt by that.
But I have learned that winning and losing is all part of the game, and that a good sportsman learns to gracefully accept the possibility that weeks or months of training might be wasted thanks to a difference of one point.
So it isn't my pride, or the bitterness of defeat, that makes me angry.
What makes me angry is the fact that my team--such as it is--can take defeat so damn lightly.
The Shohoku team constantly loses games. And each time we'd walk away, patting each other on the back. The others would be saying things like "I think we did rather well," or "I just missed by half an inch, that's all," or "I nearly blocked the shot, you know. He just got lucky, releasing the ball half a second before I could get my arm up..."
Lucky? That was just an excuse, and they knew it. Basketball isn't about luck. It's a sport, and no sport can be won by a simple roll of the dice. Sports can only be won through diligence, training, and mastery of the game. Practice, practice, everyday. But whenever we practice, they're like little kids who just play around.
The other day, we practiced for an hour. I knew we should have practiced longer to prepare for today's game, but no one wanted to. They were tired already. They claimed that it was physical exhaustion, and that they didn't want to overwork themselves.
I was trying to get them to stay longer. We needed to win this game, and the team needed all the practice it can get. But no one wanted to. And just as I was about to ask them one more time, one guy came up to me and said: "We already know how to do layups, left-handed hook shots, no-look passes, head fakes, and jump shots. Why should we bother tiring ourselves out to practice doing things we can already do?"
Of course, he didn't put it so bluntly. In fact, he actually said something along the lines of "Hey, practice is practice. Don't take it too seriously," in the tones of someone trying to reason with a crazy man. But the sense of complacency and arrogance was there, just visible behind the mask of friendliness and camaraderie.
I still couldn't believe it. These words came from a member of the basketball club. Where's his pride? Where is his hunger? Where are his guts?
He talks as if he could play a good game any day of the week. He talks as if he could score points or feed the ball to an open man while under pressure from the opponents and the shot clock. He talks as if he could consistently play well for one whole game without losing his stamina.
But how could that be true if any given player from the other team takes the game more seriously than he does?
No wonder we keep losing. It's so pitiful and disgusting that I can hardly bring myself to wear my jacket anymore.
Yet my teammates can still wear their jackets proudly, like the mere act proves their worth as athletes. When will they learn that the jackets can only be respected if they get respect for the team? Stupid. They want to wear an athlete's clothes, but they don't want to earn an athlete's pride. Instead, they choose to passively accept shame and humiliation.
And when we lose very badly, they wallow in self-pity. They regret not being able to do better, and openly curse themselves for not being more capable as basketball players. The most idiotic thing of all is that when they start thinking like this, they don't go on to think "I'll do better next time"; they go on to think "I'm no good at this" and then stop practicing altogether.
It's useless. They aren't motivated enough to win.
I'm not even sure if they're motivated enough to play the game.
I come back to the present. Everyone's done packing their bags, and we leave for home. They motion for me to come with them. I get up, and run halfheartedly, just catching up with my teammates.
"Don't take it so bad. We'll win next time," one of them say, patting my shoulder reassuringly as I sob. The words enter the room just before the door closes, and the echoes are quickly lost in the din of heavy footsteps made by high-cut rubber shoes...
In the end, we leave the locker room littered with sweat-soaked towels and hollow promises.