As I stood at the three point line, the ball seemed to be in slow motion. Screams from the crowd came as the ball dropped through the net. Not only did this shot go in but it dropped through the net with such force that it made a sound that was heard throughout the gym. The gym was packed and the fans were on their feet, I had just hit my first three pointer of my varsity basketball career. As our team set up the press, sweat dripped from my face. I was close enough to kiss my opponent, there was no way he was going to get the ball. He shoved me backward and he planted his foot on mine, he then pushed off and ran for the inbounder. I fell back a few feet and sprinted towards my man. As the inbounder released the ball with a firm push I stuck my handout in hopes for a steal, SNAP! As the ball was deflected towards the right my man ran and picked it up. I quickly looked down at my finger and with fear and pain walked over to my bench. My pinkie-finger on my right hand was at a ninety degree ankle, as sweat dripped down may face I could feel myself getting hot. My stomach seemed to drop and I was feeling as if I was on a roller coaster. The game had been stopped and I was brought into the coaches room. My assistant coach led me into the room and sat me down on a wooden chair. I began to feel very cold, and my finger began to have a shooting pain. This pain was not present before and was no making itself known that there was something wrong with. My parents entered the room, my mother carrying a face that I never had seen before. My father with a calm collective look to him. The assistant then began to explain that there was to deal with this, either go to the hospital and miss the game or deal with it write in the room. My mother stared over at my coach when he relayed this message to me and my father seem to agree with my coach. I looked at my coach with eyes of trust and horror, and then laid my hand in his. He then took his hand and...
