valentine's day

by ginny min
// exact date 2.14.01


    I turned to the dome's ceiling
    But its blazing lights blinded my eyes.
    Could I not even pray
    For it to happen?

    No - I could not pray,
    For not even the heavens could intervene
    On something as magical as this.
    I could only wait,
    Watch,
    Hope,
    With burning anxiety,
    To see if the dream
    Would become a reality.

    So I sat there in my chair
    And stared at the large, red figures
    As they unceasingly disappeared,
    One by one.

    Then -
    Without warning -
    A deafening blare.

    I could not even take a breath
    To prepare myself
    For what was about to take place.

    He emerged from his hideaway
    And appeared.
    He was so bold, so focused,
    So determined,
    So longing.

    My heart started to pound wildly
    As I saw him walking in my direction
    With that desiring look in his eyes.
    And for an instant I looked into his
    And he into mine.

    Everything froze,
    And at that brief, endless moment,
    We knew.

    We were just seconds away.

    The whistle sounded,
    My eyes blinked,
    He turned away and
    Never turned back,
    As we returned to reality.

    Each second became
    An infinite spell,
    And the pauses between
    The beats of my heart
    Became smaller and
    Smaller.

    As he walked away
    I, as tightly as I could,
    Clenched my fists,
    My teeth,
    My toes.

    I looked up again -
    Maybe another chance -
    But I was blinded again.

    Why do I have to endure
    This tortuous agony?

    I watched him go
    And advance
    Closer

    The edge of the chair
    I approach

    And closer

    An unknown arm
    I grab

    And
    Closer

    In perpetual suspense
    I writhe,
    With desire to
    Scream, yell, cry, burst -
    Anything to relieve me
    Of this anguish.

    And

    Time is paralyzed.

    Closer

    Sound is crippled.

    Eight thousand pairs of eyes
    Watching it,
    Following it
    As it sailed through the air.

    One second.

    Eight thousand mouths
    Gasping with fear
    As it eluded,
    As it missed.

    But my heart leapt
    As he reached out.
    And

    Deliverance.

    Eight thousand souls
    Liberated
    As it arrived
    To nylon's bottom.

    The deafening blare again
    But this time unheard.
    Chaos swept by and
    Electricity filled the air.

    I found myself standing,
    Bemused, in shock.
    The world was turning
    And turning
    And
    Turning.

    But my eyes soon met his,
    And I saw them filled with rapture,
    And then I knew.

    The dream had come true.

    		// hint: UHall has a dome ceiling
    // ... with blinding lights
    //
    //

    //
    //
    // yes, very magical indeed...
    //
    //
    //
    //
    // hm, what's the dream?
    //

    //
    // figures... numbers... clock... game clock
    // disappearing = decreasing (numbers)
    //

    //
    //
    // blare = buzzer, maybe? timeout ends...

    //
    //
    //

    // hideaway = bench, team huddle
    // after timeout
    // (so "he" is an athlete)
    //
    // the typical game-face

    //
    // athlete walking towards press row,
    // where i am, while departing bench.
    //
    //

    //
    //
    //

    // not much time left, huh?

    // yes, the referee whistle...
    //
    // upon the ref's whistle, play begins,
    // so athlete is now facing the
    // appropriate direction, away from me.

    //
    //
    //
    //
    // i.e. my heart started to
    // pound really fast

    // ...going in the appropriate direction
    //
    //
    //
    //

    // trying to pray again
    //
    // ah, yes, those UHall lights...

    //
    //

    // going away, farther from me
    // advancing, approaching...
    // hmm, closer to what?

    // in suspenseful moments, people
    // approach the edge of their seats.

    And closer // closer to...

    // YES, I tend to
    // grab people during games.

    //
    // he's almost there! where?

    //
    //
    //
    //
    // yes, it's getting really
    // suspenseful

    //

    //

    // ... to the basketball hoop!

    //

    // 8,000... fan capacity of UHall
    // it = the ball
    // looks like someone
    // took a shot... but NOT him

    // the time left on the clock (approx.)

    //
    //
    //
    // it didn't go in!

    //
    // he's going for the rebound...
    // and...

    // tipped it in

    //
    // WHEW
    // it = ball...
    // bball nets are made out of nylon.

    // and time runs out, game over!
    //
    //
    // i guess we won.

    //
    //
    //
    //
    //
    // wow.

    //
    //
    // realization

    // the dream was to beat Duke.

Okay, here's an overall explanation of everything. The title is "valentine's day" because the poem describes the winding moments (from my point of view) of a basketball game between Virginia and Duke that took place on February 14th, 2001 -- Valentine's Day -- at University Hall. Now to set up the poem... the score is tied 89-89 after Duke star Shane Battier sinks a pair of free throws to even the score. It's Virginia's ball, and the Cavaliers call a time out with about 14 seconds left on the clock. The poem begins towards the end of this time out.

I'm sitting on press row. I'm obviously very excited. You see, it's been a very long time since Virginia's beaten Duke, and Duke had this streak of like 50+ consecutive games they hadn't lost in ACC play. So if we beat them, it's like extremely big. Anyways, as noted above, the large red figures denote the game clock winding down (because it usually counts down towards game play during timeouts), and when the time out's over the game buzzer/horn goes off.

Now this whole interaction with the "he" and "him" was just to make the poem more personal and to connect me to all the action. Now, if the poem's consistent with what took place that night -- which was the fact that Adam Hall tipped in Roger Mason's missed shot for the game-winner -- then "he" would be Adam. In reality, though, I don't recall ever making eye contact with Adam that night. However, I do frequently make eye contact and interact with players from press row during games...

Anyways, I was sitting on the end of press row that's closer to the visiting bench, so farther away from the Virginia bench. That's why he's approaching me at the end of the timeout (because play is starting up again following made free throws, the ball inbounds from around the halfcourt line, so the direction he'd walk to get from the bench to the general halfcourt area would be towards me).

Ok, more explanations of directions and interactions. Important fact: Virginia's basket, i.e. the hoop that we're going for, is the basket next to the Virginia bench, so the one farther away from me. So after our little moment and when play begins, he has to turn towards and face the opposite direction. Note: Adam does not have the ball. That would be Roger Mason, who's taking it down the court. Adam is just, as said in the poem, walking away, down the court alongside his teammates.

Now the poem gets choppier and stuff, just to convey the extreme suspense and the emotions I was feeling. This is obviously going to be the final play in regulation, and we're going to take the last shot of regulation -- a shot that, if successful, would beat Duke. So as the seconds wind down and as the ball gets closer to the hoop, I'm like extremely tense. By the way, the person's arm I grab is that of Kate, who was sitting next to me. I called it unknown because at that moment it was just me grabbing whoever's arm there was.

So anyway, Roger takes the ball himself all the way to the goal, and goes for a layup, and it bounces around on the rim, but misses the center of the hoop. Adam, who was probably halfway in the air, reaches out with one hand to tip the ball back in.

The end.