Running Down a Dream

Last Friday evening the St. Agnes Varsity Basketball team headed to Iona College in New Rochelle for its first trip to the New York City B Division Finals in its 101 year history. An outstanding achievement for a small team with no funding, half a gym, and a new coach, we were the classic underdog attempting to beat the odds and win it all. Facing Blessed Sacrament, a team that had run away with the City and State title in 2006, the Stags were in good spirits and ready for the challenge. We boarded the bus after 7th period, struck a pose, and with our favorite bus driver, Francisco at the wheel, we headed north singing bad pop songs off-key and rapping with little natural ability. Good thing the boys can play ball.


We arrived an hour later to a gym that made us feel like princes (well Kate and I felt like princesses). We oohed and aahed at the space, eyed hoops with actual nets with glee, and tested ourselves on the seats, real seats.

We could get used to this.

As our tiny entourage situated themselves up front, the athletes changed up and took to the court to stretch and loosen up.













Soon the gym filled with fans. Facing a packed hometown crowd replete with opposing mascot, shorties in the stands with cheerleading skirts and pom-poms, and shirtless white boys with letters painted on their chests, we quickly realized Blessed Sacrament meant business and were far more used to winning than we were. Undaunted, we soon launched our own counter-offensive. We had come prepared.













Focused and ready, the first period was close as we felt out the competition and got our bearings. But the second period was all Agnes. Shots connected, passes were tight, rebounds were shaken down, and fists were pumped into the air with sweet hopefulness. We went into half-time up by 11 points, giddy and proud. We could actually be champions.

But Blessed Sacrament was not going to roll over, and they came back after the break with a steely determination. They quickly whittled our lead down to three, and we realized we had to dig down deep. With the opposing crowd outnumbering us fivefold and insisting on spelling out their school name in a loud, chant-like fashion (as if the shirtless white boys weren't enough), we decided to beat them at their own game.

School president Christopher Marte took it upon himself to lead the crowd:

"Give me an A" (A) "Give me a G" (G) "Give me an N" (N) "Give me an E" (E) "What does it SPELL?!"

....Um, Agne?

Would that be two syllables with a French accented "y" at the end? Or perhaps just one grunted syllable? Who was to know.

Unsure, our small crowd hesitated for a moment before doing the only right thing, pointing at Chris and laughing. Unabashed, he quickly added the "S" and we were back in the game. We had shown we were green when it came to victory, but we were ready to push on.

The third quarter was hard fought, them up by 3, us up by 2. The crowd went hoarse screaming, begging, pleading, that there might indeed be a God that would grant us sweet victory. A stolen ball and we were in a frenzy, a travel called and our spirits sank. How was this to end? The team got together for a little strategy.

Despite fighting hard the fourth quarter proved our undoing. We didn't manage to hold on and would lose our first bid for the City Championship in 101 years by a heartbreaking 4 points. But the Stags showcased their greatness, cheering for the champions and showing humility for what they saw as their own faults. The boys shook hands and gave hugs all around and within 45 minutes of reboarding the bus there was talk of trying out for the Volleyball Team. (A sport whose absurd existence at St. Agnes will require a whole other post.) Leaning back in his green plastic cheese bus seat, one sweet, tall boy, Chris Ruiz said to another, "Yo, Marr, you and me, Volleyball!" Matthew just laughed and laughed and sang bad pop songs into the night.

Go Stags!