Boring Passes

The score at half-time was 14 to 8. We were the eight.

I play in the middle of the netball court, and in the first half I lost the ball four times. Four! Every time, I tried something clever — a long pass right across the court, a quick turn — and every time the tall girl in red took it off me. Their attack was fast. Our control was terrible. At half-time I stood with my hands on my knees and waited for our coach to take me off.

She didn't. She just said, “Short passes. Boring ones.”

So I played boring. Two meters, catch. Two meters, catch. It looked like nothing at all. But the girls in red kept running to the places where my clever passes used to go, and nobody was there anymore.

We scored. Then we scored again. With four minutes left it was 22 all, and the noise in that school hall was so loud I couldn't hear my own team.

In the last minute I got the ball near the line. The clever pass was there. I could see it. The long one, right across the court, the pass everybody would remember.

I passed short instead. Our shooter caught it, turned, and put it in.

24 to 22. The final was over.

On the bus I looked at the sheet with all the figures on it. My goals: zero. My best game ever.