Haley Heieck

M. Klayder  English 105

Final Project

14 December 2004

It’s Ringing in the Rafters

            I hand the volunteer my ticket and walk into the fieldhouse.  The concourse is filled with people of all ages, excited to witness the number one team in the nation beat their opponent.  The excitement is contagious as the clock counts down to tip off. Venders stand behind their tables selling everything from food to t-shirts to rock chalk wristbands.  Excited children convince their parents that jayhawk apparel is a must-buy for the game ahead.  I move from my place in line and walk into the concourse.  As I step toward the floor, I begin to hear it.  To most, it is not even noticed, but it stops me dead in my tracks.  Thousands of men and women chat in their seats and wait until its time.  The noise begins to fill my head and a feeling of familiarity comes over my body.  The sound takes me back to my small town in California, specifically to my high school gym in that small town.  Although most have only one voice that is linked to a memory, I have many.  The roar of the crowd brings me back to my gym every time; brings me back to a time in my life where playing basketball was everything, and that gym was my sanctuary.

           Morning dew would creep between my toes as I crossed the lawn heading towards school.  I took the same path every weekday morning to better my education, but that morning was different.  I was not forced to get up this early, but I did out of desire.  As I approached the school, it looked different than I normally saw it.  It was vacant without its thousands of students and faculty strolling though its corridors.  I made my way across campus toward my destination, the gym.  To most people the gym held a connection to sweat and undesirable work. But to me, the gym was my safe haven from the world.

            Sauntering towards the door, I found them unlocked as usual.  I slowly entered,

attempting not to disturb the silence.  The streams of sunlight from the east bank of windows

provided just enough light to see the hoops.  I slowly slipped off my sandals and pulled on a pair

of clean, new socks.  As my shoes found their way to my feet, my mind drifted back to the game

the night before; what an exciting it had been against our arch rivals.  The roar of the crowd was

deafening.  Hundreds of students and parents alike filled the bleachers to the brim, standing on

their feet, shouting and cheering us on.  I heard the roar of that crowd as I tied up my shoes and

picked up my basketball.  With their inspiration running through my head, I started to shoot. 

Beginning to relax, I let all of my outside worries float away.  My commitments, pressures, and

responsibilities were no longer in the forefront of my mind.  All of it could be found waiting for me

outside the gym doors.  As I began to work up a sweat, I changed my focus from shooting to one

on one.  Slowly the moves came to me as I faked out my invisible defender and drove to the

hole.  My workout increased, and sweat dripped down my face.  Time passed and the sweat

began to dry.

            Finishing with free throws, I was tired but stress free.  After making twenty, I decided to call it a day and slowly returned to the sideline.  As my shoes and socks came off, the crowd slowly became less apparent, and the memory of the game began to fade.  With sandals on and basketball in hand, I headed toward the doors.  I braced myself for the world again, going back to reality.  I turned and looked at the beauty of the court, of the gym, and of the stands.  There, everyone was equal.  There, everyone spoke the same language and the chance of a good or bad game was not decided upon race, ethnicity, religion, or social status.  I pushed through the doors and gradually made my way home.  The sun was now higher in the sky.  The world was up and ready to face another day. And so was I.

             The buzzer brings me back to reality.  I look around the concourse, realizing that my small town and my gym are still two thousand miles away.  I walk toward the student section and find myself a seat.  Soon, the players come running onto the floor and the game begins.  As they enter the fieldhouse, the crowd erupts.  A smirk begins to appear on my face and soon develops to a full smile.  No matter how much I help it, the roar of the crowd is part of me.  During my freshman year, the crowd was new to me.  It added to the nerves that I was already experiencing while playing basketball.  But by senior year, the game wasn’t the same without it.  I always worked hard to play a game that was worth watching and one that would keep the crowd coming back over and over again. 

That roar brings me back to these memories every time.  It represents a time in my life when I found my true passion, when friends, coaches, and parents, understood my passion and encouraged me to live it.  It’s a time in my life that every morning of everyday, I wake up and wish that I could go back and live again.

            I stand for the next two hours yelling and cheering for the KU basketball team.  I know what it is like to be on that floor, feeding off of the crowd’s intensity.  Changes in my life have brought changes in my role.  I am no longer a player, but now a fan.  I am now part of the roar that will bring back memories to those KU basketball players for the rest of their lives.  I am now part of the roar that is so influential to my own basketball memories.

            When the game ends, I gather my things and walk down the bleachers.  As I reach the concourse, I turn and look back at the court.  I can still hear the roar of the crowd ringing in the rafters and a part of my heart feels missing.  Its back in California, in my gym, and it will always be there.  I walk out of the fieldhouse and make my way back to the dorms with the sounds of the game still filling my head.  Suddenly, a feeling of comfort comes over me and I know that whenever I hear the roar of that crowd, I am reliving the best experiences of my past.

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