"No, actually that’s what I got, " I said rebounding the ball and taking it back up to the top of the three point line.  When she didn’t respond, I pressed her.  "I can’t believe it. The great Ashley Davies, for once, has nothing to say."

"No,  just admiring your moves."

"Well, I suggest you take a few notes, you may learn something,"  I said passing the ball to her to check it.

"We’ll see, " she replied, throwing it back. 

If I thought Ashley was tight on me before, I knew now I as mistaken.  She started overguarding my right hand, forcing me to dribble with my weaker left.  Then, suddenly, I felt the ball being swept away from my fingertips.  Ashley made a break for the basket and I was right on her heels.  But I couldn’t get there before her, and I was still trailing behind when she jumped in for a layup. 

"Hell, yeah," she yelled, catching her rebound, "You know that was smooth Carlin, I think you might be the one needing a notepad."

I made sure she saw me roll my eyes. "You made one shot, don’t get the victory party started yet."

"Yeah, but it’s only a matter of time before I make it to 11," she said, bouncing the ball back up to the three-point line.

Now that she was on the offensive, Ashley only seemed even more self-assured.  But as the game went on it became apparent that her arrogance made her brash. And, in turn, she made mistakes.  When she was on offense, she drove for the basket even when she didn’t have an opening.  On defense, she constantly reached in for the ball, making it easy for me to get around her.   But despite all of her blunders and turnovers, I had to admire her passion. 

Ashley may have looked tired and worn out, but she didn’t play it.  She fully commited to every split-second decision, never hesitating, always recovering from a mistake as quickly as she had committed to the decision that led to it. For a moment, I wished I could play with just a fraction of her intensity.  While I calculated every move, she felt them.  For her it seemed natural, for me manufactured.  It was the difference between a mathmetician mulling over a proof, and an artist painting a masterpiece  Towards the end of the game, this difference left us in the same spot.  Score: 9 to 9.  I had possesion of the ball.