With six minutes to go in the game we began to slip. The game had been ours from the start. We may not have been the first to score, but we did answer their opening layup with “one, two, three, points,” from the top of the arc. We were meshing. The synergy was tangible.

Then came the six-minute mark.

We were coming off the curve headed for the homestretch, and our shoes came untied. A well-contested 15-footer gave away the lead that we had been desperately hanging onto. We played a game of catch with the lead for a minute, before a series of misses on our part unfortunately coincided with a string of makes on theirs.

We played the “foul and cross your fingers” game for the last couple of minutes, but to no avail. Our cold streak lasted the remainder of the game, and teams never miss that many free throws. The University of Wisconsin at Whitewater ended our run for the championship.

Athletes have to get used to losing if they ever want to make it in their sport. Other than in boxing, athletes never go their entire career without having to bounce back from heartbreaking losses. They learn from defeat.

I don’t necessarily have a problem with losing, but the type of loss we suffered at the College Wheelchair Basketball National Championship last weekend was one that I have not had much experience with in general, and have never experienced in a team sport.

The loss is not even my last memory of the tournament. We came back the next day and played another terrific game, this time coming out victorious, to take third place over Edinboro University. Even after bouncing back from the defeat, I couldn’t shake the feeling of that loss. We played well, really well, and came so close.

Our team did exactly what every team tries to do; we peaked at the perfect time. We came together and played our best basketball of the season in the final tournament of the year. In honest reflection I have to admit that this has not been the case in the past three years I’ve played here. It makes the loss hurt just a little bit more. It brings the words “next year” to the lips of fans and players alike. The dreaded words “next year” that Cubs fans have grown to loathe and athletes hate hearing because it means that it didn’t happen “this year.”

What makes it even more frustrating is when it is true. And in our case, “next year” should be a very good year. After coming so close this year, we are not losing a single player next season. We are, however, gaining some very nice talent from incoming players from Japan (yeah, Coach has some connections) and Chicago. Our coach was giddy Sunday when we were discussing the future with him.

I was frustrated. To me, and I would imagine to many athletes, telling them that they are going to have an amazing team the following season, but then making them sit through a four month off-season feels much like a bull must feel in the holding pen of a rodeo where it is poked and prodded with nowhere to go. I’m not saying I want to burst out and throw down some cowboys, but I wouldn’t mind trying out our newfound strength on a couple of university basketball teams.

As an athlete, though, I have grown accustomed to having reigns put on my desire for instant gratification. The adage “all good things come in time,” however much it makes you want to yell at your coach, holds very true in the world of sports. Here’s to hoping that my coach is right again. Much like Cubs fans, I want “next year” to actually mean something victorious. I’m done learning from losses. Adieu.

Josh George is a senior in communications. He can be reached at [email protected].