A love letter to a sport comes down to one thing: opportunity

Dear Basketball,

I remember when I first fell in love with you. During my seventh-grade year there was just something about you that could not tear me away. I ate, slept and breathed you. Everything I did was done so that I could play ball. I did my homework, respected my parents, obeyed rules and did my chores, all for you.

When I was not playing you, I was thinking about you. Often at a young age you could find me in front of the television studying you. I was hooked.

I was not always allowed to play. Often I was sidelined with littlekiditis; essentially, I was too young. Watching my brothers and my father battle at the park was quite entertaining. The trash talk, handchecks and accusations of cheating were evident in every play. Posing as cheerleader and spectator caused my desire to play you to grow even more.

But sometimes it was just you and me. Nobody was there to play King of the Court and prevent me from playing because I was a little girl. All you could hear was the bounce of the ball and my imagination running wild. Three seconds left, down 2, she shoots ... she scores! We would play until my mom got so angry she would cut off the porch light. But I liked it dark because that way the mosquitoes weren't as bad.

Now it's unbelievable the stage that I am able to play you on: In a high school gym, in front of 2,000 people? In Thompson-Boling Arena, in front of 24,000? When I was younger the neighbors were a treat. But no matter the number of observers, I visualize it just being you and me (except when the double-team comes and I dish it off to Alex Fuller for 2).

The love that you have given me and the lessons that you have taught me have not gone unappreciated. Years of smiles and tears, we have still hung tough. We are still together. When I felt as though my love for you could grow no more, I found out it had no bounds. I thought you left me for awhile there. You disappeared for several months, and I was concerned. But you returned and know, that while you were gone, my love for you never wavered.

One word to describe you: opportunity. That's what you have given me: The ability to express myself in a weekly column for the Daily Herald, high school memories, friends, coaches, teammates, a full scholarship to the University of Tennessee, and the list goes on... . Thank you.

I feel prepared for life. I know when I am relaxing, my competition is working. When I am satisfied, my rival is hungry for more. Life after basketball will never exist. Make no mistake, there will come a time when I am unable to play. But the life lessons you have taught me will be with me forever.