The fourth quarter got underway.
Shadows 97, Roarers 84. Thirteen points.
Roarers' ball.
Ryan brought it up past halfcourt, and before he'd even reached the top of the arc, the Shadows' defense changed—no more of that 2-3 zone. Store stepped up, pressing him tight; and right behind him, a second man came swinging in from the wing.
A double.
They were scared. For three quarters they'd watched this one man drop thirty-some points all by himself, and everyone knew—let him keep going like this, and the game was gone.
Ryan kept changing direction, trying to shake the trap, but the two of them stuck to him tight—he pushed a couple of steps toward the paint and found every lane to the rim already sealed off. Nothing for it but to pass; he forced it, barely, out to Lin in the right corner. Two bounces on the rim, and down it dropped.
97 to 87.
That basket sent a few Roarers off the bench and onto their feet—the first point of the quarter, and it felt more precious than gold.
