Josh Edwards had dreamed about this moment from the time he first picked up his Fisher Price basketball and shot it through the three foot plastic hoop. At age four.

Be like Michael Jordan.

Now was his time to become a New York basketball legend.

The Oasis, in New York City, professional basketball’s most iconic venue, was howling with a packed house of rabid fans mixed with a platoon of attention starved celebrities.

Game seven of the American Basketball League championship between the New York Knights and Miami Storm had become the most expensive ticket in sports history. The icons of Knights’ championship glory, Willie Johnson, Walter Brown, and Patrick Davis, sitting behind the Knights’ bench, stood up and waved white towels imploring the crowd to break the noise meter.

During the glory years of the New York Knights championships, The Oasis was filled with titans of sports and entertainment. To compete with the deliberate promotion of sideline celebrities at the Los Angeles Quakes games, celebrity row was started. Business titan Dirk Jackson was quickly anointed the leader from his courtside seat.

With history in the making, the crowd, taking a cue from Jackson, had worked itself into a frenzy. It was the Roman Colosseum all over again and fans were witnessing the final moments of whether the warrior would kill or be killed.

Watching from the cheap seats at The Oasis, Josh’s parents, Tyrell and Jada, looked at each other and smiled. After hundreds of youth league basketball games, high school and AAU travel events, basketball related injuries and finally, four years of watching college hoops on television, their effort had finally begun to pay off.

Living through the pains of poverty and illness, their one shining moment had now arrived.

Veronica Baron, Josh’s college girlfriend and a college basketball player herself, was experiencing a Deja vu moment while sitting in her bank’s luxury suite.

While at Davie University, Josh and Veronica often spoke about this very moment. It was what every kid playing hoops wanted. A chance at immortality.

Josh was a high school legend at Rucker Park in Harlem. He had single handedly won dozens of AAU games, high school championships and national rivalry games in college.

Often at the buzzer.

Now, it was time to immortalize his basketball career.

He entered game seven of the ABL Finals with 3:23 left in regulation after sitting on the bench for what appeared to be a historic end to a twenty year title drought for the hapless Knights.

Knights’ fans had become so accustomed to losing that most in attendance were waiting for the inevitable collapse.

They were going to be disappointed.

Again.

Veteran Knights coach Dante DiNunzio scanned the bench looking for a defensive stopper. After bleeding a twenty-two point lead to the Miami Storm with less than ten minutes left, DiNunzio was desperate. His two best players had already fouled out.

The cynical Knights’ crowd was screaming defense while praying for a miracle from the basketball gods.

DiNunzio looked down at the bench and caught Josh’s eyes. He looked ready.

Josh was traded to the Knights earlier in the season just for this moment. Despite a 5.2 career scoring average, he was known for his arm length and quickness making him a rarity among the ABL’s obsession with scoring.

He had been there before. His key steal of a Chris Johnson crossover with five seconds remaining in game six of the 2014 Finals earned him the moniker “Bandit”.

What it didn’t earn him was a larger contract and Josh was bleeding money.

The financial daggers were the gambling trips. He owed Las Vegas casinos slightly more than $300,000, Atlantis in the Bahamas $200,000 and more importantly, the Muzzicata crime family $800,000.

Now it was time for the Muzzicata payback.

While sitting on the bench, Josh was hoping for one more chance. His career had become a disappointment; to fans and to himself. He was hailed as the second coming of Michael Jordan out of North Carolina when he was drafted as a first round draft pick four years ago.

Injuries, bad luck and the disappearance of his vaunted three point shot, made him a bench player for his new team. As he sat, he began to wonder whether his playing days in the show were numbered.

Looking into the mirror, it was beginning to feel like someone had kicked him in the groin. No more Ritz Carltons, insanely beautiful groupies, and fast cars. His world was going to become a nine to five, $60k a year ordeal of drudgery and pain.

A common working man. Someone who couldn’t even afford to attend Knights games.

And make no mistake, Josh wasn’t prepared for the transition from college. Despite his basketball pedigree, he failed to graduate from Davie University. He thought about going back but then realized he wouldn’t have paid tutors taking his tests for him. That was a no go.

Coupled with his massive poker debts, IRS liens and his insatiable gambling habit, he realized his lifestyle was about to collapse.

Paul Muzzicata had begun to lose patience. Muzzicata was a six time Mafia captain, three time felon and a maniacal Knights fan. His courtside seat not only allowed him to intimidate referees but gave him access to all of the Knights players and the locker room.

Muzzicata, a master in the study of the human psyche and all of its foibles, saw opportunity where others were blind.

The Muzzicata family was one of the largest criminal enterprises in New York City. They ran their businesses with a smile while pointing a gun at your head.

Muzzicata had been released from Riker’s Island two years earlier. When confronted with overwhelming evidence proving his connection to the extensive crime involving his family, he laughed at the city task force investigating the city’s illegal high end poker parties.

He was instrumental in organizing these elite poker gatherings in many of the city’s high end hotels. Besides the heirs of many of New York City’s high society legacies, the games were the place to be seen for entertainment honchos and athletes from all of New York’s professional sports teams.

Josh’s game entrance brought a gasp from the visibly upset Knights fans whose historical agony of losing had been temporarily interrupted by the delusion of a 22 point lead. Even the Knights locker room porter declined delivery with the championship trophy from an eager ABL official.

“Bad omen,” he smirked to the official.

Josh was now determined to end his career slide. A dive for a loose ball by “The Bandit” with less than a minute left returned possession back to the Knights energizing the crowd and making DiNunzio’s substitution decision look prophetic, if only temporarily.

With the Storm up by two points at 110-108, it looked as if the curse could end. Jalin Harris, the ABL’s best player, had just caught fire and scored ten points for the Storm in the last four minutes. A man possessed, he was aiming to win his fourth championship to edge closer to Michael Jordan’s six NBA championship rings.

After his last shot, a difficult turnaround jumper, he smiled at Josh who wasn’t able to deny Harris the ball.

A Knights timeout sent the players to the bench where Josh was receiving encouragement from his shell shocked teammates.

The Knight’s crowd was standing, roaring and hoping for a return of Willie Johnson magic to end the frustration. Celebrity Row was buzzing with anticipation.

While in the timeout huddle, Josh, trying to watch DiNunzio drawing up the final play, looked over the shoulder of a teammate and saw Muzzicata.

Muzzicata nodded. Decision time.

Should he betray his Knights teammates and the entire city of New York or risk permanent disability from a Mafia thug who had bet millions on the Knights losing?

As play resumed and the Knights began running out the clock to set up for the last shot, Josh froze.

A double team at the top of the key with five seconds left forced a hard pass from the Knights’ leading scorer, Cam Walker, to Josh who was standing in the corner assuming he wasn’t in the play.

He fumbled the pass as time expired.

A thunderous cacophony of boos rained down from the fans as the Knights players left the court.

Cups, many still filled with beer, rained on the players and floor as the game ended.

Josh, a tear of anguish running down his face, buried his head in his hands kneeling on the floor.

A moment later, he looked up.

Paul Muzzicata was standing over him. Smiling.