September 7 - Final Shot

It was a decision that plagued him for most of his adult life: not playing in the state basketball championship game in his senior year because of bronchitis.
His team lost the game by one point.
The final shot of the game was a set play that was usually run through him. An inbounds pass, shot out to the key, and then back to him at the low post. Two points. That was his shot. And that was the shot his teammate missed as the game clock wound down to zero.
Hardly a day went by that he didn't question himself. Was his bronchitis really that bad? Couldn't he have played sick? Couldn't he have rallied? Did he succumb to doctor's orders too easily?
There was no way to know, but that didn't stop him from questioning himself constantly throughout the following spring, into college, and for the rest of his years. If he had sucked it up and played in that game, would they have won the state championship?
He was so obsessed with the question that upon dying and proceeding to the after world, that was the first question he asked. Most people wanted to know about relatives or loved ones. He wanted to know if he would have delivered his team the glory.
Upon hearing his question, the Supreme Being laughed and told him no. If he'd been there and played, they would have lost by ten.
Really?
Oh yeah. In fact, he'd come perilously close to preventing them from making the finals in the first place. If anything, most of his team was relieved he wasn't able to play in that final game.
Sorry.
Just being honest.
Anything else you want to know?
Not so much.
And with that lifelong nagging question finally answered, he sulked away. His afterlife was off to a disappointing start.