"Larry, this is it," I said. "We've been waiting one year for this opportunity , this is right where we want them. How's Kevin feeling?" "He's feeling great," Larry said, as he grabbed my left arm. "We were meant to be here, David. We were meant to win; we've carried this team along with Kevin, Robert, D.J., and some fabulous work off the bench from rookie John."

Larry continued, "I know we can do this." "Larry, get a good night's sleep; it's not every day you play the Lakers in the seventh game in the Garden. Don't worry, we'll pull this one off in the end," I said. "See you in the morning, David," he said, walking away to his room with a big smirk on his face.

The next evening finally arrived. This is it, I thought to myself, as I sat on the end of the bench, waiting to hear my name called. Brent Musberger was giving his final thoughts before tipoff. "Okay! This should be one of the most exciting events in sports history. Pat Riley's Lakers are well and ready to defend the championship ring that they won last year , now back to you, Myron." "Well, here we are , the world champions, the Los Angeles Lakers versus the Boston Celtics in the Boston Garden. Here with me is Bob Cousy; I'm Myron Summerall. Now down to courtside."

My name was finally called: "Daaaavid Raaais-nner!" I was one of the five starters on the Boston Celtics. I thought of some of my reviews since I had joined the league: Week in Sports said, "Raisner is close to and will be one of the most versatile players in basketball history." Bob Cousy asked how I was feeling, and what my game plan was, in a pre-game interview. (I said I was feeling great, and that the game plan was "to take my mother's advice, and just win.") I ran onto the court.

Johnny Most was going wild. "It's all tied up , 103 to 103. 23 seconds left in regulation time. Magic has the ball, spins, stumbles, holds on to it, and throws up an off-balance jump shot. The ball, after hovering precariously on the rim, goes in slowly. I don't believe it! That was one of the most amazing feats of all time! Bird in bounds the ball to Raisner. Raisner is double teamed, but somehow gets free with the ball. He dribbles down court, passes to Kevin, who swings it up top, cautiously checks the clock. 10 ...9 ...8 ... gives it to Raisner, who somehow, incredibly, finds Bird, who puts up a fall-away three-pointer. 4 ...3 ... it looks good ... NO! Hits the back of the rim and bounces in the air. From nowhere, Raisner catches it, and puts it in. No! That was the most amazing feat of all time! The crowd is in pandemonium. The game will go into OT. No, wait! He was fouled! I don't believe it! Raisner's going to the foul line for the game-winning shot. The crowd has been on its feet for almost the whole fourth quarter. They're chanting , "Da-vid! Da-vid! Da-vid!" as he walks to the four and a half foot red line. There's no time left on the clock. The court is empty , only Raisner and the referees remain on the floor. The referee hands him the ball."

I stepped away from the line, and looked up at my family in the stands. My mother had this piercing glued-on smile on her flushed face. My mind went back ten years ago to the time I sank the two game-tying foul shots to send my town league team into overtime, where we won the championship, and where I received my one and a half foot high trophy. What a feeling! It's the same situation now, only for bigger stakes. I stepped up to the line, took a deep breath, let it out, bounced the ball three times, gave one last smile to my family and friends, set my feet, and released the shot. It didn't feel right when it left my hands. I thought I shot it too hard. The ball hit the back of the rim, almost in slow motion, bouncing as high as the backboard. It seemed to have frozen in mid-air, but, eventually, came straight down through the net. My hands raised; we had just won the 1989 World Championship! My smile hasn't left me since. I was lifted up to the shoulders of my teammates and carried to the locker room. The feeling was absolutely indescribable.

Awaiting me in the party-ready locker room was President Reagan, who extended his hand, and said, "David." I replied, "Yes, Ron?" He paused in surprise, and said, "David, excellent job," as number one sixth man and Rookie of the Year John Shields poured champagne all over the President's head. Larry approached me, and said, "Nice grab," as he gave me a big hug, which wound up under my picture, on the cover of Sports Illustrated's next issue. It was my second year in the league, and I was a full fledged celebrity hero. I think I'll do it again next year, I thought to myself in the locker room (as I knocked on the wooden table to my right).n