【作文】六年级快乐的课间作文500字：课间十分钟的篮球赛

课间球场上的最后一传

下课铃一响，我们抱着篮球冲向操场。六年级的课间十分钟，对我们来说就是半场三对三的时间。球场上已经有人在了，我们隔着老远喊：加我们三个！对面点头，比赛就算开始了。

没有裁判，没有记分牌，规则是球场默认的：进球的一方继续打，输的一方下场换人。篮球砸在地面上，砰砰的声音从这头传到那头。第一个回合就抢疯了。对方的大个把球高高拨下来，我们队的马小跳一个箭步冲上去，胳膊一伸，把球从半空中捅了出来，球滚到我脚边，我抬脚一踩，球停了。

我运球往前压。防守我的人贴得很近，手在我眼前晃。我往右虚晃一步，再往左一扣，从他腋下把球传给了周阳。周阳背对篮筐接球，用后背顶住对方，转身分球给底线的李乐。李乐没人防，可他没投，他把球又往回一敲，球砸在罚球线附近的地面上弹起来，正好到我手里。这是我们练过的配合：撞墙式二过一。

我接球的时候，离进球只剩十几秒了，上课铃随时会响。对方两个人扑过来堵我，我把球护在怀里，往旁边跨一步，再一步。就在这时，我看见周阳从底线绕了出来，他站在篮下，周围没有人。我双手把球往前一送，球划出一道平平的弧线，正正落进他手里。他跳起来，手腕一压，球擦着篮板上方飞出去，砸在篮筐后沿，弹了一下，又弹了一下，掉进筐里。

进了！马小跳吼了一嗓子，声音大得把旁边羽毛球场的人都吓了一跳。我们仨撞在一起，周阳被我们抱起来晃了两下。场边看球的同学哗地围过来，喊刚才那一下传球的，喊最后那球进的，声音全搅在一起。对面大个走过来，拍拍我肩膀：那一下传得漂亮。这句话比进球还让我受用。

上课铃就在这时候响了，又急又响。我们谁也不服谁，因为最后一球没算进记分，可我们约好了明天课间接着打，比分从零开始。抱着球往回走，球在指尖转，我的衬衫后背湿了一大片，腿也酸，可每一步都轻飘飘的。

回到教室，我坐下才发现手心全是汗。刚才那一传，是我在球场上做过最正确的决定：我自己投，未必进；传给空位的周阳，球一定到。下课铃再响的时候，球场见。

The Last Pass on the Recess Court

The end-of-class bell rings, and we run to the playground hugging a basketball. For us sixth graders, the ten minutes of recess is the time for a half-court three-on-three game. Some people are already on the court. We shout to them from far away: Add our three! The other side nods, and the game begins.

There is no referee and no scoreboard. The rules are the unwritten ones of the schoolyard: the team that scores keeps playing, and the losing team steps off for the next group. The basketball pounds the ground, and the thumping sound travels from one end to the other. The very first round turns into a scramble. The big guy from the other team flicks the ball down from high in the air, and our Ma Xiaotiao dashes forward, stretches his arm, and pokes the ball out of midair. The ball rolls to my feet. I stop it with my foot.

I dribble forward. The defender guarding me stays close, his hand waving in front of my eyes. I fake a step to the right, then cut left and pass the ball under his armpit to Zhou Yang. Zhou Yang catches it with his back to the basket, holds off the defender with his back, then turns and splits the pass to Li Le down the baseline. Li Le is wide open, yet he does not shoot. He knocks the ball back toward the free throw line. It bounces off the floor and lands right in my hands. This is a combination we practiced: the wall pass, one-two.

When I catch it, only a dozen seconds remain before the bell, and the start-of-class bell could ring at any moment. Two defenders come at me to block the way. I cradle the ball against my chest and take one step sideways, then another. Just then I see Zhou Yang cutting out from the baseline. He stands under the basket, and nobody is around him. I push the ball forward with both hands. It flies in a flat arc and drops exactly into his hands. He jumps, snaps his wrist, and the ball sails over the top of the backboard, hits the far rim, bounces once, bounces again, and falls through the hoop.

It is in! Ma Xiaotiao roars, so loud that the players on the nearby badminton court jump. The three of us crash into each other, and we lift Zhou Yang and shake him twice. Classmates watching from the sideline swarm over, shouting about that pass, shouting about the shot, all the voices tangled together. The big guy from the other team walks over and pats my shoulder: That pass was beautiful. That sentence means even more to me than the goal.

The start-of-class bell rings right at that moment, sharp and loud. We argue because the last shot does not count on any scoreboard, but we agree to continue tomorrow at recess, with the score starting from zero. Walking back with the ball, I spin it on my fingertip. The back of my shirt is soaked through, my legs ache, yet every step feels weightless.

Back in the classroom, I sit down and notice my palms are covered in sweat. That last pass was the smartest decision I have ever made on a court: if I shot myself, it might not go in; passed to Zhou Yang standing open, the ball would surely arrive. When the recess bell rings again, see you on the court.

替补的我，投进了课间唯一一球

下课铃响了，我抱着球跑到半场，却被分到了替补。我们组人多，六个人打三对三，轮到我上场的时候，往往只剩两三分钟。我坐在场边的台阶上，看别人抢球、传球、进球，手心痒得很。

这一场的比分咬得紧。双方你进一个，我进一个，进球的一方接着打，谁都不肯下场。马小跳在场上喊：换人换人，让赵一鸣上！我愣了一下，抓起球就往场上跑。上场的第一件事是抢球。对方的后卫运球想过半场，我蹲低身子贴着他，眼睛盯着球，趁他运高了一点，胳膊一捅，球脱手了，滚出两米。我扑过去把球搂在怀里，膝盖蹭破了点皮，一点也不觉得疼。

我把球传给周阳，自己往前跑。周阳被两个人夹住，球传不过去，他冲我喊：拉开拉开！我往底角退，退到边线外面又退回场内。周阳终于把球甩出来，砸在我胸口，我抱稳了。时间只剩十几秒，上课铃像悬在头顶的一口钟，随时会落下来。

我不运球，我只会传。我把球往马小跳那边一推，马小跳接球就被断，球又滚回我脚边。我弯腰捞球，面前空了半步，就半步。我闭着眼睛把球扔了出去，姿势丑得很，两只手只托住球的下面，球歪歪地飞出去，砸在篮板下沿，弹起来，在筐上滚了半圈，掉了下去，又弹上来，卡在筐沿上晃了两下，掉进筐里。

进了！我自己都不敢信，站在原地张着嘴。马小跳冲过来一把抱住我，喊：替补的绝杀！场边看球的同学炸开了，拍手的、跺脚的、喊我名字的，声音一层压一层。周阳跑过来跟我击掌，掌心生疼。对面的人围过来问：你刚才那球怎么扔的？我挠挠头：闭着眼睛扔的。全场又笑又喊。

上课铃响了，我们还在往回走，脚步比上课前快，也比上课前轻。马小跳搂着我的肩膀说：下节课间你打首发。就这一句，我能在台阶上再坐一整个星期的替补。

回到座位，我摊开手心，掌根上有一道红印，是球砸的。我把这道红印给同桌看，他不信，我给他看膝盖上蹭破的皮。那记歪歪扭扭的进球，是我这个学期最快乐的一球。它让我明白：坐在场边的时候别灰心，球总会轮到你的手上，你要做的，就是在轮到你的那十几秒里，把球扔出去。

The Bench Player Who Made the Only Shot

The end-of-class bell rings. I run to the half-court hugging the ball, only to be assigned to the bench. Our group has too many people: six kids playing three-on-three. When my turn finally comes, there are often only two or three minutes left. I sit on the steps at the sideline, watching others steal, pass, and score, my palms itching with envy.

This game is tight. One side scores, then the other answers. The scoring team keeps playing, and nobody wants to step off. Ma Xiaotiao shouts on the court: Substitution! Let Zhao Yiming in! I freeze for a second, then grab the ball and sprint onto the court. The first thing I do is win the ball. The opposing guard dribbles trying to cross half court. I lower my body and stay glued to him, eyes on the ball. When he dribbles it a little high, I poke with my arm, and the ball pops loose, rolling two meters away. I dive and hug it to my chest. My knee scrapes the skin a little, and I feel no pain at all.

I pass the ball to Zhou Yang and run forward. Zhou Yang is double-teamed, and the pass will not get through. He shouts at me: Spread out! Spread out! I back off to the corner, step outside the sideline, then step back in. Zhou Yang finally flings the ball out. It hits my chest and I hold it steady. Only a dozen seconds remain. The start-of-class bell hangs over my head like a bell, ready to fall at any moment.

I cannot dribble. All I can do is pass. I push the ball toward Ma Xiaotiao. He catches it and it is immediately stolen, and the ball rolls back to my feet. I bend to scoop it up, and there is half a step of space in front of me, just half a step. I shut my eyes and throw. The form is ugly: both hands cradle only the bottom of the ball. It flies out crooked, hits the lower edge of the backboard, bounces up, rolls half a circle on the rim, drops below, bounces back up, wobbles twice on the rim, and falls through.

It is in! I cannot believe it myself, standing there with my mouth open. Ma Xiaotiao charges over and hugs me, shouting: A bench player hit the winner! The classmates watching explode, clapping, stomping, shouting my name, layer upon layer of sound. Zhou Yang comes over for a high five, and my palm stings. The other team gathers around asking: How did you throw that one? I scratch my head: I threw it with my eyes shut. The whole court laughs and shouts at once.

The start-of-class bell rings. We are still walking back, our steps faster than before class and lighter too. Ma Xiaotiao puts his arm around my shoulder and says: Next recess, you start. Just that one sentence is worth sitting on the bench for a whole week.

Back at my seat, I open my palm. There is a red mark at the base, left by the ball. I show it to my deskmate; he does not believe me, so I show him the scraped skin on my knee. That crooked shot is the happiest goal of my semester. It taught me this: do not lose heart on the bench. The ball will reach your hands sooner or later. What you must do, in the dozen seconds when it does, is throw it.