Timing is the essence of life: in crisis, in decision-making, in triumph and tragedy. If we could only turn back the clock and take back a few seconds here or a few minutes there, what difference might there be?
 
Some may tire of sports analogies, yet they speak to us about performance under pressure and are irrefutable evidence of snap decisions that changed the game, changed history, just as those we may be required to thin-slice and act upon in a blink. If we possessed advance warning or could rehearse our snap decisions we might respond differently. But would we?
 
Asked to revisit examples of the human quality under ultimate pressure, legendary coach Pat Riley settled on a game and a player now fading with time in the highlight library. It was the 1990 NBA playoffs' game six at the Forum between the Portland Trailblazers and perennial league nemesis the L. A. Lakers. Riley remembers, "No player epitomizes a team-lifting ability better than Earvin Johnson." With four seconds left on the game clock, the Lakers held a one-point lead, but Portland was on the attack. Suddenly one of the Lakers knocked the ball loose and Magic Johnson scooped it up deep in the corner. In rapid response, two Trailblazers rushed at Johnson knowing if they could reclaim possession, they'd have three seconds to make a game- winning shot.
 
In the hands of players like those on the Blazers' roster, three seconds is an eternity. By fouling Earvin Johnson the clock would stop, suspending time. Even if Johnson made the shots, Portland would still have three seconds to loft a pass, shoot a three, and send the game into overtime. "Portland had very dangerous perimeter shooters," said Riley. So re-setting the scene, Earvin Johnson is being rushed by two Trailblazers committed to stealing the ball or fouling with the intent to stop the clock and gain a chance at retrieving victory from the proverbial jaws of defeat.
 
Ninety-nine of a hundred basketball players would have done the conventional (in fact, what they're coached to do): hang onto the ball, take the foul, and hope to make the free throws.

But Earvin Magic Johnson was no ordinary NBA star. He was, says Riley, "in a class by himself." With four seconds remaining, Johnson checked his inner clock, then heaved the ball in a long arc to the opposite end of the floor where there was exactly no one to catch it. He committed a deliberate turnover with the game hanging on four seconds.
 
The crowd was stunned-silent, as were both benches. But after the seemingly errant court-length pass traveled its two-story arc, then bounced out of bounds, there was but one second left on the Forum clock.  Only then did both teams and most Laker fans comprehend the sheer brilliance of Johnson's millisecond decision to send the ball ninety-four feet in the opposite direction, making a Blazer miracle a "what-if" memory, inscribing another Lakers' win.
 
None of us knows when a second of thin-slicing and its ensuing action will mean the difference. And while none of us will affect a sports outcome or a desperate battle, we should be aware that history is always written by the winning side; and tomorrow we may hold the ball with four seconds left, called on to make a split second decision in a moment of crisis that will decide the difference between a win and a loss.  Our reaction may not be what we've been conditioned to practice.