Vinnie stood tall, clipboard in hand, eyes sharp like a hawk watching over a rookie in deep waters. Aleksandar, drenched in sweat and running on fumes, looked like he was trying to mentally teleport to another dimension.
But mercy wasn't on the menu today.
"Alright, Small Fry," Vinnie began, voice calm but firm the tone of someone who had no intention of cutting corners. "Now we move into ball handling drills. And I want precision, not panic."
Aleksandar, slouched and pale, nodded like a man sentenced to extra PE class in purgatory.
Vinnie pointed to the court.
"First up Two Ball Dribble Series. We're training ambidexterity and control here. You'll do: Same time dribbles, Alternate dribbles, High low dribbles. Stick with it for five minutes straight. Focus on rhythm. Don't chase the ball if you lose it just reset and keep going."
Aleksandar picked up two balls. His hands wobbled. His soul wobbled.
"Next," Vinnie continued, "Tennis Ball Catch Drill. You'll dribble with your right hand while tossing and catching a tennis ball with the same hand. Then switch sides. Five minutes each. Purpose? Hand eye coordination and multitasking. If your brain doesn't feel like it's melting, you're doing it wrong."
Aleksandar blinked slowly. One drop of sweat fell dramatically off his chin.
"After that Cone Obstacle Course. Combo moves through each cone. Mix in hesitations, crossovers, and keep your head up. Change directions every two reps. Eight minutes. This isn't just ball handling it's movement with intent."
The cones were already lined up. Aleksandar stared at them like they were landmines.
"Fourth Footwork + Handles Combo. Jab steps, in and outs, hesitations. Mix it all with a pull up dribble. Move like it's a real game. Don't dance attack. Six minutes."
Aleksandar groaned. Whether it was from pain or existential dread was unclear.
"Last one Freestyle Handles. No rules. Be creative. Think Kyrie Irving if he was sleep deprived and still better than you. Four minutes. Let it all out."
There was a long pause.
Aleksandar grunted something that might've been "Okay," grabbed a ball, and shuffled forward like a zombie heading to his shift at Ballmart.
Sweat splattered the court like battlefield debris.
The sound of dribbles echoed through the gym like a war drum. Thud thud thud thump bounce smack.
Aleksandar moved through cones, crossing the ball behind his back, stumbling once, catching himself, then exploding forward.
His shirt clung to him like a second skin. Hair matted. Breathing ragged.
A tennis ball bounced awkwardly off his shoulder.
"Again!" Vinnie barked from the sideline. "Don't swat at it. Control it!"
Aleksandar nodded, picked it up, and repeated.
Next, he powered through the footwork drills, his legs jelly, but his rhythm slowly syncing with the ball. Jab step, in and out, crossover, pull up dribble
"That's it!" Vinnie called. "Now we're cooking!"
And then came the final drill: freestyle handles. Aleksandar closed his eyes for a moment, then let the ball dance spinning, flicking, weaving between his legs like a mad street magician finding his groove.
When the buzzer on Vinnie's phone finally rang, Aleksandar collapsed to one knee, chest heaving, lips parted, staring into the floorboards like they had just betrayed him.
Vinnie stood up, clicked his pen, and flipped his clipboard.
"Not bad, Small Fry," he said, walking over. "You didn't die. That's already a win."
Aleksandar could barely lift his arm, but he held up a shaky thumbs up.
Vinnie didn't even let Aleksandar catch his breath.
"On your feet, Small Fry. We're not done," he said, voice sharp and unwavering like a coach who believed in tough love and tougher reps.
Aleksandar groaned from the floor, barely alive, still clutching the empty water bottle like it was a lifeline.
"I said get up while you're still tired, Vinnie continued. "Best way to train for game fatigue is to simulate it. We're moving on to shooting drills and I don't want lazy arms."
Aleksandar rose to his feet, legs trembling, eyes glassy but determined.
Vinnie clapped once and began breaking it down like a drill sergeant with a clipboard and zero sympathy.
"Off the Dribble Threes. You'll combine ball handling with shooting. Use moves like between the legs or crossover into a three point shot. 25 total attempts. Purpose: Develop shot creation under pressure."
"Two Ball Shooting Drill. I'll pass you two balls one after another you shoot both. Quick catch, quick release. Purpose: Improve reaction time, shooting rhythm, and balance."
"Star Drill. Cones are placed in a star pattern around the court. You'll shoot from each point in a continuous star rotation. Go fast. No walking. Purpose: Simulate in game shooting with fatigue and movement."
"1-2 Pull Up Series. Start from different spots corner, wing, top. One or two dribbles into a pull up. Mix in side steps and step backs. Purpose: Footwork, shot versatility, mid range game."
"The 100 Makes Routine this is where boys cry and shooters rise. You must make 100 shots: 10 from each corner, 10 from both wings, 10 from the top of the key, 10 layups, 10 mid range shots from both sides in the paint, 10 from each corner in the paint."
He paused and looked Aleksandar dead in the eyes.
"This isn't about getting shots up. It's about becoming a shooter. Got it?"
Aleksandar wiped his face with the bottom of his soaked shirt, nodded faintly, and grabbed the ball. The look in his eyes was part dread, part warrior spirit awakening from a coma.
The gym echoed with nothing but the sound of bouncing balls, squeaking soles, and the sharp swish of net… occasionally interrupted by the dull clank of a miss.
Swish. Clank. Dribble. Swish.
"Move to the wing!" Vinnie shouted.
Thud. Pull up. Swish.
Aleksandar was drenched, gasping, clothes stuck to his frame. He sprinted from cone to cone, fired off quick catch and shoot threes, collapsed to the floor, only to crawl to the next station seconds later.
His form broke down. Then it came back sharper.
His legs nearly gave out. Then they dug deeper.
Vinnie's voice never wavered.
"Faster release. Reset your base. That one doesn't count. Focus!"
Shot after shot. Miss after make. Make after miss. Aleksandar powered through the reps with sheer willpower, the sound of the ball meeting the net gradually overtaking the sound of his own doubts.
Finally, with the last ball bouncing lazily off the rim and rolling away, Aleksandar dropped to the hardwood. He stared at the gym ceiling like it held the answers to life.
Vinnie checked his clipboard and nodded, not even out of breath.
"Not bad, Small Fry. You're bleeding, sweating, and almost unconscious… but your shot's improving."
Aleksandar raised a trembling thumb.
"Can I… die now?"
Vinnie tossed him a protein bar like it was a medal of honor.
"You can die after the cool down stretch. Hydrate. We're back at it tomorrow at 6 a.m."