Coach Williams blew the whistle as the varsity team finished their scrimmage. I'd been sitting in the bleachers for twenty minutes, watching practice like I did every day after coaching the youth team. For the past month, I'd been coming here religiously, never missing a day, studying how they ran their offense and defense.
"Patterson!" Coach Williams called out. "Come down here!"
Finally.
I jogged down from the bleachers, my heart racing. Coach Williams was tough as hell - used to play Division II ball before becoming a teacher. He didn't give anybody anything they didn't earn.
"You been watching us practice for how long now?" he asked, arms crossed.
"A month, Coach. Every single day."
"And you been asking to try out since day one, right?"
"Yes sir."
He looked me up and down. "Your youth coaching coordinator called me yesterday. Said you just started working with those kids a few weeks ago, but you already got them respecting you and playing hard."
Coaching the youth team was part of my promise to the boys. Get my life back on track.
"She also said you've been studying film and asking smart questions about the game," Coach continued. "So here's what we're gonna do. You can practice with us for two weeks. You earn a spot, you earn a spot. You don't, you keep coaching the little ones and we never have this conversation again."
Holy shit.
"Yes sir!" I said, trying not to sound too excited.
"But let me be clear," Coach Williams added, his voice getting serious. "I remember you from sophomore year. You was the best guard we had before you got caught up with the wrong crowd and stopped showing up. These boys been playing together while you was running the streets. They earned their spots through blood, sweat, and proving they can execute under pressure."
Damn. He holds a grudge
That hit different. Sophomore year, I was the man on Varsity. Coach was already talking about contacting colleges. Then I started hanging with the wrong people, skipping practices, thinking I was too cool for basketball. By the time I realized how much I'd fucked up, my spot was gone and my reputation was shot.
"I understand, Coach. I'm not that person anymore."
"We'll see," he said. "Practice starts tomorrow at 3:30. Don't be late."
As I walked home, my mind was racing. Two weeks to prove I belonged at the varsity level, but also to prove I'd changed as a person. These dudes probably still saw me as the kid who threw away his potential for the streets.
Time to show them I'm back.
But there was one problem with everything Terrell had told me about being a floor general and maximizing my court vision. One major fucking problem.
I love to score.
Always had. Even back when I was dominating JV, I was never just a pure point guard. I was the dude who would get you an assist, then turn around and drop twenty on your head. Making my teammates better was part of my game, but putting the ball in the basket was what got me hyped.
That's who I really am.
I knew Terrell was right about being smart with my approach - being a playmaker would get me back on the court and help rebuild trust with coaches. But once I got my opportunities, I wasn't trying to just be a role player.
I want to show them the scorer they remember, but with the maturity I've developed.
The next day, I showed up to practice thirty minutes early. The gym was empty except for the janitor mopping the floors. I sat in the bleachers thinking about how different this felt from two years ago. Back then, I was cocky, thinking basketball owed me something. Now I understood I had to earn every minute on the court.
Different mindset. Same talent.
At 3:30 sharp, the team started filtering in. I recognized most of them, though some had grown since I last really paid attention. Jeron Davis was their starting point guard - 6'3", strong, had taken the spot that probably would've been mine. Jerome Williams was their shooting guard, smooth stroke but not much of a playmaker. Big Mike Washington controlled the paint.
"Yo, who's the new guy?" Jerome asked when he saw me lacing up my shoes.
"That's Dre," Jeron said. "Used to play V with us before he... took a break."
Took a break. That's one way to put it.
"Patterson's back?" Jerome asked, surprised. "Damn, I remember you used to cook everybody."
At least someone remembers I could play.
Coach Williams gathered us around center court. "Alright, listen up. Patterson's gonna be practicing with us for two weeks. Some of y'all remember him from JV. Right now, he's not on the team, he's trying to earn his way back."
I could feel the mixed reactions. Some guys looked curious, maybe remembering how I used to play. Others looked skeptical, probably remembering why I left.
"We're gonna start with five-on-five scrimmage," Coach continued. "Patterson, you're with the white team. Jeron, you run the ones for red."
White team. Second string. Fair enough.
I lined up with four other guys - JV call-ups and bench players. Jeron and the starters were on the red team. This was perfect actually. Time to remind everyone what I could do when I was locked in.
The first possession, I brought the ball up court and immediately felt the difference. My handle was tighter than it had ever been. All those early morning sessions had paid off. I called for a high screen, used it to get a step on the defender, and found my center with a perfect wrap bounce pass for an easy layup.
"Good read!" Coach Williams called out.
Start with the right play. Take it easy
Second possession, I saw Jerome cheating toward the middle, so I whipped a skip pass to my wing for an open three. Swish.
"That's good ball movement!" Coach yelled.
But on the third possession, I could see Jeron was starting to relax, probably thinking I was just going to be a pass-first guy. He was playing off me, not respecting my shot.
Big mistake.
I came down, used a hesi to freeze him for just a second, then exploded past him with a quick first step. Their help defense rotated over, but I hit them with an in-and-out dribble that got them off balance, split the double team, and finished with a layup through contact.
"And fucking one!" I yelled as the whistle blew.
That felt good as hell.
The gym got a little quieter. Jeron looked surprised. Even Coach Williams raised an eyebrow.
Fourth possession, I came down and found my power forward with a post entry pass for an easy bucket. Just trying to keep them guessing about what I was going to do.
Fifth possession, Jeron was playing up on me now, trying to pressure the ball. I gave him a crossover - hard dribble right to left to sell it - then stepped back and pulled up from fifteen feet.
Swish.
"Bucket!" I said, staring at Jeron as I ran back on defense.
This is what I've been missing.
For the next ten minutes, I played exactly how I remembered playing before everything went wrong. I'd make the right pass to get my teammates easy looks, then turn around and break someone down when they least expected it.
One possession I'd drive and kick to the corner for three. The next I'd use a between-the-legs dribble to change pace and hit a pull-up jumper. Then I'd find the rolling big man with a perfectly timed pass. Then I'd catch Jeron overplaying and hit a step-back three right in his face.
Every move felt natural. The double crossover into a drive. The hesitation into a step-back. The way I could read when my teammates needed the ball versus when I needed to be aggressive.
This is who I am. Always been.
By halftime of the scrimmage, I had twelve points and eight assists, and I could see the whole dynamic had changed. Guys were looking at me different. Coach Williams kept me on the floor while rotating everyone else.
During the water break, Jeron jogged over.
"Yo, where the hell did that come from?" he asked, not hostile but genuinely curious.
"It never left," I said simply. "I just lost focus for a while."
"That step-back three you hit on me was cold I can't lie," Jeron continued. "I forgot you could really hoop."
Jerome walked over. "Bro, you look better than you did like ever. That pass you threw in traffic was some next-level shit."
They're starting to remember why I was supposed to be here.
The second half was different. Now the starters were taking me seriously, which made everything harder. Jeron was pressuring me full court. Jerome was helping on every drive. Big Mike was protecting the rim.
Good. This is what I missed. Real competition.
I adjusted accordingly. When they pressured me, I used my natural handles to create space. When they helped on my drives, I found the open man. When they sagged off expecting me to pass, I made them pay with my shot.
The game within the game was beautiful. Jeron would try to deny me the ball, so I'd use a back cut to get open. He'd play off expecting me to drive, so I'd hit the step-back. He'd overplay my strong hand, so I'd go left and finish with my off hand.
This is basketball at its purest level.
With five minutes left in practice, Coach Williams called out, "Next basket wins!"
The score was tied, and both teams were locked in. This was my moment.
Jeron brought the ball up for the red team and tried to post me up, using his size advantage. But I stayed low, used my quickness to strip the ball clean, and immediately pushed the pace.
I was ahead of everyone in transition. Could've easily pulled up for the game-winner. But I saw Big Mike filling the lane hard, and something told me to make the right basketball play.
I drove toward the rim, used a shoulder fake to sell the shot, drew both defenders, then threw a no-look pass to Big Mike for an easy dunk.
Game over.
The white team erupted. Even some of the red team players were clapping. Coach Williams just nodded and blew his whistle.
"That's practice!" he called out. "Same time tomorrow!"
As we were gathering our stuff, Coach Williams pulled me aside.
"Patterson, that was the player I remember from JV," he said. "The one who could score when we needed a bucket, but also understood when to get his teammates involved."
"Thank you, Coach."
"Don't thank me yet," he said seriously. "One good practice don't erase two years of questions about your commitment. You got thirteen more practices to prove you've really changed, not just as a player but as a person."
Fair enough.
"But," he continued, "if you keep playing like that and showing up like this, you might just earn your way back to where you should've been all along."
As I walked home, I thought about everything that had happened. I wasn't trying to be somebody else anymore. I was just trying to be the best version of who I'd always been - a scorer who could facilitate, a playmaker who could take over when needed.
This is my game. Always has been.