Los Angeles | 2009
Bradley's POV
"Once more into the fray, into the last good fight I will ever know. Live and Die on this Day…Live and Die on this Day."
I opened my eyes. The locker room had already emptied out; I was the only one left. I stood up and walked out towards the court. We were competing against Loyola Junior High. This is the last match of the regular season for the Westside Basketball League, and even though winning it won't be enough to get us into the playoffs—I'd joined Northwood far too late for that—I was still going to leave an impression on everyone watching.
I made my way to our team bench. Coach Heath was standing there, studying his clipboard. Leo and David were seated, waiting for the coach to address the team. I approached them and took the seat they'd saved for me. Adam Miller, Joshua Sanchez, and James Thompson were also present. Adam was the guy I'd replaced as the starting Point Guard. I could tell it bothered him a little initially, but he came around just as fast. Basketball was just an extracurricular hobby for him, nothing more. There were times he even missed practice because he was busy with what he deemed 'other important things'.
I couldn't care less for his type, but I understood that not everyone was like me. They were twelve-year-olds and didn't yet grasp how important ambition and a goal were for a fulfilling life. Like most kids, they were aimless, "exploring" their options.
Leo and David were different. They understood commitment, especially Leo, who had come to my place for extra practice at every opportunity. Leo was a Latino kid, lean and wiry with a low center of gravity that made his crossover deadly. He had sharp, intelligent dark eyes that were always focused, always analyzing the court, and an intensity that radiated a pure love for the game.
David was more on the physically gifted end of the spectrum. He was an African American kid who'd hit his growth spurt early, already standing a head taller than everyone else on the team. He had broad shoulders and a powerful frame, but a friendly, easy-going smile that offset his intimidating presence on the court. He'd grown tall among his peers and so he took advantage of that fact by playing ball, which made him win, which gave him a thrill he wanted to chase. I leveraged that thrill to entice him to practice with me more, because I created plays that allowed both of them to get scoring opportunities. In my own way, I made them indebted to me.
"Alright boys, gather up," Coach Heath said with a raised voice. We all stood up and surrounded him.
"The starting lineup will be Naird, Washington, Johnson, Thompson, Sanchez. The others will be subbed in as and when required. These Loyola kids are nothing to scoff at, especially their Center—that kid is tall, even more so than you, David. You need to steer clear of the paint and take shots from a distance. That way, you'll have more of a chance to sink them. We will be playing Man-to-Man defense. Be ready to run. Alright, on three… one… two… three… KNIGHTS!"
""HOORAH!"" we all roared back.
The referee stood at center court, the ball held high. A nervous silence fell over the small crowd in the bleachers—mostly parents, a mix of Northwood blue and Loyola maroon. I spotted Mom and Erin; Mom gave me a small, encouraging wave, and I waved back. Then my eyes found Alex a few rows up, just watching everything in a subdued manner. I gave her a small wave too, and she shyly waved back before quickly looking down at her lap.
The whistle shrilled. David leaped, but Loyola's center, Caleb, out-jumped him easily, tipping the ball back to his point guard. A loud cheer erupted from the Loyola parents. The scramble began.
"Let's go, Knights! Defense!" Coach Heath yelled, his voice echoing in the gym.
I immediately squared up on my opposite number, Ricky. We were in our man-to-man assignments, but Loyola's offense was a simple, brutal one: get the ball to the big guy.
Ricky tried to beat me with a quick first step, but I cut off his angle, forcing him to pass. The ball was lobbed into the paint.
"Caleb!" the Loyola parents roared in anticipation. Their giant center sealed David off, caught the pass, and laid it in for an easy two points. The maroon side of the bleachers erupted in applause.
I took the inbound pass, slowing everything down. "Leo, wing! David, screen for me!" I called out.
I dribbled towards the top of the key and used David's clumsy but effective pick. As I got a step on Ricky, the Loyola defense collapsed towards the paint. I fired a cross-court pass to an open Leo. The Northwood parents collectively held their breath. He had a clean look, but the shot rattled around the rim and bounced out. A groan went through our side of the gym. A messy scrum for the rebound ensued.
The first quarter was a grinding, physical battle. Loyola's strategy never changed: feed Caleb. He backed David down for another basket, to the delight of his cheering section. On the next possession, they threw the ball over David's head for another easy score, and the Loyola fans were on their feet.
"Come on, Knights!" I heard Mom yell, her voice cutting through the noise.
I knew we couldn't win a battle of strength. I pushed the ball hard down the sideline, and as the defense scrambled, I hit Leo with a sharp pass as he flared out to the three-point line. He caught it in rhythm.
Swish.
The Northwood parents finally had something to cheer about, and they let loose with a roar of approval.
A few possessions later, I saw my chance. I was guarding Ricky tightly when he tried to force a pass. I jumped the lane, tipped the ball to myself, and was off to the races. The crowd's volume swelled as I raced down the court for a fast-break layup. I laid it gently off the glass for two points, and our fans were on their feet.
The final minute of the quarter was a series of turnovers and missed shots on both ends as the kids got tired, prompting a wave of sympathetic groans from both sets of parents. Loyola had the ball with ten seconds left and tried to lob it to Caleb one last time.
"Collapse! Wall him off!" I screamed.
David, James, and I all swarmed him. He fumbled the catch, the ball bouncing off his knee and out of bounds right in front of the Loyola bench, causing their fans to shout in frustration. The buzzer sounded. It was sloppy and tiring, but the loud cheers from the Northwood side of the bleachers told me we were in the fight.
We all headed for the benches, taking grateful sips of water from our bottles. Mom came by the sideline and offered me a towel through the small gap in the crowd. I took it gratefully, wiping the sweat from my face.
"You're doing great, honey," she said, her voice full of encouragement. "That Center from the other team is just so tall, and it's hurting your chances."
"I know, Mom," I replied, my eyes already drifting back to the court. "I'll figure out a way to overcome that in the next quarter."
Coach Heath stepped in front of the bench at that point, clapping his hands to get our attention. "Alright boys, listen up. Their team is coordinating everything through their Center. We deny him the ball, we shut them down. It's that simple."
He looked directly at me. "Bradley, I like what you're doing with the passes, but I also know what you can do. I want you to be more aggressive. Take more shots this time around." Then he turned to David. "David, you need to use your body and push back on that Caleb kid, otherwise he will keep pushing you around to score. Don't make it easy for him." Finally, he locked eyes with James. "James, stay on your man. He's getting too many open looks. I want you glued to him."
We all nodded, the buzzer blared, signalling the start of the second quarter. The ball was in our possession.
I took the inbound pass with the coach's words ringing in my ears: be more aggressive. I dribbled past half-court, and instead of immediately looking for a pass, I sized up my defender. I called for a screen from David, used it to get a sliver of space, and pulled up for a three-pointer. The shot felt good leaving my hands, but it was just a little long, bouncing off the back of the rim. Caleb, the giant center, snatched the rebound.
Loyola went down and scored, once again working the ball inside to Caleb. We were now down by five.
The next time we had the ball, I was determined. I brought it up the court, and this time, when the defense gave me an inch of space, I didn't hesitate. I rose up and shot again.
Swish.
A cheer went through the Northwood parents. The three-pointer cut their lead to two. A few possessions later, after a messy turnover by Loyola, I found myself open on the wing. Leo saw me and fired a sharp pass. I caught it, set my feet, and let it fly.
Swish.
Another three. We had taken the lead. The Loyola coach started yelling at his players to guard me tighter.
That's when I saw an opportunity. On a fast break, Caleb, the center, was the only one back on defense. He was huge, but he was slow. My mind screamed at me to try a move I'd been practicing, something flashy to really make a statement. I changed my dribble, lowering my stance, and went right at him, trying to set up an ankle-breaker. My skills weren't there yet, though. My dribble was a little too high, my crossover not quite sharp enough to fool him. He didn't bite.
Plan B. I aborted the fancy move and instead just used a simple, hard crossover, going from right to left. His feet were too slow to react. I blew past him and laid the ball in for an easy two.
But all that running, the aggressive shooting, and the mental energy of directing the team was starting to take its toll. My lungs were burning, and my legs felt heavy. With ten seconds left in the half, the game was tied. I had the ball and was determined to take the last shot.
I drove hard into the lane, defenders scrambling around me. I saw an opening and went up for a layup, trying to put us ahead. Out of nowhere, a huge shadow engulfed me. It was Caleb. He had timed his jump perfectly, and with a thunderous roar, he leaped and smashed the ball out of my hands, sending it flying out of bounds.
SMACK!
The entire gymnasium went silent. The sound of the block was so loud, so final, that it seemed to stun everyone. The buzzer sounded for halftime. I stood there for a second, my heart pounding, the image of that massive hand sending my shot into oblivion burned into my mind. I had been completely and utterly dominated in that moment.
I walked back to the bench, the sound of the block still echoing in my ears. I could feel the eyes of my teammates and the crowd on me, a mixture of shock and pity. I hated it. I grabbed a towel, draped it over my head, and sat down on the far end of the bench, trying to block everything out as I replayed my mistake.
A small hand patted my leg. I looked down to see Erin standing there, her brow furrowed with concern. "You did good, Brad," she said, her voice a fierce whisper. "You can definitely beat that big boy."
I managed a weak smile for her. "Thanks, Erin."
Coach Heath walked down the bench and stopped in front of me. "You're sitting this quarter out, Naird," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You're gassed. You played too hard, too fast. Catch your breath. Rest."
A protest rose in my throat, but I swallowed it. He was right. My stamina was completely depleted, and my legs felt like lead. I just nodded.
"Subs, you're in!" the coach yelled. "Let's see some hustle out there!"
Our reserve players ran onto the court, a fresh wave of energy. I noticed Loyola did the same, their star players taking a seat on the bench. Most importantly, Caleb, their giant center, was also sitting out.
Without their main weapon, Loyola's offense changed. They started moving the ball more, their guards taking shots they wouldn't have attempted in the first half. Our reserve players were energetic, but they lacked the coordination of the starting lineup. They missed defensive assignments, leading to easy layups for Loyola. On offense, they struggled to create good shots without me there to direct the plays.
The third quarter was a sloppy, back-and-forth affair, but Loyola's substitutes were just a little more polished than ours. They slowly but surely built on their lead. With each basket they scored, my frustration grew. I sat on the bench, watching helplessly as the game began to slip away.
By the time the buzzer sounded to end the third quarter, the mood on our bench was grim.
The buzzer sounded for the start of the fourth quarter. I walked back onto the court, my body rested, but my mind was on fire. The humiliation from that block had been replaced by a cold, hard resolve. I had spent the entire third quarter analyzing their defense. Caleb was an immovable object in the paint. So, I would simply make the paint irrelevant.
Loyola had possession, leading by seven. Their point guard, Ricky, brought the ball up, looking confident. He tried to set up their usual play, a pass into the post for Caleb. I saw it coming. The moment he began his passing motion, I exploded from my defensive stance, shot into the passing lane, and deflected the ball. It bounced once, and then I was gone.
I sprinted down the court for an uncontested fast break and laid the ball in. The Northwood crowd roared to life. Before Loyola even knew what happened, I was jogging back, and I caught Caleb's eye as he lumbered past me. A smug, condescending smirk spread across my face. It was a promise.
For the rest of the quarter, we ran them ragged. I didn't try to go inside. Instead, I used the court as my chessboard. On our next possession, I dribbled at the top, waved Leo to the corner, and called for a screen from David. The defense focused on me, and I hit David with a bounce pass as he rolled to the hoop for an easy layup. The lead was cut to three.
Loyola, flustered, forced a bad shot. David got the rebound and fired the outlet pass to me. Before Caleb could cross half-court, I pushed the ball hard, drew two defenders, and whipped a pass to an open Leo on the wing. He drained the jumper. The lead was one.
The Loyola coach started screaming at Ricky to guard me tighter. It didn't matter. I used a screen from David, and as the defense scrambled to recover, I pulled up from three-point range. My Sharpshooter talent activated, the world narrowing to just me, the ball, and the hoop.
Swish.
We had taken the lead for the first time. The gym was electric. Loyola answered with a basket from Caleb, tying the game.
The final two minutes were a war. They were guarding me so tightly I could barely breathe. I saw an opening and drove hard, but instead of shooting over Caleb, I dished it to Marcus, who was fouled going up for a shot. He made one of two free throws. We were up by one.
With thirty seconds left, Loyola had the ball. They got it to Caleb, who backed David down and scored, putting them ahead by one point.
Coach Heath called a timeout. "Naird, it's your game. What do you want?"
"Give me the ball and spread the floor," I said, my heart pounding. "Everyone else, get ready to crash the boards."
I took the inbound pass with twelve seconds on the clock. I dribbled at the top of the key, letting the clock bleed… seven… six… Ricky was in my face, his hands a blur. I faked right, crossed over hard to my left, creating just a sliver of space. Four… three… I rose up from three feet behind the arc, the ball leaving my fingertips just as the final buzzer blared.
It sailed through the air in a perfect, silent arc.
Swish.
We had won. The gym exploded. My teammates mobbed me, screaming in triumph. I pushed through them, my face a mask of cold victory. I looked at the stunned Loyola bench and slowly raised a single finger to my lips. Shhh. Then, I turned to their silent parents in the bleachers and did the exact same thing.