Los Angeles | 2009
Bradley's POV
I stood at the center circle of Bishop Junior High's court, stretching my hamstrings as I waited for the jump ball. The gym smelled the same as every other school gym—a mix of floor wax, old sweat, and stale popcorn. The opponent looked the same, too. Eager, a little nervous, but ultimately outmatched.
My mind drifted. After the last two matches, a familiar, unwelcome feeling had started to creep in: boredom. It was the 6th game of the season, and I was already feeling like I should be done with it. We had faced a couple of decent teams, but the last few games had been against opponents who were so utterly boring and inadequate that the contests felt more like a chore than a challenge.
I looked at all my teammates. Even they seemed far too relaxed compared to when the season had started. Leo was joking with the shooting guard from the other team, a wide, easy grin on his face where his usual pre-game scowl should have been. David was in the middle of a massive yawn, his gaze lazily scanning the audience in the rafters, his mind clearly anywhere but here. The sharp, desperate focus we had forged in my backyard over the summer was fading, replaced by a soft, dangerous complacency.
The ref blew his whistle, signaling for the centers to get ready. I took my place, a sense of weary resignation settling over me. Alright, I thought, my eyes on the ball. Let's just get this over with.
The ref tossed the ball for the jump ball. David easily tipped the ball into Leo's hand, and the game began. Leo lazily dribbled it up the court before passing it to me. I took one look at the defender in front of me, gave a slight hesitation dribble, and then sidestepped him. The lane was open, but that wasn't the mission. I stopped at the three-point line and shot a flawless 3-pointer, sinking it in without issue. As I jogged back on defense, I could see the apprehension forming on the faces of my opponents.
It was a look I was getting used to.
When the Bishop team brought the ball up, our new defensive system locked into place. David defended against their center, completely walling off the paint. I didn't stick to my man; instead, I used the strategy of shadowing the passing lanes, constantly moving, my presence cutting off any opportunity for them to find free space and score. Frustrated, their Point Guard tried to force a pass inside, but I saw it coming a mile away. I stole the ball and was gone.
It was a fast break, just me and Leo passing the ball between each other, a simple give-and-go that ended in an easy layup from Leo.
The rest of the quarter moved on like this. We were a well-oiled machine, and they were a collection of parts that didn't quite fit. We scored on backdoor cuts, on fast breaks, on open jumpers created by our relentless passing. They managed a few desperate baskets, but the game was never in doubt.
But as I stood at the top of the key, directing traffic, a sense of weariness settled over me. I was content with how strong my team had become, but I was growing weary that we might get complacent if we didn't face a challenge soon. Iron sharpens iron, but we were grinding against sandstone. This wasn't making us better; it was just making us lazy.
The buzzer sounded, ending the quarter. I looked up at the scoreboard, not with a feeling of triumph, but with a quiet, gnawing sense of concern.
End of First Quarter: Knights 16, Bishops 10
The second quarter was not going to be different, but the reason for our dominance was. I decided it was time for a different kind of test. I started to increase my tempo, but not in a way that helped us. I began making passes that were a little too slow, forcing Leo to double-clutch and miss a shot. On the next possession, I fired a pass that was extremely fast, bouncing off David's hands out of bounds.
I could feel their frustration building. Leo and David could match my tempo at times, but my deliberate inconsistency was causing them to fumble the ball. Patrick and the others were completely unable to follow, their movements becoming hesitant and confused.
Finally, after another failed crossover pass that I intentionally threw at his feet, Leo had enough. He got in my face during the dead ball. "What the hell is going on, Brad?" he asked, his voice a low, irritated growl. "Why are you breaking point and strategies?"
The others grew quiet as they watched this, waiting for my response.
"Since none of you seem interested in playing the match, I'm using this time to hone my skills," I said, my voice calm and cold. "And you should do the same. Getting wrong passes and fumbling now will help you sharpen your instincts for when we battle stronger opponents."
"You could have said so from the start mate," Patrick interjected, a note of frustration in his own voice.
"Being unprepared for unexpected circumstances is also part of honing ourselves," I countered, halting him.
It was David who stepped up then, a new, challenging light in his eyes. He looked at me, then at Leo and Patrick. "Then this applies to him as well," he said simply.
The rest of the quarter became a chaotic, internal battle. They started to change the tempo frequently on me, throwing passes that were deliberately off-target, forcing me to adjust on the fly. Leo threw a pass behind me, and I had to make a lunging, one-handed catch to save it. David set a screen a half-second too early, forcing me to change my dribble and reset the offense. I fumbled and missed opportunities as well.
And I smiled. When they saw me as a villain, they at least banded together to beat me at my own games. They were thinking, reacting, playing as a single, coordinated unit for the first time all day.
The buzzer sounded, ending the half. The game was messy, and closer than it should have been, but my team was finally awake.
End of First Half: Knights 28, Bishops 25
The buzzer blared, signaling the end of the chaotic second quarter. As we walked to the bench for halftime, the mood was tense and confused. I ignored the questioning looks from my teammates and calmly walked up to take some swigs from my bottle. I could feel the others glare at me, and when I turned, I smiled back at them—a cool, unreadable expression that offered no comfort.
"You guys are thinking too much," I said, my voice cutting through the heavy silence.
Leo scoffed. "Dude, you're the one who started playing like a maniac. What's the plan?"
I screwed the cap back on my bottle and looked at each of them in turn. "I will be even more brutal with my playmaking the next half, so you should be prepared."
The statement was a calm open declaration. I watched as some of the cocky smirks from our early lead began to falter. A new, sharp focus entered their eyes. I was satisfied with this. Good. Complacency is the enemy. A little fear will keep them sharp.
Just then, Coach Heath came over and sat next to me on the bench, a thoughtful, appraising look on his face.
"In all my years as a basketball coach, I have never seen a person as paradoxical as you, Bradley," he said seriously, his voice a low rumble that cut through the halftime noise.
I looked at him, surprised by his directness.
"When you came to my office with all those game plays and schematics, I was amazed," he continued. "Your passion and determination made me reconsider my own approach. There is a reason I allow you to act like a player-coach... Do you know why?"
"Because you trust that I will never lead the team astray and will win us the games," I replied with conviction.
His gaze remained steady. "Partially," he conceded. "The more important aspect is that I see a prodigious boy who has what it takes to be great. Yet your paradoxical nature can be a hindrance. You want the people you care for to like you, but also for them to fear you. It cannot go both ways, son. Right now, you are acting the villain to allow your teammates to focus on a goal, which is beating you at your own game. Other times, you want them to see you as their leader and follow you."
"But what's wrong with that, coach?" I protested. "You can see that it is working. They all teamed up, and they are honing themselves."
"Yes, they are, but it will leave an impact on your image in the future," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "You can't see it right now, Brad, but this kind of switching between being benevolent and tyrannical builds resentment. In limited doses, it makes them admire you. But the way you are doing it now will certainly confuse them. And when they don't understand your methods, they begin to chafe against it, ultimately leading them to either oust you or leave themselves. Both of which are things you most certainly do not want."
I pondered on what he said and came up short. He was right. I had been short-sighted, focused only on the immediate result and not the long-term cost. I looked up at him, he had been very generous in allowing me to run the team as I saw fit which most people are oft to do. There was no ego or malice in Coach Heath he only wanted us to win and have fun. I respected that more than anything.
"What should I do?" I asked, the question genuine.
"Pick a lane," he offered. "Either be the villain or the leader. Personally, I believe the Leader is a better role for you. Let my middle-aged bones handle the drill instructor and sergeant from hell roles."
I sighed, the tension in my shoulders releasing. "I think I will follow your lead, coach. I don't want to be breaking the team before we have achieved anything. I was just so focused on winning that I did not see what that pressure was doing."
"That's perfectly alright, Bradley," he said, a rare, small smile on his face. "There is a reason I allowed you the free reign. I wanted you to learn in your position as their leader as well. From now on, we can work towards a balanced approach. Don't you agree?"
I nodded, a grateful smile on my own face. Just then, the buzzer for the third quarter rang.
"Now go and win this," he said, clapping me on the shoulder.
The third quarter began, and I changed my approach. I was still going to challenge them, to push them beyond their comfort zones, but this time, it would be a lesson, not a punishment.
On our first possession, I drove the lane and fired an unexpected pass to Patrick in the short corner. He wasn't ready for it. The ball bounced off his hands and out of bounds. He looked at me, frustrated. Instead of glaring back, I walked over to him as the other team inbounded. "I saw your defender turn his head," I said, my voice low and instructive. "I was aiming for where you would be on a baseline cut. Expect it next time."
This became our new rhythm. I would throw a difficult pass or call for a complex screen, and if they fumbled, I would explain what I was aiming for, what I had seen. Slowly, I could see the gears turning in their heads. They began to better anticipate for future passes and changes in tempo.
And then, the team also started to challenge me back. David, instead of waiting for my call, would see a mismatch and call for the ball himself. Leo, seeing me overplayed, would initiate his own cut, forcing me to adapt and find him. They were learning my ticks and instincts, and it was honing me to get better, to be even faster and more precise.
As the half progressed, I watched them improve right before my eyes. On one play, Leo drove hard, drew my defender, and threw a behind-the-back pass to me on the wing. It was a risky, flashy move I hadn't expected, but I caught it in rhythm and drained the three. I looked over at him, and he just gave me a cheeky grin.
On the next possession, David, with a clever look in his eye, moved to set a screen for Leo on the left wing—a spot we hadn't practiced. It was a test. They were trying to throw me off, to see if I could adapt to their improvisation. I saw the play develop a split second before it happened. Instead of trying to reset them, I used it. I faked a hard pass to Leo, drawing the entire defense toward the unexpected screen. The moment they shifted, the lane in front of me opened up like a parting sea. I drove straight to the hoop for an uncontested layup. As I jogged back, I gave David a sharp, approving nod. Good read, I thought. They're learning.
A few plays later, they tried a different tactic. Leo and Patrick, who were developing a quick chemistry, attempted a silent, non-verbal give-and-go on the baseline. They thought I was locked on my own man. But I read the look in Leo's eye, the subtle shift in Patrick's stance. I let the first pass go, and just as Patrick was about to whip the return pass back to a cutting Leo, I abandoned my assignment, shot into the passing lane, and intercepted it myself.
"Good idea," I called out to them, a grin on my face. "Faster next time."
They were challenging me, and it was making all of us better. The game wasn't Knights versus Bishops anymore. It was a high-speed, internal chess match. They would throw a new look at me, and I would have to invent a counter on the fly. It was exhausting. It was exhilarating.
With a minute left in the half, they were all moving, cutting, trying to keep me guessing. I held the ball at the top of the key, my dribble slow and deliberate, my mind processing the shifting geometry of the court. I saw David seal his man in the low post, a perfect target for a bullet pass. I faked it, a hard, convincing pump fake that made two defenders and half the people in the stands flinch. As they collapsed on David, I used a smooth, behind-the-back pass to hit Marcus, who was wide open on the opposite wing. He drained the jumper.
I saw the looks on the faces of my teammates. The frustration from the second quarter was gone, replaced by a begrudging respect. They were awed by how I was adapting to their changed plays, even outmanoeuvring them at times and scoring beyond their expectations. And in that moment, I understood what Coach Heath had been telling me. That resentment he had warned me about... I had dodged a powder keg from blowing in the future.
The buzzer sounded for the end of the half. I was breathing hard, a thin sheen of sweat on my brow. We had won and won comfortably. More than the opponents it was the internal team chemistry that had mattered to me, and we were making headways there. That makes it six straight victories.
Final Score: Knights 50, Bishops 41