Photo by Austin Strifler
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very impressed. This was his third year of playing on the high school varsity squad, but his stats weren’t nearly as respectable as Andy’s. “How many points did you average last year, D?” “Somewhere around nine, but I’m not positive. I played more than I did as a freshman, just not as much some of the upperclassmen. My coach was very confident with me offensively, especially with shooting. He
wasn’t so confident defensively, though; a lot of the upperclassmen on the other teams were a lot stronger than I was.” “So you didn’t get the minutes you thought you deserved?” “I mean, basically. No other guys on the team could guard the post better than I could, other than the post players themselves, so they never even were put in those situations. It just sucked to shoot the highest field goal and three-point percentage and then get yanked because I’m getting scored on in the paint.” “That’s ridiculous.” Andy scrunched his face together and shook his head a few times. “Did you talk to the coach about it? If your team’s that small, why doesn’t your coach have you play a 2-3 zone on defense when your big guys are out? It would seem to make more sense to force teams bigger than you to shoot from beyond the arc rather than over you in the lane.” “I completely agree, and I told my coach that. When I approached him, he told me he understood where I was coming from but that we were too quick a team to play a zone. Coach has it in his mind that the only way for us to win is by our transition offense. We do get a lot of steals; I’ll give him that. We don’t score all of our points that way, though, so that’s where he loses me.” Derek took a big step back from the free throw line. He outstretched his hands and called for the ball again. “Watch this.” Andy threw him a bounce pass that he caught just a little above his knees. In one movement Derek pulled the ball up from his hip and straightened his arm over his head as he jumped straight into the air. With a flick of the wrist, the ball left his hand. He watched the ball sink into the back of the net, which flew up as the ball went through, as he held his follow-through a little lower than its release point. This time the ball bounced once on the driveway before Andy
caught it. Derek took another step back, and then ran a little to his left. “Again.” Andy threw him another pass. He caught it in rhythm with his running as he planted his right foot then shifted his left around to square his body to the rim. He jumped up, shot with the same form as the shot before, and made a basket again. “Coach overlooks how well I can shoot. I can catch or spot-up and shoot from anywhere around the arc at any time of the game.” Andy nodded as he dribbled the ball a few times after he caught the ball again. Then he threw another pass at Derek to meet him in the corner of the driveway for what would be a baseline three-point shot. Again, Derek caught it in perfect rhythm, jumped up, shot, and made another. “I don’t know what to tell you, Derek.” Andy didn’t pass the ball back this time, rather, he started dribbling the ball back and forth, from his right to his left hand, between his legs. “I’ve only been able to watch you shoot around on the driveway these last three weeks. But if you’re as consistent in a game as you are out here, then I’m sure your coach will see it this year.” “I hope you’re right.” This time Derek went under the basket to rebound for Andy, who dribbled backwards toward the free throw line. Like Derek, he too had a routine. Andy bent his knees as he tossed the ball out in front of him. When it bounced back into his hands, he took one dribble with his right hand and then picked the ball up. He readjusted it in his hands the same way Derek had, so the seams of the ball touching his fingertips were parallel to the free throw line. He extended his legs onto his tiptoes and his arms in the same motion as he flicked his wrist. He lost his balance and fell forward, preventing him from holding his follow-through. Nevertheless, he made
his shot. Derek laughed at his lack of poise while the ball bounced on the concrete after it dropped through the net. Andy responded to the laugh in a sarcastic voice. “Yeah, yeah, real funny. Laugh at the old man who can’t keep his balance.” Derek continued a suppressed chuckle and dribbled the ball back out to the corner of the driveway. This time, rather than setting both of his feet, he turned on his left foot, making his shoulders square, leaned back, raised his right knee, and shot the ball. His shot hit the rim, dipped in the far side and continued to roll to the left side until it fell out. “Ha!” Derek turned his head to see Andy laughing at him. “I bet this old man can make that shot.” Andy snatched the bouncing ball and trotted over right where Andy was. He too turned on his left foot, faded, and shot, except he, unlike Derek, made the shot. “Pure luck,” Derek said, feeling a little embarrassed that his godfather had made the shot he had missed. Andy just laughed again, making Derek’s face a little red. “All right then, hot shot.” Andy raised his eyebrows with a grin and stretched out his arm with his hand underneath the ball. “If I’m so lucky and you’re so talented, you should have no problem beating this old man in a game of PIG.” Derek laughed to himself, attempting to cover up his shame. “Is that funny?” Derek nodded. “You can’t beat me, Andy.” Andy’s grin grew bigger. “Well then, game on!” Andy slammed the ball down and walked back in the garage. The ball bounced over Derek’s head before he got caught it. He heard the door to the house open up. Squeezing the ball between his hands, he rolled his hand off the top to shoot the ball spinning
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