Los Angeles | 2011
Bradley's POV
"We gotta beat them convincingly," I said as Leo, David, and Pat huddled around me.
"Of course we will," Leo said confidently, his eyes already gleaming with that familiar fire, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
"Don't be too sure about that," Patrick added apprehensively. He glanced toward Damien, who was now pointing at Steve and two other seniors, Cole and Charlie, summoning his own team. "Remember how tough Brad had to fight Damien in their one-on-one. He's good if he can take Brad to that point."
"Maybe," David said calmly, his voice a grounding rumble. "But it's not just a one-on-one anymore. It's us vs. them, and I can safely say that our coordination is better than theirs."
"I agree," I said, nodding. "We are better coordinated. We've been training together for years. But we haven't seen these seniors play a real, high-stakes game. It would be safe to assume that they have some skill, at the very least."
I looked over at Damien's chosen squad. They were lining up, laughing and stretching lazily, brimming with senior arrogance. The physical difference was obvious. "We're also at a disadvantage when it came to physical stats. Damien is over six feet, and so is Steve. Cole and Charlie are almost six too. We, on the other hand, have only David who is over six."
"Be that as it may, we can still do this," Leo soldiered on, impatient with the analysis, ready for the fight. The others gave their firm nods, and that was all the confidence I needed from them.
"Alright then, here's the plan," I said, my voice dropping as I pulled them in closer. My mind was already mapping out the game, the variables, the win conditions. This was a coup and we had to be successful no matter what.
"We have to give them the first quarter."
Leo started to protest—"What? Give them?"—but I held up a hand.
"Make mistakes. Let them grow overconfident—which they already are—but let it grow. We use this quarter for intel. Learn the play style of your man during the first quarter. Shadow him, see his habits, find his weaknesses. But" I looked at David, "we don't let him take over. We put pressure on Damien and prevent him from scoring too much. David, I believe you can take him?"
David nodded once, his expression grim. "He's mine."
I continued. "From the second quarter onwards, we start applying pressure. Long-range shooting and fast passes. We run them until their tongues are hanging out. In the third, we will infiltrate and study how well they do in close contact. We test their physicality. If we are physically beaten in the contest, then we back off and revert to long-range immediately. Final quarter: go all out. Scoring, rebounding, and stealing as much as possible. Full-court press. We break them."
I looked at each of them. The fear and humiliation from the brawl had been replaced by a cold, hard focus.
"This isn't just about winning an exhibition spot," I said, my voice low and intense. "This is about taking the team. This is our house now. Understand?"
They all nodded, their eyes locked on mine.
Leo put forth his hand into the center of our huddle. "On three… one… two… three…"
We all put our hands forward.
"HOORAH!"
Our voices echoed in the nearly empty gym. The seniors—Steve, Cole, Charlie, and Damien—just smirked. "Hoorah?" Steve mocked. "What is this, the army?"
"Shut up, Steve," Damien said, not even looking at him. He tossed the ball to David. "Tip-off. Let's see if you're anything more than talk."
David and Damien met at the center line. It was a mismatch. David was bulk and power, but Damien was made of coiled wire and raw athleticism. The ball went up.
Damien won the tip-off. He didn't just tap it; he controlled it, batting it perfectly to Cole, who shoveled it right back to him. Before we could even set our defense, Damien proceeded to a fast break. I sprinted back, trying to cut off the lane, but his strides were enormous. He took two steps and launched.
He didn't lay it up. He dunked it. A clean, one-handed, rim-shaking dunk that sent a shockwave through the gym.
All of us were amazed. Leo let out a low whistle. David just stared, his jaw tight. My own mind was racing. He didn't do that against me. I realized that Damien was holding back when he had the one-on-one with me. That 20-16 loss wasn't him winning; it was him toying with me. This was the real Damien.
"Game over, freshmen!" Steve yelled, already high on the first basket.
I clapped my hands, grabbing my team's attention. "Continue with the plan," I said, my voice sharp. "Don't worry about him. Watch your man. Learn him."
Leo took the inbound. As the quarter moved forward, our strategy was to probe their weaknesses, even if it meant giving up some "easy" looks to make them overconfident. Leo, guarded by Steve, brought the ball up. Steve might be tall, but he isn't as fast. "Leo, push the pace!" I yelled. Leo didn't need to be told twice. He hit Steve with a simple crossover, and Steve's feet got tangled. Leo was able to use that to get away from him to score easily at the rim.
On their next possession, Damien, seeing the mismatch, didn't even try to run a play. He just passed it to Steve, who was being guarded by Leo again. "Take him, Steve!" he ordered. Steve tried to back Leo down, but his dribble was high and sloppy. Leo, mimicking my stealing ability as he'd learned, saw his chance. He darted in, stole the ball clean, and was gone for another fast-break layup.
Steve looked gassed and angry. But he wasn't a total liability. On our next possession, I tried to feed David in the post. Steve, seeing the play, dropped off Leo and used his long arms to tip the pass. He was slow, but his defensive instincts were solid. Later, Patrick tried a mid-range jumper, and Steve was able to block the shot. I filed it away: Slow feet, high dribble, but good defensive IQ and reach.
Now we focused on Charlie. He was their primary ball-handler after Damien. He seemed quick, but he was hesitant. I switched onto him, forcing him hard to his left, cutting off his passing lanes, and herding him into the deep corner. He was trapped. I gave him a foot of space. "Shoot it," I taunted. "I dare you." Pressurized... he shot. And he missed. Badly. It was an airball. Got it. Charlie's a pass-first guard, but a bad shooter.
The only one who seemed to be on Damien's level was Cole. He was the only one who was able to keep up with Damien and create two-man plays with him. Damien would drive, draw David and me, and then whip a no-look pass to Cole cutting baseline. This allowed their team to score again and again. They were a two-man show, and they were good. Damien hit a fadeaway that was just unstoppable. Cole hit a jumper.
We kept trading baskets. David finally got a good seal on Steve and scored on an easy post-move. But Damien came right back, crossed me over—I hate that he can do that—and scored again. The first quarter ended with them in the lead, just as I'd expected.
Damien 16, Bradley 12.
The seniors were high-fiving, Steve looking particularly smug. "Alright, listen up," I said, pulling my guys in tight. "Phase one is done. We know their game. Steve is slow, but he's got reach. Charlie can't shoot under pressure. Cole is their number two, and he only works off Damien. We exploit that. Phase two starts now: apply pressure, long-range shooting, and fast passes. Leo, your only job is to run. Make Steve run until his legs fall off. Pat, lock down Cole. David, keep Damien busy. Let's go."
It was our ball. I brought it up the court, and Damien immediately picked me up, his eyes intense. I saw Steve guarding Leo on the wing.
"Leo, flash!" I yelled.
Leo cut hard, and I hit him with a sharp bounce pass. As I expected, Steve's feet were slow; he was half a step behind. Leo caught the ball in stride and exploded past him. Cole was forced to rotate over, leaving Patrick open. Leo, in a perfect display of our practiced coordination, didn't force the shot; he just zipped a fast pass to Patrick on the baseline. Patrick rose and sank the easy 15-footer.
"Good pass, Leo! Good shot, Pat!" I called out, clapping.
Damien brought the ball up, a flicker of annoyance on his face. He tried to feed Cole, but Patrick was all over him, denying the pass. Frustrated, Damien passed it off to Charlie. This was the matchup I wanted.
I immediately left my man and sprinted at Charlie, a hard, aggressive double-team. He panicked. He looked for Damien, but David was doing a great job bodying him up. Charlie was trapped near the sideline. "Shoot it!" I taunted, giving him just enough space.
"I know you won't!" I mouthed off. He did. It was a desperate, flat-footed heave that clanged hard off the backboard. David ripped down the rebound and hit me with the outlet pass. Damien had almost got it but David managed.
We were running. "Leo, go!" I yelled. Leo was already at half-court. Steve was lumbering behind him, totally gassed. I sent a long, one-handed fast pass down the court. Leo caught it over his shoulder and laid it in for an easy, uncontested layup.
"Damn it, Steve, run back!" Damien roared, his first real sign of anger. "I'm trying!" Steve wheezed, hands on his knees.
Now our plan was in full effect. We spread the floor. I started using David as a screener at the top of the key, forcing their bigs to come out and guard me, leaving the paint open. On the next possession, I came off a brutal screen from David, and Damien was forced to switch onto me. "You're mine, hotshot," he growled. "You're too far from the basket," I replied. I faked a drive, and he took a half-step back, respecting my speed. It was all the space I needed. I pulled up from two feet behind the line. Long-range shooting. Swish.
The seniors were rattled. They were a two-man team, and we had effectively neutralized two of their players. Cole managed to hit a tough jumper off another incredible pass from Damien, but the tide had turned. They were tired, frustrated, and they were arguing with each other. Steve was blaming Charlie for the turnovers; Charlie was blaming Steve for not getting back on defense.
We just kept running. Fast passes. Long-range shots. We were moving the ball so quickly, they didn't have time to set their defense. The quarter ended with me hitting another three-pointer, a direct result of a quick pass from Patrick that left me wide open on the wing.
Damien 24 Bradley 28
We walked to the sideline, and I looked back at the seniors. They were bent over, gasping for air, looking utterly demoralized. Damien just stared at me, his eyes cold.
We took a short halftime break, barely enough time to catch our breath. The 28-24 lead felt good, but I knew Damien wasn't the kind of player to stay on the back foot for long. My plan for this quarter was simple: infiltrate and study how well they do in close contact. We'd proven we were faster and better shooters; now it was time to test their physical toughness.
"We go at them," I said in the huddle, my voice low. "No more threes. Drive the paint. We draw fouls, we get them tired. David, be the wall. Pat, Leo, crash the boards. Let's see if they can handle a brawl."
The buzzer sounded. We walked back onto the court. And I immediately knew my plan was in trouble.
Damien wasn't setting up in the post. He took the ball at the top of the key. He was playing point guard.
David, true to our strategy picked him up. Damien looked at David, then at me, and a slow, feral grin spread across his face. Something about his demeanour had changed from player to playmaker. He knew David was our only answer to his size, and he was taking him away from the basket.
He started his dribble, a low, hypnotic rhythm, and then exploded past David. David, for all his strength, couldn't match that first step. Damien rose up over Patrick, who had rotated to help, and threw down a vicious, one-handed flashy dunk.
My turn. I needed to answer. I needed to keep the pressure on. I came off a screen from David, using my Sharpshooter talent to find the perfect angle, and drained a three-pointer.
Damien took the ball again. This time, David played him tighter, trying to force him to pass. Damien just smiled, lowered his shoulder, and drove straight into David's chest. It was a brutal, physical collision. David stumbled back, getting hurt as his shoulder hit the stanchion, and Damien laid the ball in. I looked around for a foul call. Nothing. The seniors officiating just shrugged. There was no coach. I couldn't even complain or ask for calls.
"You okay, man?" I yelled to David. He just nodded, wincing as he rotated his shoulder. My "infiltration" plan was backfiring; it was us getting beaten in the "close contact" test.
Fine. I reverted to the backup plan: long-range. I called for another screen, got the ball, and used Sharpshooter again. Swish. Two three-pointers.
I was feeling it. On the next I called for the ball again, ready to shoot a third. Damien however wasn't done playing just yet. He read the play, abandoned his own man, and closed the gap with inhuman speed. His hand was in my face, blocking my vision. I was forced to transition, to attempt a fadeaway, but his length disrupted my form. The ball clanged against the rim. Steve rebounded it, passing it immediately back to Damien.
Damien dribbled up court, staring at David, who was still trying to shake off the pain in his shoulder. Damien hit him with a vicious, multi-step crossover, and David's ankles buckled. He didn't just stumble; he fell. Damien stepped back, let David fall, and then calmly hit the open jumper.
He was systematically dismantling us.
Throughout the third quarter, I tried to innovate, tried to get my guys open but Damien was everywhere. He had effectively shut off any passes I might make by covering my teammates through his own team. It wasn't as simple as guarding me, he was quarterbacking their entire defense, pointing, shouting, leaving Leo and Patrick just open enough to seem like a passing option, only to have Cole or Charlie step into the lane at the last second. He was baiting me. He was turning this back into a one-on-one, just like then. He was leaving me to score by my lonesome.
I hit another tough, contested jumper, but the effort it took was immense. I was tiring out, and he knew it. Damien came down, hit another impossible, fadeaway two-pointer. Then Cole hit a shot. Then Damien stole a pass meant for Leo and went coast-to-coast for another dunk.
The lead was gone. I hit one more free throw, but they just kept scoring. The quarter finally ended with Damien scoring the most, a flurry of impossible shots and suffocating defense. He hit the last basket, a powerful layup where he just bodied me out of the way and stood over me as I tried to catch my breath.
"See?" Damien taunted, his voice a low growl. "This is what I told you. Without your team, you're still nothing."
The buzzer sounded. I looked up at the scoreboard, my chest burning, my legs feeling heavy. He was right. He had taken my team away, and then he had taken me apart.
Bradley 37, Damien 42
Damien walked up to me then as I stared him right in the eye "I like you Naird, you have the zeal that I have found lacking in this team, but you think too much of yourself. This is the humbling that you've always needed I am just an instrument for you to suffer"
I simply had no words to that, the only answer I could give him was on the court.
"Oh and Naird" he said from a distance "When you take a shot at the king, you better not miss"