Lance feels confused for just a brief moment before understanding their reaction as he remembers his height and size.
"Haha, I promise. I'm not a professional, only 16."
The crowds silence continues for a little bit before the young man in charge finally breaks the stand still.
"Ahem, alright then. We just need four more then."
With Lance volunteering, getting four more people was easy. Five minutes later, two teams were standing on their respective sides of the court with the winning team graciously giving the new team a minute to acclimate themselves.
Lance, being a decently outgoing person introduces himself first. "Hi, I'm Lance and I'll play center."
At his declaration of position no one offers any contradictions. Speaking next is a younger salaryman with a middle part and a somewhat tall figure.
"Sora, and I can play the 3 or the 4."
The next two guys pipe up, one is shorter with crazy black hair named Kyle who claims the shooting guard position with the other one, a chubby man with brown curly hair named Ben, calling dibs on power forwards.
Finally, the last member of the team, a very short guy, reminiscent of Lance's old self in height and stature speaks up.
"My name is Ren, I'll play point guard if no has a complaint."
"Sounds good Ren. Glad to meet all of you. We don't have the time or experience for any plays or anything in-depth. Let's just see if we can't get a cheeky tip-off play from the jump and work from there."
Sora nods his head in agreement, "I'll be on the lookout then."
A little bit of small talk later the head of the pick up games yells over to Lance's team, "You guys ready?"
"Yup!"
Moving towards half-court, Lance gets a look at their center. A burly guy with long hair and some decent height, although, compared to Lance he much to short.
Neither man says a thing to the other, the only acknowledgement they offer being a brief head nod.
A gangly looking guy with a whistle around his neck brings the ball up, looks both ways and blows his whistle as he lobs the ball in the air.
The ball goes high in the air as the burly center gets prepared to meet it at the apex of his jump when a shadow stretches and covers him. His, along with the others, eyes grow wide like saucers.
Lance has leaped in the air, far higher than anyone expected, meeting the ball right at its apex as he tips it forwards. The other team, caught off guard by Lance's sudden jump, aren't prepared for the tip off play as Ren catches the ball in stride, slides past the hippie and butters in a simple layup.
As the ball drops into the hoop, everyone snaps out of their reverie as Lance's team begin to hustle back onto defense with the opposing team passing the ball up the court.
Lance's team plays alright defense considering their patchwork composition, but eventually, after a good move from the salaryman and his trademarked head fake, he drives past Kyle getting a wide open lane to the basket.
Both teams, already expecting a bucket, prepare to switch possession when a large hand comes down from heaven, spiking the top of the ball as it plows into the court before bouncing upwards with force. The middle aged salaryman, shocked at the unexpected block, flinches back allowing Lance to collet his prize for a good defensive stop.
Looking up the court, he sees Ren making a move past his defender. Attempting to break start a fast break, heaves the ball up court to Ren. Unfortunately, not regulating his strength well, the ball sails way over head as someone from the back of the watching crowd catches the ball for them.
Silence moves through the court once again before everyone breaks out into relieved laughter as Sora comes to pat Lance on the back, "There, there big guy. If you had nailed that pass no one here would have believed your earlier claim about not being a professional. That was a crazy block."
Shoulders slumped in an almost comical sense, Lance gives a sigh before responding, "Thanks, but that was such an easy score..."
After Lance's wide missed pass the game seems to go back to it's lighter but competitive tone with both teams playing with intensity as the game teeters back and forth.
Lance plays well considering his stats, his overwhelming physical prowess on display such as when he was backing down the middle aged salary man who tried to body the young man, was sent flying backwards with a strong bump from Lance.
Having just scored off Lance dishing the ball out of the high post to Sora on a beautiful cut to the basket, Lance and team backpedal back onto defense as they take a glance at the scoreboard, 15-14.
The tone of the team intensifies again as they settle into their simple man defense as the opposing team dribbles the ball down court. The hippie, Jean, their point guard, feels a drip of sweat streak down his brow from the strain of the game, but more than that, from the pressure that Lance's team is putting upon them.
However, the main thing making Jean nervous is Lance. While some on his team and even the crowd may have missed it, Jean has not. The longer and more intense the game gets, the faster, stronger and better Lance is playing. Almost like he is feeding off the idea of competition and vehemently refusing the mere concept of losing.
Dribbling the ball down the court he motions for Todd, the salaryman, to set a quick screen. Todd, understanding the intention, moves to set a light screen on Ren as Jean slips to the side. For his credit, Ren gets past the screen quite well moving to intercept Jean only to see Lance having picked up the driving point guard. A brutal miscommunication.
Jean, not wanting to waste the moment, gives a no look pass to Todd who is waiting at the top of the key for the pass, a textbook pick and pop play. As the ball flies through the air, a shadow moving much faster than it's size would lend itself to intercepts the ball mid-flight, a beautiful read and defensive play.
--------------------------
Lance, seeing the pass moving through the air, acts before he can process what he is doing. His heart drumming in his ears like a war drum as adrenaline courses through him.
Catching the ball mid stride, Lance accelerates off down the court. He doesn't look back, he doesn't need to. He knows that no one will catch him, he knows no one will steal the ball from him and he knows he won't be blocked.
No one will stop Lance, simply because he will not allow it.
Crossing half court all by himself, Lance moves two steps past the free throw line and launches himself into the air. Time seems to slow down as he palms the ball with one hand, cocks back that one arm back and slams it into the goal with a force that can only be considered thunderous. The rim rattles at the punishment as Lance lands on the ground heaving like a victorious warrior.
He shows no excitement at the play, all he hears is the drumming of his heart and the sight of the basketball that waits for the opposing team to come claim it.
The thought of this being a pickup game has long faded from Lance's mind. This is a close and competitive game, to not give it his best would be, what he considers, a spit in the face of the beauty of basketball. So Lance will give it his all. Glancing over he sees the scoreboard, 17-14.
Lance's intensity surges, he knows his team needs to get a stop to ice the game, as a thought echoes through his head, 'Time to step on their throats.'