More Time, More Practice, More Perfect

December 18, 2019.

Losing the first game of the season was a big pill to swallow for the junior varsity team. But strangely enough, the JV team seemed to be the only people down about it. Everywhere we went in the school, people were congratulating the basketball team for their big win. It took me half of the next day before realizing that they were talking about the varsity team, who had won their game. Clips I had seen on YouTube and on people's phones were all about the varsity game, and nobody seemed to be talking about the JV game at all. I supposed that I should be grateful. I hadn't exactly performed well that game. And I didn't need to see it on YouTube to be reminded of the terrible plays I'd made. I could see why the coach didn't want me running point. That would've been a disaster.

"Blake!" Cam yelled at me, dragging me away from my thoughts. "You're in!"

I stood up and joined the scrimmage game in the place of Cam. It was Jackson, Chance, Wesley, Zane, and Xavier against Nathan, Finn, myself, Max, and Diego, along with the other playes who would rotate in every now and then. The team matchup wasn't at all fair, and we lost every game we played with those teams, the other team mercilessly destroying us. And mercyless of all of them was Chance. I had known the guy was a jerk, but now? I couldn't stand him. He insisted on defending me every play and every single time I got my hands on the ball he would lean forward and say, "This is for losing us the game", before stealing the ball or blocking my shot or accidentally knocking into me. It was more than annoying, but what could I say? He's the best friend of the coach's son, but even if he wasn't, he was right. I had run it through my head, and between my intercepted pass and blocked shot, I had lost the game for my team.

But there was no way that I was going to let that happen again. That game was on me, but I was determined that none of the others would be. If the coach even ever let me play again, I was going to win a game for the team. But that required work. I had known that before, I just hadn't known how much work was involved. I did now. I needed to train 25 hours a day, or whatever was closest to that amount. And I planned to. So when Cam asked me if I wanted to go to Sweet Shack after practice, I declined. And as everyone left the gym one by one, I was the only one remaining.

I continued to work on my game, running through as many solo drills as I could think of and even making some up as I went. About 30 minutes had passed when I heard someone.

"Hey, Blake!"

I turned to see Coach Myers at the other end of the court, walking toward me.

"It is Blake, right?"

"Yes, sir," I replied.

"Practice ended half an hour ago, if I'm not mistaken," he said, finally reaching me.

"You're not," I said. "I just wanted to get some extra time in before checking out."

The assistant coach nodded. "Well you do know there's a reason that practice is only two hours, right?"

"Homework?" I guessed.

"Yeah, that's one of them," he agreed. "You got any?"

I shrugged. "Just biology."

"I never liked biology either, but you do have to pass it to stay on the team," Coach Myers reminded me.

"Yes sir, but unless I start failing my biology classmates like I failed my basketball teammates last night, I think I know where I should be putting my time and effort into."

Coach Myers shook his head. "You didn't fail your teammates."

"Well, I'm the reason we lost. Surely you've figured that already."

The assistant coach just shook his head again. "That's impossible."

"What's impossible?" I asked, the reply throwing me off a little.

"You being the reason we lost the game," he said as if it should have been obvious.

"How do you figure?"

"Well, the way I see it," said Myers, "there is no possible way that one person could be the sole reason that fifteen players lose a game. Sure, maybe you slipped up a little on the last play, but that doesn't mean too much. Wesley missed a three pointer, Zane could've gotten a rebound that slipped, even Chance could have passed the ball to you that one time instead of challenging the defender. There's not one person on the team who didn't make a mistake last night."

"Well—"

"And yet," Coach Myers interrupted before I could find a protest, "you're the only one I see out here, spending your time to make it right."

"So does that mean you'll let me stay and practice?"

"Of course!" said the Myers. "What kind of coach would I be to prevent you from playing basketball? I'm just going to be in my office for the next hour anyway, so I don't see a problem with it."

I grinned at him. "Thanks."

"No problem," he replied, turning to go back to his office.

"Is Coach Hendrix here?" I asked, the thought suddenly occurring to me.

"No," Myers replied. "He took Jackson home. He usually leaves with Jackson after practice, but sometimes he comes back later.

"Oh," I said, suddenly remembering something. "And could you also leave the weight room unlocked?"

Coach Myers glanced at the weight room, which was a workout room that connected to the gym. "Yeah, sure."

"Thanks," I said again.

I entered the workout room and worked with some weights for about 20 minutes before entering back into the gym and continuing to work on my shot. I was trying my best to shoot three-pointers when Coach Myers came back.

"I think I see the problem," he said from behind me, after I'd missed another shot. I didn't know how long he'd been observing but it couldn't have been too long. "Somewhere along the way," he explained, "your stroke got a little off. I can tell that you used to shoot properly and then something must've happened where you gradually starting shooting a different way. Now, you're used to shooting that way, which is why you can't get much better."

"You got all that from watching me shoot one shot?" I asked him.

He shrugged. "I've been watching every player on this team. Everyone has habits when it comes to basketball. Some are good, some are bad. Yours is unique. It is a good habit, yet performed poorly. I've only seen one other case like it."

"So... do you have a cure for this 'case'?" I asked, suddenly interested in what the assistant coach had to say.

"No so much of a cure per se, but a tip," he said. "Try making the motion of shooting a three-pointer without the basketball in your hand. Don't worry about the goal, worry about the stroke, and where you're sending the ball. Do that several times over, and then try shooting it for real."

I did as he suggested, making the motion of shooting the weightless, imaginary ball into the air. After a couple times of doing this, Myers passed the ball to me and I shot it. It swished into the basket. A three-pointer.

"It worked!" I exclaimed.

Coach Myers smiled. "And what were you thinking about when you shot it?"

I thought about this. "Nothing," I answered honestly, "I wasn't even thinking."

Coach Myers' smile deepened. "Good. That means that you practiced the right motion enough that you didn't need to overthink the situation. You just let it flow, and it went where you wanted it to. So keep practicing, until you automatically shoot how you're supposed to."

And so I kept practicing, this time with Coach Myers. I would shoot, he would rebound and give me tips. And that was how I spent the next forty minutes.

--

The next day came, and with it came the first home game of the season. I was pretty excited for my first time playing on the Cobras court in a real game, though I knew that I wouldn't get much time in. On Tuesday, that would have perturbed me, but not today. Because I knew that I wasn't ready yet, and I had a lot more training to do before I would be.

The game was against a school called Homestead and it was a team of short players, both on the JV and Varsity teams. Our team beat them pretty easily, the final score being 53-28. As suspected, I didn't get much time and didn't score any points, but I didn't screw up royally like last game. I got a couple of assists and a rebound, so at least I got some stats on the board. Meanwhile, Chance continued to pop off. He scored 14 points in total, which was almost as good as his previous 16 points in the last game. Jackson equalled his previous 10 points with 10 points this game. Wesley scored 7 points, Cam scored 5 points, Tucker, Levi, and Amir scored 0 points, Finn scored 3 points, Xavier scored 4, Diego, Zane, Colton, Nathan, and Max all scored 2 points. And that was the game.

I was tempted to go to Sweet Shack with the crew after the JV game wrapped up, but I decided to stick around for the varsity game. I had gotten inspiration before from watching older kids, and I figured that I could definitely use some now. I didn't get as much inspiration as I would've liked, though, because about five minutes into the game, Harper sat down beside me in the bleachers.

"What're you doing up here?" she asked, looking around me to see if I had bought any concessions.

"What do you mean?" I asked, both confused by the question and trying to focus on the game.

"I mean you got your jersey on and all, but you're in the stands instead of on the court."

"Oh," I said. "Well, my team already played."

"Your team?"

"Yeah," I explained, "there's a varsity team and a junior varsity team. I'm on the junior varsity, and we finished up fifteen minutes ago."

"Oh," she said, like she had no idea what I was talking about but figured she didn't care anyway. "I only heard about the one game."

I hadn't thought much about it, but when I looked around at the crowd, there were way more people in the gym than there were when the JV teams had played. I wondered if people didn't know about that game, or if they just only cared about the varsity games.

"So, who are you pulling for?" Harper asked me.

I looked at her like she was crazy. She laughed and put her hands up. "Fine. I was just making conversation."

I tried once again to watch the game in peace, but Harper wasn't much of a peaceful person. "You see that guy down there?" she pointed to Chance, who was talking to one of the varsity players.

"Yeah..."

"You guys friends?" she followed up.

"Not exactly," I replied, which was an understatement. "Why?"

"I dunno," she shrugged. "I thought you might could introduce me to him."

"His name's Chance," I offered, because that really was the only thing I knew about him.

"I see," she nodded as if she was taking a mental note, "and do you know what type of girls he's into?"

"Of course," I replied. "He really likes redheaded girls that talk too much."

That earned me a punch on the shoulder that was actually pretty hard. Whoever said girls can't hit was lying. Harper laughed, and didn't pester me anymore as we watched the game. When our team won 83-54, everyone cheered and started to disperse around the gym, finding people to talk to and congratulate.

"Well, I gotta get back home or my... I mean, I'd better go," Harper said, standing up from the bleachers.

I stood up too. "Alright well next time you want to watch a game together, find me. And bring food."

Harper grinned. "Will do."

She spun around, her hair following behind, and was lost into the crowd of people moving about. I tried to recall something I'd learned or picked up on during the game, but nothing was coming to me. I guess I'd been too distracted. But staying for the game didn't feel like a complete waste. I didn't know why, but suddenly I felt like I could run a hundred laps around the gym, as fast as a cheetah. I couldn't place my finger on what it was, but I almost felt giddy. And I don't feel giddy. I decided to just let it go, and instead use the newfound energy to sprint my way home.