Athlete vs. Mathlete: Double Dribble Read Online Free PDF Page B

I’d know which one was the jerk.
    Then again, maybe they both were.
    â€œDon’t let them get to you, Russ,” Owen said as he ran past me.
    At that precise moment, one of them threw the ball toward the basket and the other came flying through the air to
dunk
it.
    I’d only seen an “alley-oop” on TV, completed by professionals.
    Don’t let them get to me? It was a bit late for that.
    By the time practice was over, the entire Pioneer roster (except for my brother and me) was awestruck by the new guys.
    â€œI can’t believe how good they are,” Chris whispered as we walked off the court. “No one’s going to be able to stop us this year.”
    Owen frowned. “I thought we were doing pretty awesome without them.”
    â€œYeah, I know.” He nodded. “But this is a whole new level, man. A whole new game.”
    Judging by the expression on my brother’s face, I knew he felt the same way I did.
    We liked the game the way it used to be.

    When we sat down at the dinner table that night, Mom asked how practice had gone.
    â€œWe got a couple of new guys on the team,” Owen told her. “Twins, from Minnesota.”
    â€œAh, the Minnesota Twins,” Dad said, chuckling.
    Mom didn’t look like she knew about the baseball team either. I had the feeling that, like a lot of other sports facts, we might be the only people alive who didn’t.
    â€œThey’re good,” I said.
    â€œAs good as you two?” Dad asked, doubtfully.
    â€œBetter,” I told him.
    â€œWhoa! Speak for yourself,” Owen said.
    â€œI meant as a pair, they’re better than we are.” It was the truth, and sometimes the truth hurt. In fact, sometimes it stung like you were being attacked by a swarm of Asian hornets. And I use them as an example because their stingscontain more of the pain-causing chemical acetylcholine than any other insect.
That’s
how much it stung to know how good the Matthews twins were.
    â€œBetter than us? You really think so?” Owen asked.
    â€œDid you watch the drills? They were perfectly synchronized.”
    â€œYeah, well the rest of the Pioneers can be synchronized.”
    â€œSure,” I told him. “When they do the hokey pokey.”
    â€œRuss,” Owen said, his expression very serious. “None of us do the hokey pokey.”
    I rolled my eyes. “I was just making a point.”
    â€œWell, geez, don’t make that one.”
    â€œOkay, drills aside, did you watch the scrimmage?”
    â€œI was playing, Russ. So yeah, I was watching.”
    â€œThen maybe you noticed that they were like … a machine?”
    â€œWe’re still talking about a pair of twelve-year-old boys, right?” Mom asked.
    â€œYes,” I said, attempting to scoop several unwilling peas onto my fork.
    â€œBecause right now they’re sounding like something out of a Spielberg movie.”
    â€œ
Twinvaders of the Third Kind
,” Dad said, smiling.
    â€œThat fits,” Owen said, then started speaking in a ghoulish voice. “They came out of the darkness to take over the team.”
    â€œMinnesota is hardly the darkness,” Mom said, rolling her eyes. “In case you’ve forgotten, I grew up in Wisconsin.”
    Owen looked completely lost.
    â€œIt’s the state next door,” I whispered.
    â€œOh,” he said, like the country had been modified and he hadn’t seen the new map yet.
    â€œAnyway,” I said, trying to bring the conversation back to the original topic. “Maybe ‘machine’ is the wrong word. They were more like …” I tried to think of how to describe the way they moved around the court as if they were attached with an invisible rope, always the right distance apart, each of them anticipating what the other was going to do. And then it hit me. “They were like Kevin Maple and Adam Donaldson.”
    â€œYou’ve lost