Playing Without the Ball Read Online Free PDF Page A

you?”
    “Not yet,” I say. “I’m like, working for a while first.”
    “Oh. Well, college is cool.”
    “I imagine.”
    She looks around the kitchen, then her eyes rest on me.
    “So,” I say. “Tennis, huh?”
    “Yeah. You play?”
    “Not really. I play basketball.”
    “Good game.” She gets up. “Hey, thanks,” she says.
    “No problem.”
Don’t leave now
. “I’ll put this in the freezer. Come back if you get stiff again … Julie.”
    “Thanks. I think I’ll be all right.”
    “Have fun dancing,” I say.
    “I will. Have fun making hamburgers.”
    “I always do.”

Tryouts
    I have no illusions that I will make it to the NBA, or that I’ll even play college ball. I just want to wring everything out of this body, take it as far as I’m able. I don’t even expect to be a starter this season—we’ve got the best point guard in the league in Brian Kaipo—but I think I can earn some significant playing time backing him up. First I have to make the team, of course.
    There are about forty guys in the gym when I get there, shooting at all six baskets. I pick up a ball and start dribbling, checking out the competition.
    Coach blows his whistle, and we all take a seat on the floor. He runs through the procedure: three days of tryouts and he’ll take ten guys for varsity; twelve underclassmen will make JV, and two of them will also sit varsity.
    Five varsity guys are back from last year, and three of them are guards. So I figure there’s maybe two slots I could fill, but probably only one.
    “Get in groups of six or seven for layups,” Coach says. “Bounce passes, nothing fancy. Let’s go.”
    We shoot layups from both sides, then jump shots and free throws. The coaches walk around from group to group, but they already know what most of us can do. After an hour of drills he says to take a three-minute break and we’ll scrimmage. He calls six guys over and spends about thirty seconds talking to them. Then those six start walking to the locker room, shaking their heads. Coach didn’t waste time making the first cuts. He goes over to Kaipo and a couple of the other returnees.
    We get two five-on-five full-court scrimmages going, using the side baskets. I get in the stronger group. Coach puts his five likely starters on the floor and tells me to line up at point guard for the other side. That’s a good sign, except that I’ll be guarding Kaipo.
    Kaipo’s maybe five-foot-ten, a couple of inches taller than me. He’s got wide-set, pale-blue eyes, and they’re crossed just enough to be noticeable. He’s a deadly shooter. He hits long-range three-pointers on their first two trips downcourt, but Coach doesn’t say anything.
    I make a few nice looks inside, hitting big guys for layups, but our side is getting beat pretty good. Kaipo’s scored twice more before I get a hand on a pass, knocking it upcourt and chasing it down. I’ve got the ball and a full stride on anybody else, and I drive to the hoop and lay the ball gently off the backboard for two.
    Coach finally speaks to Kaipo. “Move your ass, Brian,” he says. He brings in that blond sophomore, Ricky, for me a few minutes later, nodding to me as I leave the court. I get a drink and sit against the wall.

    I go in for Kaipo a while later, getting some minutes with the probable starters. I’m feeling good about this; Coach is giving me a fair shot and I’m playing all right. I cover Ricky, and we’re pretty well-matched. He seems tentative, though, scared even. I get a couple of steals, another fast-break layup. He hits a couple of jumpers, makes some decent passes.
    I’m good at dishing the ball off, finding the open man, but I have trouble knowing what to do next, where to go. It’s an instinct guys like Kaipo were born with, but I’m missing it. I have to keep telling myself what to do instead of it being a natural part of my game.
    We run line drills, shoot more free throws, and hit the locker room. I don’t say much of