Hey, Coach! ch. 5

Triple threat position, scan the court for openings and the the open player, jab step to the left,  then quickly dash right with the ball dribbling down to the corner, stutter, dribble directly behind the back, pull back and take the 20 footer.  Swoosh. Nothing but net.  Next move. Top of key, drive down from the top of the elbow, pause, dribble between the legs for misdirection, the pop a six footer, backboard. Textbook.  Scotty couldn't fully believe his eyes.  This was the sort of stuff he'd watch Bronson Keonig do for the Wisconsin Badgers Big 10 basketball team.  His head was always up to and never looked down at where he was dribbling, just like his coaches had said, the ball on a string.  Whoever she was, she had to be an eighth grader because this was their after lunch free rec time.  A couple other boys were on the opposite end of the floor putting up lollipop shots and cussing at misses, acting out plays like hook shots and fingerolls, the kinds of shots that anybody knew weren't good ones for a real game.  The eighth grade girls kept on going about her business, working out pre-set moves, one after the other, not missing.  She had just switched to the other side of the floor, dribbling with her left, crossover, pop, swish.  Two nights later, Scotty volunteered to set up for the eighth grade home girls basketball game so that he could watch this in action.  All of this had to be under secret, of course.  As of the moment, he was no longer playing basketball, but another kid with an instrument and a little brother.  There was no team to speak of because there was no coach.  Nobody seemed to care.  There she was again. As the eighth grade girl walked out onto the court she began to point to the players of the other team and point out who had who on defense.  She set herself outside of the mid court circle and stood at a position that sealed off her defender and as she received the tip off, she held the ball for one second, lifted her head up, took two dribbles, turned and sent down to the end of the court a baseball pass that was caught and laid in by another player.  This was it, Scotty thought, this was what he wanted to do someday himself.  No more out in the backyard stuff.  He had reached his limited with playing against the shadows and the dreams.  A few parents were cheering and all of them had their eyes on the girl, as she set up the team's offense a bit like a general with hands out directing.  One trip down the court, she might call out a one play, beat her defender off of the dribble, then stick a shot with the gooseneck follow through; the next time down the court, a two play, and she would pass to a low post player.  She would spin, fake left, and bank a two footer.  Score 32-4.  She took herself out of the game and sat back down on the bench using her finger to point out plays on the palm of her hand.