The AC in this place was on full blast but, somehow, I was overheating. “God, I hope that’s not true.”
He shrugged. “You know what they say, high risk can often equal high reward.”
Did he consider interacting with me a risk? And if that were the case, why would he continue to do it? Where was the reward in that?
“I gotta run. Remember if your nose starts to bleed during the second half of the show, pinch the soft part of your nose.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
“Have a good night, Danessa.” He took a few steps backward as if sneaking one last look before turning and walking away.
A chill coasted down my spine. Aldridge was right, we were in danger.
Today wasmy first official practice with my new team. I opted to be traded to the Ramblers because in Kansas City I was the third biggest player. The spotlight was harder to triangulate when you had to share it with two other people. Ramblers CEO, Sariah Thornton and Coach Justus Chappel assured me I would be the new face of the team. Currently Colin Pratt was considered the star player, but he was getting older and had done little to move the needle on a championship. Just consider me the David Ruffin to his Otis.
It was very clear I was being hired and granted a huge contract and signing bonus because they believed I could do what Pratt had not … deliver a championship. To be honest, it felt like the Ramblers organization was more confident than I was. Sure, I knew what was required to win and I was willing to sacrifice everything else for a chance at a championship. But at the end of the day, just like the Temptations, shit would fall apart quick, fast, and in a hurry if the team wasn’t on the same page. My expertise was ball handling, not interpersonal skills. We had a great coach and some really talented players and whileI didn’t have a plan per se, I had concepts of a vague plan and it was simple. Win more games than you lose.
“Hey newbie, pass the ball,” Colin Pratt yelled.
I wasn’t a newbie. I’d been in the NBA for over five years. And Colin Pratt didn’t get to tell me what to do. If I allowed this motherfucker to son me on my first day that would be our dynamic the entire season. The only thing Pratt had on me was years. Neither him nor these other players were going to determine my fate. I was more than capable of being an asshole right back. Dribbling the ball, I walked further away from the hoop until I was well beyond three-point range and took a shot. A shot that circled the rim before sinking into the basket.
“Shit the newbie is locked in,” Deion said.
As an accountability buddy, Deion seemed alright. His tongue was sharp, never holding anything back, and he wasn’t looking to make a new friend. He kept me under his wing because that was part of his job. And upon first meeting him, he let me know there were in fact dumb questions and I shouldn’t be asking him any of them. I get it, no one wanted to babysit the new kid. So I tried to stay out of his hair.
“Practice ain’t real life. And when you have twenty thousand fans booing and jeering you, I bet your hand isn’t as steady,” Pratt claimed.
I cleared my throat. “Basketball is what I do. So, whether it’s a three-pointer …” I drilled another three. “A jump shot.” I drifted to the left before surging to the right and dropping another basket. “Or a slam dunk.” Palming the ball, I backed up to give myself a runway before launching myself into the air and pushing the ball over the rim. “The results are going to be the same every single time.”
I believed in respecting my elders, but one thing I wasn’t going to allow was the disrespect. Pratt saw me as his replacement and felt a way about it, but that didn’t have shit todo with me. He could work with me or against me. And if it was the latter, he would find himself riding the bench this year. I didn’t need new friends. I needed a championship ring.
Coach Justus rapped his hands together from the sidelines. “Okay, stop goofing off and let’s start with conditioning drills. Up and down the court fifteen times. Mosley a word.”
I jogged over to where Coach was standing. “Yes, Coach.”
“Stop playing with your food. No one likes a showboat.”
“I wasn’t showing off, I was just giving them a preview of what’s to come.”
“Cocky players lose games.”
“Kobe was cocky.”
“Motherfucker you’re not Kobe.” Coach Justus didn’t mince words, and he wasn’t looking to hold a brother’s hand. From what I’d seen of him thus far, he seemed firm but fair. He was also driven, when he visited me in Kansas City to discuss a possible trade I was impressed by his passion and love for the sport. Coach being a former player and ring holder was also appealing because it meant he understood what it would take to win.
“So shut up and dribble. Got it.”
“I’m not telling you to take everything on the chin, but you could try to make this transition easier.”
“And what does Pratt have to do?”
“I’m having similar conversations with him about his current attitude. You let me handle Pratt and you focus on the game.”
“Alright.”
“Now go run.”
When practice wrapped, I was greeted by several missed calls from my mother. The Ramblers Training Facility was massive with large spaces that produced an echo when you spoke. I located a discreet area and ducked into an empty conference room. Upon entering, the lights flickered on and the projectionscreen displayed the Ramblers logo, a basketball ablaze in flames. Dropping into one of the oversized leather seats, I returned my mom’s call.
