Page 69 of Ruthless Court

One pass tells me enough.

Three dribble with their heads down. Two jump off the wrong foot. One launches the ball at the backboard hard enough to frighten it.

Evan catches a pass, hesitates, and travels.

A father groans.

I blow the whistle.

“Reset.”

Doug checks his watch.

I ignore him.

“Right side means right hand, left knee up. Use the square. Finish high instead of throwing the ball and hoping it forgives you.”

I demonstrate the footwork slowly.

Then at game speed.

The ball kisses the top corner of the box and drops through.

One boy turns toward the sideline.

“She can play.”

“I can shoot,” I tell him. “That isn’t the same thing.”

We run it again.

Better.

Then I send them to the left side.

Complaints start immediately.

“My left hand is terrible.”

“This feels weird.”

“I can’t do it.”

I bounce the ball to the loudest player.

“Then you need it most.”

For twenty minutes, we work on footwork. Jump stops. Reverse pivots. Protecting the ball with the body. Keeping it high instead of bringing it down where smaller defenders can strip it.

Next comes ball handling.

“Eyes up,” I tell them. “The floor matters more than the ball. If you stare at your dribble, every defender knows you can’t see what’s coming.”

I hold up fingers while they move.

They shout the numbers.

Evan loses control three times.