Page 70 of Ruthless Court

On the fourth attempt, he keeps his head up.

“Better.”

His shoulders lift.

We move into four-out motion offense. Four players space along the perimeter with one working inside.

“Pass, cut, fill,” I say as I draw it on the whiteboard. “If you give up the ball and stand still, you’re furniture. Cut through. Replace the empty spot. Make the defense choose.”

The first run collapses.

The second almost works.

On the third, Evan sets a clean screen, rolls toward the basket, and catches the pass without flinching.

He misses the layup.

I clap once.

“That’s the play.”

“But I missed.”

“The decision was right. We fix the finish.”

By the end of practice, they are calling screens, moving after passes, and talking on defense.

Not polished.

Not close.

But different from the group in the video.

Doug steps onto the court.

“You shoot from three?”

I look at him.

“Do you?”

One of the mothers laughs.

Doug tosses me the ball.

I catch it at the top of the arc.

Dad’s voice lives inside every movement.

Feet set. Elbow under. Finish through the fingertips.

The first shot drops.

Then the second.

The third touches nothing but net.

The boys start shouting.