“Now get back to work.”
We finish running the drills.I jump in to get the reps and prove I’m not only good for talking.
After, I gather the team around a whiteboard.“Next week, we’re going to LA.Back-to-back.One guess what our goal is.”
“Get Kim Kardashian to sign my dick?”Rookie volunteers.
I grab a marker.
“Wow, he’s really lost his mind,” Atlas mutters to Jayden.
I write four numbers on the board, a hyphen separating the first two and second two.“You know what this is?”
“Our record.”
I write another number.Three.“What about this?”
This time there’s hesitation.
“Games out,” Rookie says.
“That’s the number of games out of first place we are.”
One more number.
“How many teams are ahead of us.And this is the bonus round.”I write one final number.Ten.
Jay frowns.“It’s not the number of games we need to get a playoff spot."
“That’s the number of games we need to win to guarantee home court for the first series.”
“Home court.”Atlas laughs.“We’ve never had home court.”
“Otherwise, we play somewhere like this.Unfamiliar.Hostile.I want our fans in the seats.Our banners in the rafters.Our colors on the floor.Not because we can’t beat a team on the road.Because when we do this, I want witnesses.”
The guys exchange looks.
“We can win ten games,” Rookie says, but it’s cockiness, not belief.
“You tell me.”I look at him.
Rookie knows what I’m asking.“Yeah.We can."
I turn to Miles.
“Sure, Clay.”
Atlas.This guy’s been around a few teams, made deep playoff runs.
He nods.
Then Jayden.My long-time friend and teammate.
“What do you say, Jay?We gonna take ten?”
He frowns.“Let’s take ‘em all.”
A cheer goes up.
