With all-star break coming up, the coaching staff will be working on rotations for the postseason.We have a winning record, and we’re sitting at six in the West.High enough to grab a spot in the first round, which has everyone buzzing.
But what no one says out loud is we’re vulnerable.
Every team behind us is breathing down our necks.
Plus, we’ve yet to beat LA, who picked up some starters in the off-season and is once again top in the West, or Boston, who’s ruling the East.We’re playing tonight’s game at home, our last before a big road trip that includes both of them.
Not to mention the competition within the squad.
I want to get to the all-star game.It’s unusual for a team to have multiple all-stars.
Which means it’s down to Kyle and me.
The first period is strong.Miles hits his threes, and Rookie’s settling into his schemes.Jay fumbles a couple passes, but I save them.Even Kyle’s playing well, though I hate to admit it.
Since I hit him, he’s been quieter.Probably doesn’t want to get his lip split open again.
Yeah, if it’d happened on team property, I’d have lost a lot more than an apology to Harlan and Mari.
The third quarter, we’re up eight.
I’ve got twenty already, and so does Kyle.The next play, I have a chance to pass to him in the post.I wave him off and go in for the bucket myself.
On our way back up the court, he sends me a look.“I see what you’re doing,” he calls.
Yeah, well, he’s been doing it all year.
I can taste the win.
The next time up, Miles is open.I try to go around the defender, and he slides in front of me.The whistle shrills as I go down hard.
The entire stands erupt with protests.He’s called for the foul, but my knee hurts like hell.
“You okay?”Jay asks.
“Yeah.”
We’re in the bonus, so I take my foul shots, then the other coach calls a time out.I walk carefully over to the bench.
“How is it?”our coach asks.
“Pretty sure I heard a pop,” Kyle offers.
Motherfucker.
“There was no pop,” I say.
I don’t want to sit.It’ll compromise my time and put Kyle more in the focus in these last few days of voting and give him an edge.
Our head trainer comes over and manipulates the joint, bending and flexing.I try not to wince.
“We should take it back and get it scanned.But it’s your call if we do it now or after the game.”
Kyle watches with interest.So do the other guys.
There’s a hand on my shoulder.Rookie.“We need you, man.Not for tonight, not as an all-star next weekend.For what comes after.”
Every instinct in me is to argue with the trainer, to swallow down the pain and deal with it later.
