The Dons last practice before their game concluded with Coach Long urging the boys to have a quiet and restful night. Sleep was what allowed you to grow, he said, and he'd always made it known he believed it was just as important as training.
Ty glided along the streets on his bike, on his way home. The session had been good. It had been mostly scrimmages against their backups and the JV members who actually showed up. Still no contact—no sense getting hurt just before the game—but the intensity didn't suffer for it.
Those sessions were the closest they got to a simulation of the game. They were all about familiarising themselves with the game plan, and what they expected from their upcoming opponents.
For the Dons' offence, it was to be a grinding assault with a balanced mixed of runs and quick passes to always keep the ball moving. The Dons' bread and butter. Of course, adjustments would have to be made in the game, but they were starting with a flexible base at least.
Conversely, the defence was a fair bit different from their usual affair. They were diverging from their usually zone coverage, relying on man coverage from the DBs as more focus went to stopping the run.
It made sense to Ty. The last two teams they'd faced had been powerhouses who'd wanted to run them over for the most part. He was always playing man, so it made no difference to him, but even Deshaun had proven himself to be a capable number two.
The Tigers … well it didn't matter what they did. Ty would crush them no matter what they tried. He expected little resistance on the way to another dominant shut-out.
Kentavious Rice Junior was the one who held Ty's focus. It was him Ty couldn't keep from his mind. Elliot "Dumbo" Wall had been relegated to a tiny crevice in the back of Ty's mind.
The lengthy bye Kentavious and the Longhorns benefited from wasn't annoying only because of the stupidity or "unfairness" of it, but also because it meant out of all the teams playing, Ty—and even Ricky—couldn't get any new footage of Kentavious.
Ty pulled up into the front yard of his house, planting his feet in the grass as he stayed atop the bike. He dug into his pocket, retrieving his phone. There were still plenty of old highlights of "Skywalker".
Sports highlights and mixtapes were little more than propaganda that could make even the most worthless prospect look like the GOAT, but if you knew what you were looking for, they still provided some insight into the player they were about.
Ty sat, blank-faced, as he watched the clips play one after another. The quickness was a factor that stood out. Play after play he snapped his defender's ankles, leaving them in the dust as they were only reacting to his first feint by the time he'd already cut the other way.
Toe-tapping, foot-dragging catches showed not only elite-level footwork, but an almost instinctual sense of where the boundaries were. Kentavious always knew how much room he had, and made sure to use every inch of it.
A few one-handed catches were sprinkled throughout, showing off that both hands were sticky enough to rake in anything. But Ty saw what they really were—an arrogant display. None had been necessary. Kentavious could've got both hands to every ball. Was he showing off? Or bored?
Most of all, the highlights showed his impressive vertical leap. He was like a rocket ship, and it was clear his leaping prowess was the main attraction. He could've jumped right over every opponent without breaking a sweat.
"An overgrown, overprotected rabbit. Is that what you are?" The Longhorns were a team full of talent with almost five stars across the board. Anyone could look good if their big powerful daddy was forcing them to be the focal point for such a team.
After the video ended, Ty stared at his reflection in his screen for a moment. As rabbit-like as the trait might've been, it was a serious threat. If Kentavious didn't have the highest vertical reach in the tournament, it was up there.
He glanced towards the front door, then turned his bike around, pedalling back onto the street. He had to get stronger, jump higher. It was inconceivable that someone could reach higher than him. He wouldn't allow it.
Silverback Fitness became his destination. Luckily, it was one of those gyms that was open 24/7. The after work rush was still in full effect as the gym was packed. A clamour of chatter, clanging weights, and radio rock assaulted the ears, whilst an odour of chalk, iron, copious amounts of sweat and dozens of different deodorants trying—and failing—to mask it all assaulted the nose.
Ty put his earphones in and blocked the noise out. Unfortunately the smell couldn't be substituted with anything. Wrinkling his nose, he found his own corner and began to grind.
Legs were the tool he was honing that day, again. Stronger legs, it all started from stronger legs. They were his key to becoming faster, stronger, springier.
After stretching, he worked through some box jumps, increasing the height stack by stack until he was jumping up to a level equal with his own shoulders. He needed to get higher. Dropping back down he put another mat into place. The tower was level with the top of his head.
He readied himself, feet planted, he bobbed down and exploded up, launching off his feet. He clipped the edge of the stack but got his toes over the top and planted, leaning forward, almost toppling off. Hands outstretched, he maintained his balance and stood, exhaling deeply. It was good… but Kentavious was taller.
He dropped back down and stared above the tower. Kentavious would've been a half-foot taller … if he could stand on his head, he could reach higher.
The tower stretched taller. Ty ensured it was all in place and balanced properly, then stepped back. He took deep, rhythmical breaths and crouched down. He shot back up, envisioning Kentavious doing the same. Ty had to just get a little bit higher…
His feet hit the stack again and he lurched forward, chest slamming into the top. His shins had got caught on the edge. He slid back and fell to the floor, grunting. A mat fell off the tower with him. He sat up, staring at the tower that had bested him. He slapped the last mat back into place as a reminder of its true peak, and moved on to calf raises.
They were his cheat code, not a secret one, but one not many exploited. It made sense to him. When you jumped, or pushed off, or did anything, it all started at your feet then went all the way up through your hips and beyond. Therefore, the stronger your lower muscles became, calves being both low and large, the more important their strength was.
He couldn't utilise a set of plates to stand upon, but he still had weights to hold, getting through his sets without issue.
Pistol squats were next. A test of balance as much as they were a test of strength. He did them without weights, but the deep range of motion along with only being able to use one leg at a time worked more muscles more intensely than a regular squat. The burn coursed through every fibre in his legs.
Balance was another important key to victory. His battles had shown him that. A CB wouldn't get anywhere if they let any and every WR push them around, and it didn't matter how strong you were if you were knocked over or off your spot.
After a few sets, he moved on to his next exercise, taking up a pair of twenty-five pound dumbbells along the way. Lunges were the next course. He kept his head down and arms by his side, lunge-walking his way up the length of the gym. A football field would've been better, but he made do.
Up and back he went, leading with the same leg first. He did his best to stay out of other people's way, and, more importantly, they stayed out of his. After his first "lap" of the gym, he switched to his left leg leading.
He took breaks after doing a lap with each lead leg, and got through three laps for each before putting the weights back. Looking around, it was time for a longer break. He needed a bench free for his hip thrusts, and with how busy everything was, he'd have to wait for one to come open.
He kept an eye on the weights he'd also need. "I need my own gym. I bet you've got plenty of private gyms, don't you, Skywalker?" He growled through his teeth before taking another sip of water.
Of course, someone like Kentavious would've never had to want for anything. As soon as he even looked in the direction of something he didn't have, it would've been given to him on a silver platter. Ty wouldn't let him have Nationals.
When a bench was free, Ty was quick to pounce. He grabbed onto the weightless bar and moved it into place, packing on two-hundred pounds before shimmying into place, bridging himself against the bench.
With the bar against his hips, he arched up, straightening out against the bench. He huffed, knees locking, then lowered his hips slowly towards the ground. Before letting them touch, he powered back up.
He didn't rush himself, working through at his own pace, controlling the descent, exploding on the ascent. After twelve reps, he rolled the bar off himself and sat beside it, resting for a minute before restarting.
On the last set, he pushed beyond the twelfth rep, counting through gritted teeth as the number climbed. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, up to twenty where his legs shook and hips wobbled. He knew he had one more in him. But after the twenty-first, he slumped down.
He took his time putting the weights and bar back, using the monotonous task as another break. The gym was emptying out bit by bit as more people finished their workouts, though some popular pieces of equipment were still occupied.
Ty himself was just about done. It was getting late, and he still had the ride home to think about. He just needed one more thing to quench the fires burning in his legs.
He eyed the leg press, waiting for an opening. When it came he claimed his seat and started loading the weights on. Three-hundred pounds was the target. It was over twice his own weight, but if he could push through that, he could push through anyone. Nobody would run him over again.
He braced himself before releasing the blocks holding the platform in place. Instantly, his legs slid back a couple of inches. He held steady, legs going rigid even as the heavy weight continued to try to force his knees through his ribcage. He grit his teeth, pushing, legs shaking with the effort, but the weight wasn't budging. A snarl escaped him as his teeth ground together, but no matter how hard he pushed, he seemed closer to popping a blood vessel than getting that weight to move.
He engaged the blocks again and slid out from the seat, hunched over on wobbling legs. There would be no PR that day, but a walk of shame in its place as he re-racked the weights.
But a session couldn't end on such a defeat. If the leg press wouldn't be conquered, maybe the tower could be. Ty's earlier stack had been taken down as others had moved around and made used of the boxes, but they were once again freed up.
He remade the Kentavious-tall stack, and rubbed life back into his legs. He'd topple the tower after standing atop it. Springs, tightly coiled, all-powerful. That's what his legs were. Rocket boots didn't make sense; he couldn't visualise them, but springs instead of muscles, or his muscles wound into springs. Yes, that's something he could see.
He threw himself up, pushing off his springs, from toe to knee, and even knee to hip, it was all springs. He stretched up towards the ceiling, towards the sky, and once again his legs caught on the top of the tower and he crashed back down to the earth.
Ty lay there, staring up at the ceiling, panting heavily. He looked beyond the ceiling, everything fading from focus. The lights become fuzzy stars. Stars he WOULD reach one day. If Skywalker already called them home, then Ty could reach them too.
The Tigers were just the next rung on his ladder to the sky.