Los Angeles | 2010
Max's POV
We all lined up for the jump ball. Tony was outright glaring at David across the circle. I'd told him to be careful, but I couldn't blame him for the fire. This was personal.
The ref tossed the ball. Tony, with a grunt of pure effort, tipped the ball into my hand. I grinned and took off, a one-man fast break. I saw Naird's shooting guard, Leo, trying to cut off my angle, so I hit him with a fast crossover, the ball snapping from right to left, which gave me just enough of a gap to score on the Knights with a clean layup.
The crowd roared. That's how you start a final.
But there was no time to celebrate. Bradley dribbled the ball down the court, his expression a mask of cold indifference. He angled himself perfectly on the three-point line, and Alan went to block him. Naird attempted a fake pass that made Alan flinch, followed by a pump fake that got him completely in the air. As Alan flew past, Naird calmly rose up and landed a three-pointer.
It was infuriatingly brilliant.
Alan took the matter seriously. He brought the ball up and we immediately went into a three-on-three play of passing the ball constantly, a blur of motion designed to confuse them. It worked. I made a hard cut to the basket, and Alan hit me with a perfect bounce pass, allowing me to take a straight layup and score.
The game continued in this high-paced, basket-for-basket play. Both teams answered each other's offense, our raw power against their clinical precision. Midway through the quarter, the tension boiled over. Leo attempted a layup, and Tony went up to contest it, smashing the ball away with a brutal swat. The ref's whistle blew. Foul.
"What?!" I rushed to the ref. "That was all ball, man! It wasn't a contact foul!" The entire Ravens team complained, but the ref was having none of it.
That's when Brad stepped in. "If this is how you wanna play," he said, his voice quiet but carrying a distinct threat, "then I will give you a taste of your own medicine." I saw my teammates become apprehensive at that, the fire in their eyes replaced by a flicker of caution. We backed down, allowing the free throws for Leo, who only managed to score one of them.
On our next possession, Alan was dribbling the ball down the court and made a pass to me. I saw Brad jump in to intercept, his timing perfect. But I was ready. I jumped with him, quick enough to block the intercept and catch the ball myself.
Brad looked mildly surprised. "You guys have improved," he stated, a grudging respect in his tone. "Good for you. At least now it won't be like taking candy from a baby."
I grinned back at him. "Careful," I said. "You might just be putting your hand into the lion's mouth."
I side-stepped him and, with the space I'd created, landed a three-pointer. I looked right at him as I ran back on defense. "That one was especially for you."
He didn't get angry. He just got that cold, calculating look in his eyes and came right back, hitting a tough, contested jumper at the buzzer to tie the game. The buzzer sounded. We were locked in a dead heat. This was going to be a beautiful war.
End of First Quarter: Knights 17, Ravens 17
The second quarter started with the same ferocious intensity as the first. The game was a blur of motion, a constant struggle. During a dead ball, I found myself next to Leo, the Knights' fiery shooting guard.
"Man, two years playing the junior league, where were you guys?" I asked, a genuine grin on my face. "Our rivalry would have been epic if you guys had shown yourselves before."
Leo grinned at me as well, a look of fierce pride in his eyes. "We were waiting to be awakened. And he did that," he said, pointing at Bradley. "Now we will be your nightmares."
"Oh, believe me, if anything, it'll be us giving the nightmares," I shot back. On the inbound, I received a pass from Alan and ran in. Leo tailed me, anticipating a layup, but I saw him coming. I drove hard, drew in defender, and then swung a pass to Wally, who caught it and made a perfect mid-range shot.
But they came right back. Brad used one of his signature moves, a play so brutal and effective it was almost beautiful. He fed Alan, who had his entire focus on Brad, as if he were a pig for slaughter, to David, who stood in Alan's path as an iron wall. Alan never saw it coming. He smashed into David and fell on the hardwood as Brad passed by to make a three-point shot.
Alan glared at David. "Run along, dude," David said, his voice a low, cold rumble. "This is an area you're not allowed in."
Tony walked in to back up Alan, getting right in David's face. "You think you're a big man, huh? Tryna knock my friend down?"
David didn't even flinch. "I can just as well knock you down a peg, pretty boy."
"Oh, bitch, it's on," Tony snarled.
The game became a series of personal duels. I drove past Bradley and scored on a tough, contested layup. He came right back and hit a jumper over me. It was glorious.
On the next play, the Knights tried to go inside. Brad made a swift, bullet-like pass to David, but the jumper was heavily contested by Tony. They were clinging to each other in the air, a tangle of limbs and pure willpower, not allowing David to launch the ball. He came back down with it, and the ref's whistle blew for a travel violation.
"Time for you to run along," Tony said, staring down at David. "Sit down, bitch. Be humble."
David just glared at him, his eyes promising retribution.
The final minutes of the half were a chaotic war. We were all playing on the edge, fueled by pure adrenaline. I hit another three. Brad answered with one of his own. Every possession felt like the most important one of our lives.
The buzzer for the half finally sounded a mercy for our burning lungs. I stumbled toward the bench, my throat parched, my jersey completely soaked through with sweat. But as I grabbed a water bottle, I was grinning. I looked over at my team, all of them just as exhausted, just as fired up. Then I looked at the Knights, who were staring right back at us with the same look of fierce, grudging respect. This was the best game I had ever played in my life.
End of First Half: Knights 38, Ravens 39
I took a seat on the bench, a towel draped over my head, my lungs still burning from the first half. My body screamed for rest, but my mind was still on the court, dissecting every play, every missed shot, every opportunity. Coach Lee made his decision.
"Max, Alan, you sit. I need you fresh for the fourth," he commanded. "Tony, Wally, Jack, you're staying out there. Marco, Sam, you're in."
I watched as our subs checked in, a knot of anxiety tightening in my gut. Across the court, the Knights were making their own changes. The big kid, David, was taking a seat, but Bradley and Leo were staying in, along with that Australian bloke, Patrick. They were playing a smaller, faster lineup. This was going to be a track meet.
The third quarter was a war of attrition fought by the lieutenants. Without me and Alan to run the offense, our strategy was simple: feed the beast. We got the ball to Tony in the post on three straight possessions, and he went to work, using his raw power to score over the Knights' smaller defenders. We were extending our lead. I felt a surge of pride. This was our team we couldn't be cowed down.
But Bradley Naird was a different kind of animal. He didn't get rattled. He just adapted. He saw they couldn't stop Tony inside, so he changed the game. He started running a high-speed pick-and-roll with his forwards, forcing Tony to step away from the basket to help, which left the paint vulnerable to cutters. Leo hit a slashing layup. Then Patrick, with his deceptive speed, made a hard cut and scored. The lead was shrinking.
"Don't let them set the pace!" I yelled from the bench, my voice raw. On the inside however I was just too pumped at being able to see and play a game like this. One where every inch of our soul and blood was on the line for the taking. This…This is why I love basketball. Eli would have loved this too.
The game became a shooter's duel. Our guy, Jack, who had more heart than anyone on the team, came off a screen and drained a three-pointer from the corner that made our bench erupt. It was a beautiful, gutsy shot. But Brad came right back, answering with a three of his own, his form a perfect, infuriating picture of efficiency. They were trading haymakers, and the energy in the gym was electric.
The final two minutes were a blur. We were all on our feet, living and dying with every possession. I could see our guys were getting tired, their movements a half-step slower. The Knights, led by the relentless energy of Bradley, Leo and Patrick just kept coming.
With thirty seconds left, the game was tied. It was our ball. This was it. A chance to go into the fourth with the lead. Marco, our backup point guard, brought the ball up. He was nervous; I could see it in the way he was dribbling, too high, too hesitant. He tried to force a pass into Tony in the post.
I saw it happen in slow motion. Bradley, who had been feigning passivity on the weak side, shot into the passing lane like a viper. The steal was clean. He was gone, a one-man fast break. He laid the ball in just as the final buzzer for the quarter sounded. That three point shot from his fast break was a masterclass in patience and opportunity.
A gut-wrenching silence fell over our side of the gym. We had been outplayed. Outsmarted.
I stood up, the towel dropping from my head. I looked at the scoreboard, then at my exhausted, demoralized teammates on the court. Then my eyes found him. Bradley Naird. He was just calmly walking to his bench, not even celebrating, his expression one of cold, absolute control. The fourth quarter was going to be a war. And I couldn't wait to get back into the fight.
End of 3rd Quarter: Knights 60, Ravens 57
I walked back on the court for the fourth quarter, and a surge of pure, joyful energy went through me. Alan and I were full of energy, rested and ready. I looked over at the Knights. And I saw it. Brad was still playing, a thick sheen of sweat on his brow, his breathing just a little deeper than before. I saw signs of him getting tired. This was our chance.
For the first few minutes of the quarter, Brad played a passive game. He wasn't attacking. He was just a facilitator, feeding the ball to David, allowing him to get into the post and score. It was a smart, conservative strategy, designed to save his energy. But it gave us an opening.
While Tony was truly out of fuel, struggling to keep up, Wally and I took over. I scored on a tough, driving layup, and Wally hit a baseline jumper. We were chipping away at their lead, taking back the momentum. I could feel it. The crowd could feel it. It was time to have some fun.
It was time for my own nightmare mode.
I stopped thinking and just started playing. I began grinning wildly as I started playing street ball, taking formless and frankly unthinkable shots. I hit a one-handed floater from an impossible angle. I drained a fadeaway jumper while falling out of bounds. The shots should not normally have ever gone in, but they did go in because of my unreal ball placement skills. I was flowing, a place of pure, joyful instinct. I saw Bradley looking at me, amazed by this.
During a timeout, he walked past me. "What the hell was that?" he asked, a look of grudging respect on his face.
"I played street ball, dude," I said with a grin. "There, you learn to sink your shot in no matter the cost, contact or no contact. Compared to that, this is pretty tame."
I saw a gleam in Bradley's eyes. On the next turn, he jogged down the court and stared at me. "You're right, Max this was pretty tame for you and I" he said, his voice quiet but intense. "Whatever happens after this, know that I respect your spirit."
And then, the reaper came for us.
I swear I hallucinated it for a moment, Bradley Naird's eyes glowing as he received the inbound pass. He performed an exquisite ankle breaker, leaving Alan on the floor. He then hit me with a perfect multi-crossover that left me a step behind. He drove the lane and scored on a fadeaway two-pointer over a tired Tony. It was a work of art.
From that point on, the match truly became a nightmare for the Ravens. Bradley continuously used David's iron wall screen in the most unexpected places, like the half-court line, creating chaos and confusion. He'd make bullet passes, allowing Leo an easy score after he stole the ball from us like a viper taking eggs. He even told Leo to break point and run to the opposite side when we were on offense. It was a mockery but then Naird managed to defend two men at once, leaving me spellbound to the unholy reserves of stamina he was displaying.
But I tried my best. I used my formless shooting to score and keep us in it. I hit another circus shot. Alan, recovering, hit a jumper. We were fighting, clawing, trying to chase after the lead Bradley built.
It all came down to the final possession. Five seconds on the clock. We were down by two. It was our ball.
The inbound came to me. This was it. One shot to win it all. Leo was on me, his defense frantic. I knew I needed a three-pointer. I pump-faked, and he went for it, leaving his feet for a split second. It was all the space I needed. I went in the air, my body rising, the hoop in my sights.
And then, impossibly, he was there.
I was amazed to see Bradley jumping before me into the air. It made no sense. He had been on the other side of the play. His timing was wrong. He had jumped too early. In the air, I thought that because Bradley jumped first, he would go down. I waited, holding the ball, ready to release it at the peak of my jump as he fell.
But he didn't fall. He just kept continuing to rise. He had no hang time, he was just… ascending. A cold, horrifying realization hit me: I was the one who was going to come down first. This…This is impossible how the hell is he doing this. In a panic, I tried to shoot, but the ball was grazed by Brad's fingertips, leading to it hitting the board and bouncing off.
The crowd released a massive 'Oh no!' and a collective sigh of defeat. The buzzer rang, a final, brutal sound.
The announcer's voice boomed through the silent gym. "THE KNIGHTS HAVE DETHRONED THE RAVENS! THE KNIGHTS HAVE TAKEN THE CROWN!"