…
"Alright," Daniel said. "Call in the rest of the circus. We're going full speed."
Ector nodded and jogged off. A few minutes later, the gym doors slammed open – Tyrone first, towel slung over his shoulder; Novak and Biha behind him; Jesus sauntering in with that lazy grin; Grigori silent as a wall; last entered Deng and Adrian.
Marcus poked his head in from the hallway, smirking. "You breakin' them already, D?"
"Not yet," Daniel replied. "We're getting to the fun part."
The boys gathered around half court, in an uneven line. The sound of bouncing balls slowly quieted.
Daniel stood, leaning slightly on his good leg.
"Alright," he began, his tone low but commanding. "Today's lesson – transition."
A few of the guys threw him blank looks. He decided to not make them look foolish. He smiled faintly. "Don't worry, I'll make it simple."
He picked up a ball and bounced it twice. "Transition is the heartbeat of modern basketball. It's the moment when you shift from defense to offense – when the other team misses, or turns it over. You've got maybe two seconds before they recover. That's when you kill them."
He looked at Ector. "And the one holding the knife is you."
Ector spun the ball once on his finger. "So I just run, right?"
Daniel shook his head. "That's what most people think. Westbrook doesn't just run. He stalks. His first read isn't the defender in front – it's the big man behind. He checks if that dude is sprinting back or dragging his feet. If the big is late? That's blood in the water."
He started walking toward the rim, motioning for Tyrone to play imaginary defense. "When Russ pushes up the floor, the defense panics. Every single defender's eyes go straight to him. All five. That's what we call gravity. You don't even have to score – just by moving, you bend the floor."
He dribbled up from half court, fast, but not reckless. Tyrone shifted to meet him, Novak slid over to help.
"See this?" Daniel said. "Now they're both on me. Four on five. Somebody's open. They have to be. You just have to find them."
He passed behind his back to Jesus, who caught it cleanly. "That's transition basketball. It's not about speed. It's about attention. You make them all look at you – and then give the ball to someone they forgot exists."
Marcus, watching from the wall, whistled softly. "Preach, man."
Daniel smirked. "Now, Ector – run it."
Ector nodded, taking his spot at half court. Novak inbounded. Ector exploded forward – fast, sharp, but too straight. Everyone collapsed on him.
He jumped and threw a pass into traffic. It ricocheted off Tyrone's shoulder.
Daniel blew his whistle. "Nope. Too early. You're reacting, not reading."
Ector groaned. "Man, I saw him!"
"You saw the wrong thing," Daniel replied calmly. "Westbrook doesn't react to the open man – he creates him. That is his power as a point guard. Special ability, in some sense."
He tossed the ball back. "Try again. Push, but think. Eyes up, feel the spacing."
This time Ector dribbled forward, hesitated just past half court. Tyrone stepped up. Grigori stayed under the rim, arms crossed.
Ector faked the drive, then suddenly zipped a one-handed bullet pass to Novak on the wing. Novak fired, the shot splashed through.
Daniel nodded. "There you go. That's the first step. You forced the help – you didn't ask for it."
He walked forward again, motioning for them to gather close. "That's the essence of being a floor general. Westbrook breaks defenses not because he's selfish, but because he draws everyone. He controls their eyes. He forces rotations."
He gestured to Jesus. "In the pick and roll, same thing. First look is the roll – always. That's your bait. If it's not open, use your speed to get deeper. Make them collapse. When they do…"
He snapped his fingers. "Kick it out. Simple basketball done with violent efficiency."
He dribbled again, mimicking the motion. "Watch this. When Russ gets deep, the defense panics. Help comes down, wings sag – and now he's got shooters open on both sides. He doesn't even look – he already knows where they'll be."
He dribbled again, mimicking the motion. "Now – here's the key. Another thing about when Russ runs pick-and-roll, he doesn't stop at the arc. He dives into the paint – deep. So deep the defenders have to turn their heads to find him. That's when he becomes an ultimate weapon. Because now every big man in the paint has a decision to make – help on Russ or guard the lob. And either choice is death."
He drew an invisible play on the floor with his sneaker. "You force them to refocus on you. Their eyes leave your big man. That's when the big rolls free. Westbrook's inside gravity cracks the whole defense open – and he dishes it off so clean the finish looks easy."
He passed the ball to Adrian. "You're the roll man now. Deng, Biha, you're second help – rotate off the weak side."
Adrian nodded, planting himself at the top of the key. AD and JB moved to the corners, ready.
Daniel motioned for Ector. "Now, run it like Westbrook. Get deep. Force it."
Ector came off the screen, pushed hard into the paint, and – just as the defense folded in – fired a one-handed pass over his shoulder. Adrian caught it mid-stride, dunking it with a thundering snap that echoed through the gym.
Then, more quietly: "That's what you have to become, Ector. A storm that thinks. A weapon that plans."
Ector wiped sweat from his forehead. "So basically… I make 'em fear me, then feed my people."
Daniel grinned. "Exactly. You create chaos, but you're the calm in it. You're the eye of the hurricane. Remember."
Then, to the group: "You all saw that? He didn't call for a play. He made one. That's what transition and early offense mean. Don't wait for permission to score. Don't wait for the game to tell you what to do. Be the game."
The gym came alive again – sneakers squeaking, voices echoing, balls thudding. The pace rose, fast and furious. Every pass was sharper. Every move had rhythm.
And somewhere in the chaos, Ector Troy started to look less like an angry dunking kid – and more like a point guard.
"Oh, shit, I think I'm done for the day, the knee is killing me…"