We were deep into our weight room session, pushing through sets under the watchful eyes of the strength coaches. The atmosphere was serious but relaxed, everyone was locked in, working hard, but with our strong start to the season, the energy in the room was solid.
I had just finished a set of bench presses when one of the coaches walked up, arms crossed, a slight smirk on his face.
"Two days from now, we got the Bucks. That Greek kid that you were talking about two years ago? He's showing some real flashes right now."
I set the bar back down and sat up, wiping sweat off my forehead with a towel.
"Giannis, yeah. That guy had something."
The coach nodded. "You were right. He's looking sharper, more aggressive. His numbers are starting to go up."
Vucevic, who was doing squats nearby, chimed in.
"Yeah, I watched him the other night. Dude's becoming a problem."
I took a sip from my water bottle and nodded.
"That's what happens when you put in the work. He always had the size and athleticism, but now he's understanding the game better. If he keeps this up, he's gonna be a real problem for the league."
The coach grinned. "Well, he's not at your level yet, but looks like you got a nice challenge coming up."
I shrugged with a confident smirk.
Norman Powell, who was on the pull-up bar, laughed and threw in,
"Just don't get put on a poster, man."
I raised an eyebrow, smirking back.
"Don't worry about me, rookie, make me two more sets by the way."
The whole squad burst out laughing before getting back to work.
After practice, everyone split up—some guys went home, some had plans, but for the rest of us, there was unfinished business to handle.
For the past few weeks, there had been a lot of talk during practice. Trash talk about who was the best at NBA 2K. Some swearing up and down they were untouchable in the game, talking like they had the controller in their hands since birth. Today, it was time to settle it.
"Aight, enough talk. Y'all pulling up or not?" I said as we walked out of the facility.
Derrick Rose smirked. "You already know I'm in."
"Man, stop it." Norman Powell laughed. "I seen you play."
A few more guys decided to join in, and even one of our assistant coaches. We all pulled up to my place, grabbed snacks and drinks, and got the tournament set up.
The game started, and the room immediately got loud. Every dunk, every three, every missed shot had someone yelling. It didn't take long before dudes were standing up, pointing at the screen, talking crazy.
Games went back and forth, and slowly, the tournament got more intense. The final matchup? Me vs. Derrick.
As we were picking teams, someone scrolled over Norman's player in NBA 2K16, and the room went silent.
"Hold on, hold on." Dedmon says, grinning. "Nah, no way. Norm… You a 75 overall."
The entire room erupted in laughter.
"Yo, they did you dirty, bro!" The assistant coach cracked up.
Norman shook his head, unamused. "Y'all laughing too much for dudes who ain't even scanned their faces in the game yet. At least I'm in there."
He paused, then picked up a controller and looked at our squad's ratings. "And Dedmon you have less than me bro."
One guy pointed at me. "Yeah, but Pres sitting comfy with a 98 OVR though."
I just shrugged, trying to hold back my laughter. "They didn't even give me 99."
Norman wasn't having it. "Aight, bet.Next time I'm dropping 40 with myself just to prove y'all wrong."
"All I'm saying is, don't be mad when this game gets ugly." I told him as we picked teams.
"Bruh, you don't even play like that." Derrick laughed. "I'm about to expose you in your own house."
The game was tight all the way to the fourth quarter. Every possession mattered. With a minute left, I was up by 4, feeling confident.
Then, he hit back-to-back poster dunks, then a contested mid-range, putting him up by 2.
I had one last possession to either tie or win. I called for an iso, trying to create space for a three, bad idea. Derrick read my move, stripped the ball, and ran out the clock.
"GAME!" Norman shouted, standing up.
The room went wild.
Norman, still salty from earlier, pointed at the screen. "Y'all saw that, though? Franklin sold!"
I just shook my head, laughing. "Aight, aight, y'all got it."
The next morning...
Walking into the facility, I could see it on faces, a couple of guys yawning mid-step. The room was quieter than usual. Even the usual jokesters weren't saying much.
We started with our usual warm-up drills, light shooting, dynamic stretches.
After about 20 minutes, our head coach wasn't having it anymore. He blew the whistle, gathering everyone at center court.
"Look, I don't know what the hell y'all were up to last night, but this ain't it."
Nobody said a word.
"I get it. Long season, late nights, whatever. But you better snap out of it before I start running suicides in here."
That woke everyone up real quick.
Vucevic nodded. "Yeah, yeah, we good, Coach. Just a slow start."
I clapped my hands, trying to pick up the energy. "C'mon, let's lock in. Shake that off."
Little by little, we started moving faster, playing sharper. But there was no denying it, this was a rough one.
It was just one of those mornings where we had to push through the fatigue and find a way to get back in rhythm.
After barely surviving practice, we all knew what was next, cold plunge time.
"Man, I swear these ice baths take a piece of my soul every time." Dedmon says.
A few laughs broke out.
I stepped into my own tub, and immediately, the freezing water hit me. I tensed up, gritting my teeth.
"Shit, every time, man."
"Never gets easier." Derrick tells me.