章 107: First Game
Kenny's eyes scanned the stands, quickly locating the familiar faces he was searching for. There, in the VIP section just behind the team bench, sat Arell, Malik, Devon, Geoffrey, and Cam.
As Kenny jogged over, Arell stood up, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Yo, Kenny! It's your time to shine, baby!"
Kenny reached up, clasping Arell's hand and pulling him in for a quick embrace. The others crowded around, each offering words of encouragement and support.
"Show 'em what you got, bro," Malik said, his eyes shining with pride.
Devon chimed in, "You got this, Kenny. It's just like back in the day, but with better lighting."
As Kenny soaked in their support, Arell leaned in close, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Ay, let me get 25 tonight, yeah?"
Kenny couldn't help but laugh. "Let's slow down, bro. I gotta get on the court first."
With one last round of fist bumps, Kenny jogged back to join his team for the final pre-game huddle. Coach Stevens stood in the center, his piercing gaze sweeping over each player.
"Alright, gentlemen," Coach began, his voice low but intense. "We've got a tough opponent in the Charge tonight. They're sitting pretty at second in the conference, but they're not unbeatable. Here's how we're going to approach this."
Kenny listened intently as Coach Stevens broke down their game plan. They would start with a 1-3-1 zone defense, looking to disrupt the Charge's offensive flow and force turnovers. On offense, they'd run a motion-based system, with lots of off-ball movement to create open looks.
"Jamal, you're starting at the point," Coach continued. "I want you pushing the pace, keeping their defense on their heels. Tyrell, we need your shooting tonight. Be ready to catch and fire. Marcus, use your experience. I want you directing traffic out there on both ends. Darius, own the paint. And Kwesi, run the floor hard. Beat their big men down the court for easy buckets."
Kenny felt a twinge of disappointment at not hearing his name in the starting lineup, but he pushed it aside. His time would come.
"Kenny," Coach Stevens said, as if reading his mind. "I want you ready to provide a spark off the bench. When you get in there, push the tempo even higher. Look for opportunities to break down their defense and create for others. Got it?"
Kenny nodded firmly. "Got it, Coach."
As the team broke huddle and the starting five took the court, Kenny settled onto the bench, his eyes locked on the action unfolding before him.
From the opening tip, it was clear the Charge had come to play. Their crisp ball movement and pinpoint shooting quickly exposed holes in the Skyhawks' zone defense. On the other end, Jamal struggled to initiate the offense against the Charge's aggressive on-ball pressure.
The minutes ticked by, and Kenny watched with growing frustration as the deficit widened. 10-4. 18-7. 25-13. The Skyhawks' offense looked stagnant, their defense porous.
Finally, with 2:37 left in the first quarter and the Skyhawks trailing 27-15, Coach Stevens called a timeout. As the team huddled around him, Kenny could see the frustration etched on his teammates' faces.
"Kenny," Coach barked. "You're in. Run the point. I want you to push the pace, but be smart. Look to create, but don't force it. And for God's sake, someone get a stop on defense."
As Kenny stepped onto the court, replacing a visibly dejected Jamal, he felt a surge of adrenaline course through his veins. This was his moment.
The whistle blew, and the game resumed. Kenny immediately made his presence felt, hounding the Charge's point guard as he brought the ball up the court. His quick hands and lateral movement forced a hesitation, and in that split second, Kenny pounced. He deflected the ball, chased it down, and in two dribbles was at half-court.
The Charge's defense scrambled to get back, but Kenny was already two steps ahead. He saw Tyrell sprinting to the corner out of the corner of his eye and, without looking, whipped a no-look pass right into his shooting pocket. Tyrell caught it in rhythm and let fly. Swish. 27-18.
As they set up on defense, Kenny called out, "Man-to-man! Communication on screens!" He could feel the energy of his teammates lifting, feeding off his intensity.
The Charge's next possession ended in a contested miss, and Kenny was off and running again. This time, he drove hard to the basket, drawing the defense before dishing to a cutting Darius for an emphatic slam. 27-20.
In the final minute of the quarter, Kenny orchestrated a perfect pick-and-roll with Kwesi, threading a pocket pass through a forest of arms for another easy bucket. As the horn sounded to end the first quarter, the scoreboard read: Charge 29, Skyhawks 24.
Kenny jogged to the bench, his jersey already dark with sweat. Coach Stevens met him with a nod of approval. "Good work out there. You've given us a lifeline. Now we need to build on it."
As Kenny caught his breath, he glanced up at the VIP section. Arell and the others were on their feet, cheering and pumping their fists. Arell caught his eye and mouthed, "That's what I'm talking about!"
Kenny felt a surge of energy course through him, the roar of the crowd washing over him like a wave. He could taste the salt of his own sweat on his lips, feel the burn in his muscles, but none of that mattered. He was in the zone.
Coach Stevens' voice cut through the noise. "Alright, listen up! We've got momentum, but this game is far from over."
The team huddled close, the smell of sweat and determination mingling in the air.
"Kenny, I want you running point to start the second," Coach continued, his voice low and intense. "Jamal, you're at the two. Tyrell, Marcus, Kwesi - you're in too. We're going small, gonna try to run them off the court."
Kenny nodded, his mind already racing with possibilities. He could feel the eyes of his teammates on him, looking to him for leadership.
"What's the play, Coach?" Kenny asked, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins.
"We're gonna run our flex offense," Coach replied. "I want constant motion, hard cuts, and smart passes. Kenny, you're the maestro out there. Make it happen."
As they broke the huddle, Jamal grabbed Kenny's arm. "Hey," he said. "That no-look you threw last quarter... how'd you see that?"
Kenny grinned, clapping Jamal on the back. "It's all about feeling the defense, bro. You gotta know where they're gonna be before they do."
The whistle blew, and Kenny strode onto the court, the Charge's point guard, a stocky player named Rodriguez, crouched low in his defensive stance, eyes locked on Kenny.
Kenny dribbled slowly, methodically, his eyes scanning the court. He could see Tyrell setting a screen for Marcus, Kwesi sealing his man in the post. The pieces were all there, waiting to be moved.
With a sudden burst of speed, Kenny exploded towards the basket. Rodriguez scrambled to keep up, but Kenny was already a step ahead. As the help defense collapsed, Kenny leaped into the air, twisting his body to avoid contact. For a split second, time seemed to slow down.
In that moment, Kenny saw it all. Jamal cutting baseline, Tyrell spotted up in the corner, Marcus rolling to the rim. Without looking, Kenny whipped the ball behind his back, threading the needle between two defenders.
The ball found Marcus' hands as if guided by some invisible force. He rose up, slamming it home. The crowd erupted, and Kenny felt a fierce joy surge through him.
But there was no time to celebrate. As the Charge inbounded the ball, Kenny was already in defensive position, arms wide, feet shuffling. He could feel the sweat dripping down his back, hear the squeak of sneakers on hardwood, see the determination in Rodriguez's eyes as he brought the ball up court.
The game flowed back and forth like this, a constant push and pull of energy and will. Kenny found himself in a fierce duel with Rodriguez, each possession a match of feints and counters.
Midway through the quarter, Kenny found himself with the ball at the top of the key, the shot clock winding down. Rodriguez was right in his face, so close Kenny could see the beads of sweat on his forehead.
"Come on, rookie," Rodriguez taunted, his breath hot on Kenny's face. "Show me what you got."
Kenny's eyes narrowed. In one fluid motion, he dribbled between his legs, then behind his back. Rodriguez stumbled, just for a moment, but it was all Kenny needed. He stepped back, creating just enough space to rise up for a jumper.
The ball left his hands with perfect rotation, arcing high into the air. As it swished through the net, Kenny allowed himself a small smirk. "That's what I got," he muttered, already backpedaling on defense.
The game continued its frenetic pace, neither team able to pull away. With just under a minute left in the half, the Skyhawks found themselves down by two, 48-46.
Kenny brought the ball up slowly, the clock ticking down. Coach Stevens had called for their "Horns" set, with Kwesi and Marcus at the elbows, Jamal and Tyrell in the corners.
As Kenny crossed half-court, he felt the familiar rhythm of the offense settling in. He dribbled left, then right, probing the defense. Rodriguez stayed with him step for step, but Kenny could feel him tiring.
With fifteen seconds left on the shot clock, Kenny made his move. He drove hard to his right, feeling Rodriguez's hip bump against him as he tried to stay in front. Just as they reached the elbow, Kenny planted his foot and spun back to his left.
Rodriguez, caught off balance, stumbled. Kenny exploded towards the rim, the defense collapsing around him. He leaped, hanging in the air as two Charge players converged on him.
At the last possible moment, Kenny contorted his body, double-clutching to avoid the outstretched arms of the defenders. He felt a hand graze his arm as he released the ball, sending it spinning off the backboard.
Time seemed to stand still as the ball danced on the rim, once, twice. Then, as if pulled by some magnetic force, it dropped through the net.
The whistle blew. And-one.
"Lets go!" He shouted, as his feet touched the ground, pumped by the thrill of the moment.
As he made his way to the freethrow line, he pyched himself up, ignoring the mumbling of his teamates all praising him. 'Come on Kenny, free throws are your bread and butter.'
And no doubt about it, 15 feet from the backboard, no pressure, he soon let the ball rip and easily sank the free throw, tying the game at 49-49 to end the first half, the arena erupted.
The third quarter began with a renewed intensity. Kenny, still coming off the bench but now playing extended minutes, felt the weight of expectation on his shoulders.
He didn't disappoint.
Three minutes into the quarter, Kenny received the ball on the wing. His defender, Rodriguez, was playing him tight, determined not to get burned again, unfortunately for him, he was guarding Kenny.
Kenny gave a subtle head fake, then exploded towards the baseline. Rodriguez bit, sliding over to cut off the drive. In a blink, Kenny crossed over hard to his left, leaving Rodriguez stumbling.
As the help defense rotated, Kenny elevated, hanging in the air as if suspended by wires. At the apex of his jump, he double-clutched, avoiding the outstretched arms of the Charge's center, and softly kissed the ball off the glass for two.
"And the rookie shows us some magic!" the announcer's voice boomed through the arena. "This kid's got moves we haven't seen since Iverson!"
But Kenny wasn't done. On the very next possession, he found himself matched up against a bigger defender on a switch. Without hesitation, Kenny went to work. A series of lightning-quick crossovers had the defender's ankles twisting. Then, with a burst of speed that left the crowd gasping, Kenny blew by him.
As he approached the rim, he saw the Charge's center rotating over, all 6'11" of him rising up to contest. Kenny, all 6'2" of him, didn't hesitate. He cocked the ball back and unleashed a thunderous dunk right over the big man, sending the arena into a frenzy.
"Oh my! Did you see that?!" the announcer screamed. "Number 23 just put the big man on a poster! Somebody call the police because that was just criminal!"
With just under a minute left in the quarter, Kenny brought the ball up against full-court pressure. He weaved through defenders like a running back, his dribble low and controlled. As he crossed half-court, he saw an opening.
In one fluid motion, Kenny threw a no-look pass between two defenders, the ball seeming to curve in mid-air before landing perfectly in the hands of a cutting Tyrell for an easy layup.
"Are you kidding me?" the announcer exclaimed. "That pass had eyes! 23 is putting on a clinic out here!"
The fourth quarter was a battle of wills. The Charge, realizing the threat Kenny posed, began throwing double teams at him as soon as he crossed half-court. But Kenny adapted, using the extra attention to create opportunities for his teammates.
With three minutes left and the Skyhawks up by 4, Kenny found himself with the ball at the top of the key, shot clock winding down. The Charge's defense was set, determined not to let him penetrate.
Kenny sized up his defender, gave a quick head fake, then stepped back behind the three-point line. As the defender lunged to contest, Kenny side-stepped, creating just enough space to let fly.
The ball arced high, the entire arena holding its breath. Time seemed to slow as the ball descended, finally falling through the net with a satisfying swish.
"Dagger!"
As the final seconds ticked away, Kenny found himself at the free-throw line, a chance to seal the victory. The crowd was on its feet, the noise deafening. Kenny took a deep breath, bounced the ball three times, and let it fly.
Nothing but net.
As the final buzzer sounded, Kenny was mobbed by his teammates. The Skyhawks had pulled off the upset, 112-105, and Kenny had announced his arrival to the G League in spectacular fashion.
His final stat line was eye-popping: 28 points, 11 assists, 5 rebounds, and 3 steals in just 24 minutes of play.
Kenny soon made his way through the tunnel, still riding the high of the game, he spotted Arell and the crew waiting for him.
Arell's face split into a wide grin as he saw Kenny approach. "Yo, bro!" he shouted, pulling Kenny into a bone-crushing hug. "You killed em'."
Kenny laughed, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. "Man, it felt good. Like everything was just clicking, you know?"
They broke apart, and Kenny dapped up the rest - Malik, Devon, Geoffrey, and Cam - each of them offering their own excited congratulations.
"That no-look pass in the third? Bro, I nearly lost my mind," Malik exclaimed, his eyes wide with amazement.
As they continued to relive the game's highlights, none of them noticed the man standing a short distance away, his eyes fixed intently on Kenny.
John Winters had been scouting for the NBA for over two decades, and he prided himself on his ability to spot talent. But what he'd just witnessed left him genuinely stunned.
Pulling out his phone, John quickly pulled up Kenny's profile. Kenny Valen, 19 years old, from Chicago. This was his first G League game, and he'd put up numbers that would make some NBA starters envious.
John's brow furrowed as he dug deeper. Kenny's high school stats were eye-popping - he'd averaged 22 points, 9 assists, and 3 steals per game his senior year, leading his team to a state semifinals. How had this kid flown under the radar?
There was a gap in Kenny's record after high school, which piqued John's curiosity even further. Whatever the reason for that gap, it was clear that Kenny hadn't lost a step. If anything, he seemed to have gotten even better.
As John watched Kenny interact with his friends, he could see the natural charisma, the leadership quality that couldn't be taught. The way Kenny carried himself, even off the court, screamed star potential.
"Interesting," John muttered to himself, making a note in his phone. "Very interesting indeed."
He'd come to this game on a whim, having heard whispers about some of the Charge's players. Instead, he'd stumbled upon what could be the find of the year. A diamond in the rough, right here in the G League.
<>
The sun beat down mercilessly on the crowded front yard of Kentrell's grandma's house in Baton Rouge. The air was thick with humidity and the acrid smell of weed. Kentrell, just 15 but already carrying himself with the weight of someone much older, sat on the porch steps, surrounded by the crew.
Roderick, his older brother, leaned against the railing, a blunt dangling from his lips. Nearby, Kyle Claiborne and Garrett Burton, known to most as G Money, sprawled out on rickety lawn chairs. A few other homies from the block lounged around, passing a bottle in a paper bag.
"Ay, shut the fuck up for a second," Kentrell called out, his voice cutting through the chatter. He held up his beat-up phone. "Y'all remember that rapper I hit up? Arell? Nigga actually wrote back."
G Money scoffed. "Man, fuck outta here. Ain't no big-time rapper gonna give a shit about some lil' nigga from the Bottom."
"Nah, for real though," Kentrell insisted. He tossed the phone to Roderick. "Read that shit out, bro."
Roderick squinted at the screen. "'Gave it a spin, bro. You got potential for real. We gotta check some things out, but I'll hit you back soon. Keep grinding.' Damn, he really did write back."
A chorus of "oh shit" and "for real?" rippled through the group.
Kyle leaned forward, his eyes wide. "Hold up, who the fuck is Arell again?"
"He that dude from Chicago," one of the other guys chimed in. "Got beef with Lil Reese or sumn like that."
G Money's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, I heard about that shit. Didn't some of Reese's boys end up dead behind that?"
Kentrell nodded eagerly. "That's what I'm sayin'! He ain't no bitch. He really bout that life."
"So what, you tryna get us mixed up in some out-of-state beef now?" G Money snapped, his voice sharp with jealousy. "We ain't got enough shit to deal with right here?"
"Nah, it ain't like that," Kentrell shot back. "I'm just sayin', dude knows what it's like comin' up from nothin'. He ain't gonna play us."
Roderick took a long drag of his blunt. "I don't know, lil bro. Sounds too good to be true. How you know this ain't just some bullshit?"
"Cause I did my homework, nigga!" Kentrell's voice rose with frustration. "Dude got two songs on the Billboard charts right now. He blowin' up for real."
"Billboard?" Kyle whistled. "That's some real shit."
G Money stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the concrete. "Man, fuck all that. We supposed to be focusin' on our own shit. NBA, remember? Never Broke Again. That was the plan."
Kentrell's eyes flashed. "This is the plan, dummy. We tryna get signed, ain't we? This could be our shot."
"Our shot?" G Money laughed bitterly. "Nah, this your shot. Don't act like you ain't gonna leave us all behind the second you get a chance."
Roderick stepped between them, his voice low. "Both y'all need to chill. We all in this together, remember?"
Kentrell took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Look, I ain't tryna leave nobody behind. But we gotta take opportunities when they come. You really wanna be stuck here forever? Dodgin' bullets and slingin' dope?"
A heavy silence fell over the group. In the distance, sirens wailed, a familiar soundtrack to their lives.
Kyle broke the silence. "So what's the move then? We just sittin' around waitin' for this dude to hit you back?"
Kentrell shook his head. "Nah, we gotta keep grindin'. Make more music, better music. When he does reach out, we gotta be ready."
"With what money?" G Money said. "Studio time ain't free, and I ain't see you comin' up with no cash lately."
A sly grin spread across Kentrell's face. "I got plans for that. Y'all remember that beat Big Ken was workin' on?"
"The one with that crazy sample?" Kyle's eyes lit up. "Yeah, that shit was hard."
"I been writin' to it," Kentrell said, pulling a crumpled paper from his pocket. "Listen to this."
As Kentrell started spitting his verses, raw and unfiltered, the energy in the yard shifted. Even G Money couldn't hide the grudging respect in his eyes.
When Kentrell finished, there was a moment of stunned silence before the yard erupted in a wave of "damn's and "shit's.
"I hate to admit it," G Money said slowly, "but that shit was fire."
Kentrell nodded, carefully folding the paper and tucking it away. "That's what I'm sayin'. We got somethin' special here. We just gotta make sure the right people hear it."
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the yard, the group huddled closer as they plotted their next moves.
"We gotta be smart about this," Roderick cautioned. "Can't be puttin' all our eggs in one basket."
Kentrell nodded. "I hear you. But we can't be scared to take chances either. That's how niggas end up stuck."
G Money's voice was bitter when he spoke. "Just don't forget about us when you blow up, Mr. Billboard."
Kentrell met his gaze steadily. "Man, if I make it, we all make it. That's a promise."
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