They called me Yo-Yo in high school because I had handles. I imagined that on some comic book cover. Like I’d be crossing up Magneto and dribbling circles around sentinels. Superhero shit.  

“We need you coming off a down screen for this one.” 

It’s hard to hit a jump shot when you’re wearing tight green spandex and have dozens of mo-cap spheres taped to your body. But it doesn’t actually matter if these shots go in. They just need to record the motions. I’m pissed off cuz I went 8 for 10 on the last set but nobody else here cares. 

“Let’s have you do ten crossovers from this mark before we switch angles.”

I scored 34 points in Madison Square Garden in the semis of the Big East Tournament once. I thought I heard God in those stands. Church bells at the buzzer. I saw my dad cry for the first time. I saw kids levitate in my jersey. 

“Can you do it faster? Like you’re Dame?”

Shit I played against Dame. For one season anyway. Well part of one season. Back to back ten-days then down to the G League. I scored 6 points in my career. One layup in transition, two free throws, and this nice floater through traffic that had folks googling my old mixtape. Man, put that mixtape in a video game. 

“50 free throws, please. Thank you.” 

When we get a break, me and one of the other guys play one on one to 11 and I do my thing. Jumper from the top of the key. Pump fake then drive right. Drive right then a hesi then a cross then drive left and lay it up off glass. Drive left then fade left. Rebound a miss and take it back for a corner two. Drive right, high off glass. This kid’s breathing hard now. Don’t you know I got this shit on a string?

My chest hurts a bit but that’s fine. Knees hurt a bit but that’s fine. I know where that ball is gonna be at all times. Where it’s gonna go. How it’s gonna bounce just the way I want it to. I decide that. I decide where things are supposed to be. I decide how this all goes. That’s on me. I can do all that. 

“Yo. Yo! Hey man. We need you back in position. Hurry the fuck up.”