Downpour
The day of the game was overcast from the morning.
And then, as we were heading to the Prague Arena, the venue, the rain started pouring down.
Rumble rumble! Fierce sheets of rain.
'This looks like it'll pour for a while.'
If this had been soccer, it would've been a massive variable disrupting the match, but basketball wasn't greatly affected.
Once inside the arena, the AC and dehumidifiers were blasting away.
We headed to the locker room, unpacked our gear, and prepared to hit the court.
Coach Kim Kyung-min smacked his lips and addressed us.
"Somehow we've ended up with the opening game... No need to tense up. Just give it your all. Since it's who they are, let's approach it with the mindset of clashing head-on once."
"Yes sir!"
There were two games scheduled today: ours against the USA, and Australia vs. Senegal from Group C.
Usually the host nation gets the opener, but apparently basketball world doesn't follow that—Group A, us, got it instead.
'Or maybe they see prelim rounds like this as just preliminaries to weed out the scrubs.'
Anyway. Before heading to the court, we had to hand over our phones.
Players were frantically messaging family beforehand.
I decided to attach a few photos from the airport and hotel and send them to Seo Eun.
The read receipt popped up right away, followed by her reply.
"Jeez..."
She's quiet in person, but super proactive over messages.
"Alright, let's go."
We turned in our phones and walked down the corridor to the court.
The arena was huge. Since it was a hockey pro team's venue temporarily converted for basketball, there was plenty of space between the court and stands.
A smattering of local fans and what looked like scouts dotted the seats.
Definitely here for the USA players.
"Whew!"
A tingling excitement coursed through me. Foreign scouts who wouldn't even glance if I averaged 40 points and 23 rebounds—now I'd show them my game. Hot anticipation welled up.
'And...'
Song Kyung-bae, that jerk, was in the stands too. Whether he was with the delegation or just here to mock me, I didn't know.
Either way, perfect spot to prove him wrong.
As we warmed up before tip-off, the USA team sauntered onto the court late.
They grinned and started stretching, utterly relaxed—no tension whatsoever.
Yet our players felt the pressure. Deep-seated defeatism aside, their sheer size was intimidating.
Our small forward Lee Young-jun gulped dryly staring at his matchup, Aaron Gordon.
I was interested in Gordon's build too.
'Impressive just looking at him.'
Height similar to mine, frame too.
Born with strong bones—you could tell at a glance.
'Ultimately, it's athleticism that matters. Gotta see it in the game.'
I tuned it out and focused on finding my shot rhythm.
About 15 minutes later.
Beep! The five-minute warning buzzer.
"No nerves! Don't choke! Let's play a game we won't be ashamed of!"
Leaving the coach's already defeatist pep talk behind, we took positions.
College center Jung Ho-young trembled at his fingertips prepping for tip.
Opponent center Okafor just grinned and crouched slightly.
Beep! Ball up—Okafor hopped and tapped it back.
Point guard Marcus Smart snagged it, and the USA offense curtain rose.
###
Starting at power forward for the first time in a game, I matched up with my opponent around the left 45-degree line.
Julius Randle. No clue if he'd make the NBA, but he was hot shit right now.
He crouched low, grinning...
And said, "Hey."
"Dude, you think this is totally pointless?"
"...?"
"I mean, for us, beat Canada or Serbia and we're done. Other games? Meaningless. Boring for us, and you guys lose by 60, pissed off."
Meanwhile, Smart used Okafor's screen for a quick mismatch on our center Jung Ho-young and drove hard.
"Ngh...!"
Ho-young chased desperately; Shin Subin from the right short corner helped to stop Smart's drive.
But.
Whoosh! Not a layup—Smart lobbed it back softly.
Ho-young, trailing, looked up confused tracking the ball.
Swish! Okafor leaped from behind, snagged it, and slammed it home.
Ref called and-one on the awkwardly positioned Ho-young for interference.
"Haha."
"Come on."
Clap! Smart and Okafor hand-shaked like it was fun.
Perfect alley-oop dunk. One play crushed Ho-young's spirit.
Randle mocked.
"See? Meaningful game? You'll eat this all day."
A bit heated, I shot back coolly.
"Shut up and play. Not even 20 seconds in."
"Oh?"
But it fired him up more. Thinking I didn't speak English, he'd trash-talked freely; my fluent reply hyped him.
While Okafor shot his free throw, Randle jabbered: Kung fu? Yao Ming more popular than the president in China?
'This guy's doing it on purpose.'
Splash! Free throw good: 0-3 USA.
Our PG Lee Hae-young, face grim, rallied us.
"Build it one by one!"
His raised three fingers signaled our set play to chase.
Simple pattern: Center Ho-young screens high, pulls their center out, backdoor cut to Young-jun pass. Young-jun finishes or draws eyes for me or Subin cutting in.
Tough to stop once ball moves.
But blocked from the start.
Screech! Tap! Smart unbelievably slipped the screen, blitzing with Okafor.
"Urk!?"
Hae-young flailed in double-team but lofted to baseline-cutting Young-jun.
But screech! Aaron Gordon glued before Young-jun fully penetrated, killing drive, vision, space.
Young-jun pivoted for angle but turned his back fully to basket from Gordon's D.
No vision to me on opposite cut.
'To Subin then...!'
Young-jun bounced to incoming Subin at right 45, but same issue—his man stuck tight.
Tap! Zach LaVine swiped first.
Loose ball to Randle, who lobbed long toward center circle like feeding prey.
"Ah...!"
Hae-young gasped.
Smart already sprinted there unseen, grabbed, swish! one-man fastbreak layup.
We didn't even reach half.
"Hehe. Assist banked."
Randle's idiotic grin mocked.
But his taunt didn't register.
This possession told me everything.
'Team offense isn't flowing...!'
Individuals overpowered by matchups. Synergy amplified it.
Not 1+1+1+1=4, but synergy making 1+2+3+4.
Individuals clogged = their team D insanely strong.
'And... what the hell is that defense?'
My basketball experience shallow, but Smart's D was elite even to me. Hae-young's eyes shook, hitting a wall.
'Can't keep this up.'
PG-led offense? Score gap explodes.
Few alternatives though.
Short training camp—all patterns PG-centric. No other ball-handlers to lead in this lineup.
No team O, no lead options.
...Only one left.
I decided quick before gap widened.
"Hae-young!"
I signaled for ball, motioned others for space.
They spaced right, classic iso setup.
{@PIC:797974}
"Huh? Wha!?"
Randle yelped weirdly.
"Iso? On me? You!? Hahaha!"
Childlike laugh.
Ignoring, I received and attacked normally.
Backdown. Transition to face-up drive.
Unblockable sword in Korea.
"Hup!"
Thud! But different.
'What is this solidity...!'
Beyond basketball—unmatched even past life. Van Dijk, Maguire? No contest.
Equal or stronger power.
'Still, I'm pushing!'
Thud! Thud! Two more backdowns, then shoulder shove.
Randle's playful voice amped.
"Bullying me? Smaller than me? Crazy? Oh! Hitting now!? Sneaky strong!?"
Head cool despite trash. He was too.
'Not slacking at all.'
Solid play amid talk—herding me center.
Left open for efficient drive, so forcing toward Smart-center.
Drive lane narrowed—swipe! Sinister hand.
"Whoa!?"
I clutched ball desperately.
Smart raised brows at my reaction, then fluid double-team as dribble stalled.
I spun big, passed to Hae-young. Shot clock at 7, open—he fired three.
Clang! Miss. Okafor rebounded to fastbreak.
"Damn!"
I swallowed anger, sprinted back full tilt.
Position let me first meet incoming foe.
'Coming...'
Thud! LaVine rim attack off Smart pass.
I leaped vertically in path, ready for dunk or layup swat.
'Got it!'
But swish! Ball dipped waist-low, evading block zone. LaVine re-upped layup.
Swish! Clean double-clutch through rim.
"Ha, haha..."
Dry laugh. Frustration at being toyed, but admiration too.
'So this is double-clutch.'
Felt it firsthand. More fluid, crafty than videos or comics' Yoon Dae-hyeop.
Score 0-7. Gap widening fast.
Whatever—I had to step up. Iso'd Randle again.
Prior play tactically sound: Iso drew help, created open look.
'Smart knows now.'
Won't help rashly—risks open threes.
More center space, breathing room maybe.
'Here we go!'
Push in.
Randle quieted.
Grinding teeth, serious D.
Thud! Thud! Bullyball, as he said.
Thug-like pounding for drive.
But thugs prey weak. Even match? Tough.
Especially my tech shallow.
Korea: Phys overruled skill gap. Similar bodies? Bottom exposed.
'Damn, frustrating.'
No shake moves. Just fast straight drives.
Speed edge slight—not enough gap.
'Need big separation somehow...!'
Shot clock 7.
'Gap!'
Left opening—unknown why. Drove left hard.
Bang! Ripping through. Just finish at rim...
"Thought that'd work?"
Randle's sneer behind.
Okafor front—help unknown when.
'Trap...!'
Let through on purpose. Randle's pursuit isolated me.
'Focus! Someone's open!'
Okafor on me? Only one.
Leaped, spun, lobbed nearby Ho-young. Randle swiped on jump but I protected pass lane.
"Ho-young hyung!"
Thump! Ho-young caught, "Hup!" two-hand dunk attempt.
But side hand intruded on jump.
Tick! Gordon swipe.
Ball slipped palm, hit knee, out of bounds.
Beep! USA ball.
Gordon grinned at me.
"Nice try."
Okafor fist-bumped Gordon celebrating D.
"Haa! Haa... Whew!"
I caught breath backpedaling.
Randle jogged beside, chattering.
"You're decent for your level? But nah. Works on scrubs, not us, not me. ...You're under my control now."
Final nail.
"You're my bitch."
Giggling.
...That lit me up.
My fierce win-lust, field's mad dog.
###
LaVine midrange: 0-9 wider.
Our bench timeout: funeral vibe.
Coach Kim Kyung-min no answers.
"Hmm... Their paint solid, so focus jumpers. Screens for angles. Yeah... Give it all!"
20 seconds to timeout end.
Chang-min approached cautiously.
"Seojun, you okay?"
"Huh? With what?"
"...?"
Surprised at my calm, eyes wide.
I called team.
"Huddle quick. Ho-young hyung too."
I instructed firmly.
"Offense per coach: Jumpers. But first, Ho-young hyung pulls their center out."
"Pick-and-roll?"
"If you want, or just pull. Hae-young, Young-jun, Subin: Force jumper angles. Defense: Tighten paint. Let 'em shoot threes if needed. Got it? ...Got it, hyung?"
Nods.
Beep! Timeout over.
'Counter starts now.'
No guarantee it'd work.
But certain: Do nothing, game blows. Q1 over effectively.
'Can't let that happen.'
Guts alone narrow gap.
'Called me bitch?'
Repay this humiliation.
Heart hot. Head cold.
Our offense resumed.
Hae-young wary of Smart, called Ho-young out.
...Meanwhile, I slipped baseline.
'Yeah, basics you're way ahead.'
Had to admit. Two months basketball couldn't top his experience.
No jumper? Can't beat 1v1. Tech gap that big.
Vs him: Jumper key. 100%+ to match eyes.
But this play different.
'I got tech edge too.'
Screech! Right 45 action.
Subin elbow slip, catch pre-LaVine contest, shot.
Instant baseline box-out war: Me vs Randle.
Shoulder-to-shoulder 5v5.
Randle powered side-push—but swish! I used force, slid left shoulder to his collarbone, screech! left foot in, friction-generated power shove.
"Ngh...!?"
Randle slipped. I exploited gap, ting! as ball hit rim, took front position.
"Hup!"
Tok! Tip-in soft swish.
2-9. Team's first points.
Backpedaling, finger to lips, eyes away to dodge T.
"Shh!"
Message to Randle.
"...Hah!"
Randle scoffed, blaming his slop.
'Yeah, stay cocky.'
USA offense.
I bellowed.
"Defense!!"
Positioned step back.
Yield catch-and-shoot threes, watch space.
'Track routes...'
My narrow-space movement read talent.
Attack: Instant passes. But bigger on D.
Side-eye scanned court.
Smart screen mismatch Ho-young. Gaps. Movements.
Conclusion.
Tap! Eyes on LaVine—Okafor baseline rush.
Smart bang! blew by Hae-young, bounce to Okafor.
Two-hand dunk attempt—but...
"Watch! Behind!"
Randle warned late.
"Hup!"
Tak! I swatted from rear—two-hand ball to backboard bounce.
Young-jun seemed grabbing loose—Subin, Hae-young sprinted transition.
"Fastbreak!"
Whoosh! To Subin.
I bolted too.
Randle alongside.
"That was decent?"
"Shut up."
"Ooh feisty."
Subin 45 drive blocked quick by LaVine return.
"Ngh...!"
Subin eyed Hae-young pass—but worse spot. Smart stole position, back to basket.
"Here!"
"...!"
To incoming Young-jun—he forced drive finish.
Bam!! Gordon chasedown block brutal.
Then.
Thump! Smart snagged, yelled run, fastbreak again.
"Tch!"
Rearguard me and Ho-young pivoted back.
Their break lightning.
Okafor off Smart, paused back-to Ho-young, flicked to incoming LaVine like change.
Easy choice for me.
'Can't now!'
Abandon Randle, confront rim-rushing LaVine.
"Hey!"
Randle signaled ball—but LaVine leaped undeterred.
Insane speed, vertical.
I matched.
Swish! Double-clutch again.
Grit! Twisted torso, arm stretched rimward.
'Reach...!'
Tick! Left ring finger snag.
LaVine's shot hit backboard, rimmed out.
Thump! I rebounded, passed front Hae-young, glared back LaVine muttering.
"Won't fall for same twice."
"...Heh."
Enigmatic LaVine smirk.
Offense resumed.
Hae-young tried break but positions messy, pass lanes tangled—held for reset.
I signaled.
"Same pattern!"
Pull Okafor out, I rebound battle Randle.
Randle onto me, sharp—pre-shot hard shove.
"Think that'll work!?"
"Shut your trap."
"Think so!?"
"Said shut it."
Hae-young off Ho-young screen, contested three by Smart.
Arcing shot. Baseline war simultaneous.
Thud! Thud! Shoving match.
Power slight edge him. Tech? Me miles.
Upper body first, legs, leg power—secured spot.
"Urk...!?"
"Huff! Huff...!"
One issue: Right short corner Gordon joined.
Young-jun covered but if to Gordon...
Ting! Rim end, free-throw line bounce.
Leaped, arm back-snagged. Post-land no tip possible—landed.
Quick up—but Randle left, Gordon right sandwiched.
Normally pump-fake, but no time.
"...!"
Shot. They matched.
Gordon palm-swipe. Randle swat.
Gordon slipper—Randle hit arm, nearly lost grip.
Still, fingers clenched, recaught.
"Graaah...!!"
Bam!! Rim-shaking two-hand dunk.
Beep! And-one good.
"Haa! Haa! Haa...!"
Landed, roared passion from gut.
Eyes sky to dodge T, etched on them both, feral bellow.
"Shut the fuck up───!!"