Shooting Star
At the end of the second quarter, the score stood at 56-43. We held a comfortable 13-point lead against KK Sibona, riding high on the momentum.
The halftime locker room buzzed with excitement.
"Seojun, you were killer out there in the first half."
"Knew you had it in you."
My teammates came up one by one, slapping me on the back with words of encouragement.
Personally, I was thrilled with my performance too. In 14 minutes of play, I'd scored 12 points on 6-for-6 shooting, with 3 assists and 4 rebounds. I was the team's leading scorer, and my plus-minus of +17 led the squad.
"Nah, it's all thanks to you guys."
I gave the credit to Jokic and Mitic. And I meant it—no empty words.
Jokic and Mitic. Their court vision and passing accuracy were on another level. I just had to find the open space, and the ball zipped right to me.
'This feel... yeah, it's like getting passes from De Bruyne and Ozil.'
I'd never actually received passes from those two, but you get the idea. That's how sharp their passes were right now.
Clap! Clap! Coach Milojevic clapped his hands to wrap things up, urging us to stay focused.
"They'll probably adjust quick on offense. We'll handle that on the fly. Defense stays the same—you're doing great! Let's go!"
The team headed back to the court, fired up. I jogged over to Mitic.
"Mitch, mind setting me up for some iso?"
I wanted to work my jab step, my go-to move. But Mitic shook his head. Maybe it was European ball, or our team's style, but everything was built around fluid passing and off-ball motion offense. From top to bottom.
Isolation plays? Only low-post post-ups. No wing 1-on-1s in the team book.
"Doubt it. Dekki wouldn't like that."
"Hmm..."
"Stick to the first half—I'll hit you on the corner when there's a size mismatch. That not enough?"
"We can do both."
"Anyway, flow's good right now. Don't mess with it."
He had a point. Keep cutting like we were, and I'd feast on Jokic and Mitic's passes like a seagull scarfing shrimp snacks, padding my stats passively. But I craved active options centered on me.
'I want to diversify my attack.'
One-dribble jumper, pull-up off a crossover, step-back jumper—you name it. I'd prepped a ton, but stuck in the corner, options were limited. One side blocked off, no room to maneuver freely.
That's why I wanted the 45-degree angle...
"...!"
Suddenly, it hit me.
"Mitch, how about this?"
I pitched him a pattern we'd drilled in extra sessions sometimes. He'd humored me back then, so he nodded reluctantly.
"Odds are low, but... it could plant a new look in their heads. Worth a shot once. Cool, I'll signal when it's on."
"Thanks. I'll make it work."
Back on the court.
KK Sibona's players waited grim-faced for the third quarter tip. Even Saric had lost his early-game swagger, face set like stone.
And lineup change: They benched my matchup, Huancovich, for 2m Lobro Demo.
Adjusting 'cause Huancovich kept getting cooked on my post-ups.
'Fine by me—I can still bully in the post.'
Just meant it'd take longer to shove him back, making help feel quicker.
'Face-up and melt him might be smarter...'
But our team didn't love 1-on-1 face-ups.
'Whatever, earn it over time.'
For now, nail that promised pattern.
Third quarter underway.
Sibona adjusted like the coach predicted. They dragged Jokic out, I switched, so to cut it off, they pulled Lobro—my guy—to the perimeter too.
"Dan! You go!"
Dan tried switching for Jokic, but his man drove, caught the pass, and finished. Jokic lumbered after but couldn't keep pace, fouling for the and-one.
The coach roared.
"Jokic! I said wait a step back! Why step up?!"
"Got it..."
Jokic pouted.
Swoosh! Free throw good. 56-46. Sibona closing.
Our offense: Jokic's post hook rimmed out, ball back to them. Saric answered with a showy hook from the short corner. 56-48.
Coach Milojevic looked flushed, ready to timeout if we turned it over again.
Our ball. Mitic flashed fingers—signal.
'Here we go!'
I nodded, glanced at Jokic. He saw it too, strode to the elbow.
That instant—
Thud! I burst left to the 45.
"...!"
Lobro glued to me. But—thunk!—right at the 45, Jokic's off-ball screen snagged him.
Saric trailed Jokic lightly, couldn't switch fast. I was sprinting full tilt; he was jogging.
He scrambled, but I was open at 45. Mitic zipped the pass.
I slammed brakes, caught, twisted toward the rim—fired the three.
{@PIC:799001}
Kyle Korver's signature: Off-ball screen to 45, catch-and-shoot.
Toughest kind—brake hard, torso twists 70 degrees, shoot on the catch. Balance and set point? Nightmare.
'Gotta bury it!'
Make this, I can do it again. Miss? Next chance might be tomorrow or later.
So, sheer will.
'Help me out, Korver hyung!'
Swish! Arcing perfect. Saric, thinking late, skipped the contest for rebound.
Box-out war under the rim.
But—splat! Pure through the net.
"Let's goooo—!!"
I roared in ecstasy. Toughest three I'd hit in a game. Practice success under 40%—live? Electric.
"Whoa!? You nailed it?"
Mitic gawked, goofy grin. Jokic pointed, laughing: "Lucky!"
Coach's red face eased.
"Mitch, hit me once more."
"Gotcha. Defense first!"
Sibona offense fizzled. 59-48. Eleven-point game.
I tried the pattern again. Pros learn quick—response sharpened.
Lobro still screened, but Saric hugged my hip tighter.
'Exactly what I wanted.'
Pass inbound. No brake—thump, thwack! Dribble, rip past Saric, attack the rim.
"Ugh!?"
Saric too tight, lost me clean. Layup before help: good.
"Whew! Easy money."
Roots in easy dilemma. Usually jab-step jumper, but catch-and-shoot sets it up too.
61-48. Back to 13.
Saric answered, posting Jokic for a hook.
'Kid's got skills.'
Jokic solid 1-on-1 big defender despite team D. Saric tech'd through.
61-50. Our ball.
Eye to Mitic. Signal to Jokic too.
Same pattern.
No way three-peat—response lightning. Lobro weighted outside to fight screen early; Saric positioned perfect.
But—swish! Jokic faked the screen, slipped backdoor to the rim.
{@PIC:799002}
"Ah!?"
"...!?"
Lobro and Saric stunned, suckered. Jokic caught Mitic's pass, softly laid it in.
Perfect pick-and-slip.
"Yesss!"
Jokic beamed like a kid. I offered palm—smack!! He lit up. Yelled to Mitic:
"Mitch! We keep this? They can't stop it!"
True story. Beep! Sibona timeout.
###
Seojun was hooked on team ball's magic, the thrill of patterned plays clicking into place. Call it, it happens. Natural high.
Thanks to partners' god-tier BQ (basketball IQ). Jokic, top-5 all-time; Mitic, elite potential. Plus pinpoint passing—precision patterns flowed.
Seojun soaked it up, his own IQ blooming. Blank canvas getting a masterpiece base.
During timeout, he pitched Coach Milojevic first.
"Dekki, one more? Got an idea."
Coach nodded easy. Three straight scores? Why not.
Seojun beckoned Mitic and Jokic.
"Me shooting this time."
"Three?"
"Nah, midrange jumper."
Grabbed the clipboard, sketched his move.
"I go like this? You guys adjust."
Most wouldn't get it. But they nodded quick: Understood.
Sibona ball post-timeout. Pass work to Blasingame elbow jumper—airball. Seojun snagged board. 63-50.
Mega Vizura counter. Sibona's Neven Spajic coach fidgeted, palms wringing.
'What the hell?'
That Eastern dude in the starting lineup? Figured some Chinese import. No biggie.
But nope—nightmare. Smaller foes crushed with size/power; bigger ones shaken with speed.
Worst: Shut down Blasingame's drives 1-on-1. Enabled hedge-and-recover D.
Seojun contains drive, Mitic recovers fast; pass to Saric? Seojun pounces. Saric's pick-and-pop neutered.
Shocking enough. Then third quarter: Buries tough catch-and-shoot three, varies it, fools the D.
Fourth same pattern.
Thud! Jokic screens, dives. Lobro ditches Seojun to Saric, chases Jokic, cuts passing lane.
Seojun? No brake—drive.
'Called it!'
Saric smart—no dilemma, lateral slide.
But—thump! Screech! Crossover brake, step back.
Step-back move. Raw, not silky—freshly learned vibe—but timing and backward burst? Elite.
Soccer roots. Read legs like a striker. Caught Saric's residual step.
Precisely as foot lifted—boom, step-back. Saric's slower than flashy soccer foes; easy read.
Screech! Saric's feet tangled.
"Guh!?"
Stumbled, backpedaled like hit by wind—off-balance.
—Woooah!
Ankle-breaker gasps everywhere.
Seojun rose carefree for elbow jumper. Jokic boxed out; Mitic dragged top D—wide open.
'In!'
Fist clenched mid-air.
Swoosh! Net ripped clean.
65-50. Fifteen-point lead.
Spajic screamed.
"What the hell is that?!"
End