For at least the tenth time that year Andy had opened his locker to find a letter had been placed there. It was a simple folded piece of paper with the distinct scent of a girl coming off of it. Another love confession he would have to go deal with after school. It was always such an annoyance.
His interest in dating matched his interest for just about every other aspect of school life. Every day it was nothing more than classes he had to get through and social hierarchies he had to navigate. That afternoon he made short work of the timid little girl who had apparently fallen for him. He did not want to be cruel, but he did not possess the tact to let someone down easily.
“I’m sorry,” he said after meeting with her on the roof. She clenched her hands at her heart, the hopeful innocence already fading from her eyes. “It won’t work out. I have no time for relationships and I find you bland regardless.” With the heavens granting a flair for the dramatic, a cool wind blew. He turned away from her, hands buried deep into his pockets, leaving her sobbing as she crumbled to the ground.
Love? That is something he did not understand. There was only one thing in this world which moved his heart, the only thing he had to look forward to at the end of the day. As he entered the gym he heard that familiar echo bounce against the high ceiling, the squeal of sneakers against the court and the rattle of the rim after a missed shot. This was it, the atmosphere of a basketball game. There was room in his heart for nothing else.
“Sinker!” someone called, “Think fast!” One of his teammates passed him the basketball. With his backpack still slung over one shoulder he dribbled over to the three-point line, set his feet and jumped.
The familiar motion, practiced millions of times. Bent knees lifted him from the ground, back straight, elbows in then extended. The ball left his fingertips, he watched it travel in an arc towards its goal.
He once heard that if you were immortal time would no longer exist. Every moment that has ever been would be experienced simultaneously and infinitely. If that were true then this moment in the air, before his feet hit the ground, before the ball touched the rim, when all he could do was watch… in this moment, he became a god.
He heard the familiar rattle of the yellow backboard in the park behind his house. That is where he first discovered his talent. In the back of his mind he could still hear his father, home from work and freshly liquored up, yelling at his mother and siblings. While he was in the air like this, that voice was worlds away, nothing could touch him as he watched the ball cycle along the rusted rim and finally find its way to the torn net.
Then he heard a buzzer. His feet hit the ground. The swish of the net was drowned out by the roar of a crowd.
Sinker scores another three-pointer!
He was not the most talented when it came to tactics or maneuvering the court, but if his team could at least get the ball into his hands he would score a three-pointer every time. Thus came his nickname, "Sinker." All he had to do was get into position, he would hear someone call, "Sinker's open!" Then the next thing he knew the ball would be in his hands and as naturally as taking a breath he would release it from his fingertips.
That moment, watching the ball follow the arc to its goal, he truly was a god. He commanded the winds and brought the hurricane, positioning himself in the eye of the storm where nothing could hurt him - where he could be at peace.
However, a new season was coming and the strength of the hurricane would soon be threatened.
The first day of the next semester he went to the gym after classes as always. The team was lined up, a middle-aged black man pacing in front of them. He stopped and pointed to Andy. "You there, you on the team?" The black guy said.
Andy nodded.
"That's Sinker, coach!" One of his teammates said.
"Yeah!” Another enthusiastic teammate added. “He is the star of the team! Wait until you see him shoot!"
"The star huh?" The black guy walked over to Andy. "Well let's get one thing straight, Sinker, I'm Coach Blackman and my word is law. If you listen to me we're going to turn this team into champions."
Everyone's eyes glistened at the thought but then turned as someone spoke up.
"Why should we respect you anyway? You haven't earned our respect!" Someone stepped forward, a new member of the team. "My name's Sal and I don't know who this Stinker fellow is, but everyone listen up! Just leave it to me and I'LL make us champions! Got it?"
"Sal! Don't you talk back to me!" Coach Blackman said. "You better watch your mouth or you'll be learning some real valuable lessons about cooperation! But before that I'm going to earn the team's respect. Also my daughter is re-tarted and my wife left me… Sinker! Where are you going?"
"Locker room to get changed, coach," Andy said. "Sal, how about a one-on-one when I get back?"
Sal folded his arms, the curves of his lean muscles bulging through his skin-tight shirt. "You got it, Stinker."
The other teammates huddled into each other, whispering as they waited for Andy’s return. The new guy, Sal, had been nothing but a bother to them. They could not wait for their star to put the obnoxious new-comer in his place. Stoic Andy, the sinker, always humble, never loud. He was their champion and they couldn’t wait to see him in action!
Coach Blackman decided to wait and let all of this play out. His time in the military gave him a keen understanding of the dynamics among young men. They were like a pack of wolves deciding on the alpha. It would be made clear soon enough. Preventing it would only distract the team's focus, and he needed them focused if he was going to turn them into champions. But first he needed to earn their respect. Also his re-tarted daughter taught him patience and love. That would help him with coaching.
Andy returned to the gym, wearing his basketball shorts and jersey, tying his hair back into a ponytail. He locked eyes with Sal who was stretching his hamstrings, the tension on his muscles showing his peak physical condition. The cut curves of each muscle could lead one to imagine a sculpter meticulously putting every fiber into place - starting at his ankles, ascending through his tight thighs and stopping at his perfect apple-smooth ass.
Sal grinned, then suddenly hopped to his feet and kicked a ball towards Andy in one smooth motion.
It flew across the gym like a comet blasting through the heavens, but if this was heaven then Andy was a god. His hand reached forward and commanded the cosmic body to an instant stop. Only his jersey and ponytail were affected by the shockwave of the collision, but as master of this realm, he stood firm. The team gasped with amazement, then looked between each other grinning.
“I assume this means that it’s my ball first,” Andy said as he calmly dribbled over to the top of the half circle.
Sal clicked his teeth and walked behind the freethrow line. “Yeah, that way you don’t complain. First to eleven, baskets are one and two points and scoring keeps possession. Must win by two.”
“So I only need to make six shots? Works for me.”
To that Sal laughed, “Check the ball, bitch. You ain't scoring once.”
The entire team leaned in. For a brief moment all was silent in heaven.
Coach Blackman watched, taking note of the two who he expected to be his top players. But first he would have to earn their respect. Also his daughter was re-tarted and his wife left him.
The inimical silence was broken as the ball was bounced to Sal then back to Andy, and just like that the battle between the two titans had begun!