9

Dick led Tim to the indoor gymnasium. He produced a key, unlocked a side entrance, and ushered Tim inside.

The gym was empty. Patches of late afternoon sun gleamed on the shiny wooden floor, dust swirling in the beams. Their footsteps echoed and squeaked as they moved to the bleachers.

“Wow, this place is so different when there’s no one here!” The cavernous space amplified Tim’s voice so that it sounded as if he’d yelled rather than whispered. “Is it okay for us to be here?”

Dick waved away his concern. “You’re here with me, so it’s fine,” he said. “Now, as to why we’re here. You ever heard of a hook shot?”

“Sure,” Tim responded. “Lots of NBA players use it. Kareem Abdul-Jabbar of the Lakers was the master. Magic Johnson learned from him. Nowadays, Tim Duncan is—holy cow!” His eyes widened. “Is that the shot you’re going to teach me?”

Dick laughed. “That’s the one. Even though I can’t demonstrate it,” he added with a gesture toward his cast, “I can talk you through it. Head to the upper-right corner of the key.”

“Should I take a ball?”

Dick shook his head. “I want you to practice the motions first.”

He continued talking while Tim went to the key. “The hook shot gets its name because the shooter’s arm hooks over his head during the shot. But that’s just a small part of the whole move. Proper footwork, body position, and well-timed release of the ball are equally crucial to getting the shot to fall.

“The hook shot is difficult to block,” Dick went on, “because the shooter’s body stays between the ball and the defender. The beauty of the shot is that you can do it any time the defense is covering you tightly. And, if for some reason you decide not to send it toward the hoop, you can convert it into a pass to an open player instead. But for now, practice it as a shot.”

He instructed Tim to turn so his left shoulder was aimed at the hoop. “The next steps happen all at the same time, but we’ll go through them one by one.”

“Like slices of pizza?” Tim said with a smile.

“Pepperoni pizza, to be exact,” Dick replied. “First, the ball. Pretend you’re holding one in your right hand. Now bring it up in an arc from low to high until your elbow is about shoulder height and the ball is above your head.”

He and Tim went through the motion together. “Obviously,” Dick said, “you’ll be moving a lot faster, so the momentum will keep the ball stuck in your hand. When the ball reaches the top of the arc, flick your wrist and shoot.”

Tim pretended to shoot.

“Good,” Dick praised. “Now for another part. The ball’s in your right hand. So use your left arm as a barrier, like you’re protecting your dribble.”

“Like this?” Tim raised his left arm so it was nearly parallel with the floor. He made sure his elbow was jutting out, ready to defend against an attack.

“Yes. You look at any picture of Kareem as he flicks in the hook, you’ll see his non-shooting arm in a position like that,” Dick said. “Now the footwork. Your left foot is your pivot foot and so stays nailed to the floor. As the ball reaches the top of the arc, push off and straight up with your right foot. That way, you’ll be at the greatest-possible height just when you’re releasing the ball.”

Tim made a face. “What are the chances my ‘greatest-possible height’ will be high enough to get the ball over Mike Gruber’s hands?” he asked.

Dick smiled. “If you do the move right, your chances are very good. Imagine a line drawn from your left elbow to the upraised ball. It goes up an angle, right? So to reach the ball, Mike, or whoever is defending you, wouldn’t just have to jump up—he’d have to jump on top of you!” He shrugged. “Sure, he might get the ball, but he’d foul you in the process. Might even get called for a technical because it’d be a pretty flagrant foul. Now, let’s see you go through the whole motion a few times.”

Tim took a moment to picture what he was supposed to do and then shot five pretend hooks.

“Not bad!” Dick said. He picked up a basketball and tossed it to Tim. “Now with the ball. Aim for the hoop.”

Tim’s first few attempts flew wide of their mark.

“Eyes on the hoop, not your hands!” Dick corrected.

Tim nodded. The next attempts hit the backboard but didn’t go in. Then, on his seventh try, the basketball kissed the glass and swished softly through the net’s strings.

“I did it!” Tim cried. He hurried to retrieve the ball, set up for the shot again—and sank it!

“Two in a row!” he crowed happily.

Two became three, but his fourth one missed. Dick instructed him to try the same shot but with his other hand and from the other corner of the key. Tim was righthanded, so most of these attempts were way off. He didn’t mind, however. He knew it would take a lot of practice to get the shot to fall consistently, no matter where he was standing or which hand he was using. But he was going to keep trying because if Dick was right, he’d finally have something that would work against Mike Gruber!

“I’m feeling really good about this shot,” he said to Dick.

“You should,” Dick replied. “Of course, you’ll feel even better about it when you know you can hit it during practice or, better yet, a game.”

Tim’s face fell. “Oh, man, that’s right! I’ve got to practice it when someone’s defending me. But who’s going to help me with that? I’ll tell you who—no one!”