Free Dunk Under Pressure by Rich Wallace Page A

If she was busy talking to a student, then he’d only shoot thirty. When the second class ended, he’d shoot at least eighty more.
    A hundred or more shots a day all winter and spring and into the summer is nearly 25,000 free throws. You shoot that many, you have to get good.
    Dunk got real good. So good that he led the YMCA Summer League in free-throw percentage, hitting thirty-five of forty-two shots during the eight-game season. That’s eighty-three percent.
    Still, he was surprised when he got a call the day after the season ended, inviting him to try out for the league’s all-star team. That team would be spending several days at the Shore, competing in the New Jersey YMCA state tournament.
    Of course, Dunk still was slow and flat-footed and could barely jump over a worm on the sidewalk. But he definitely caught the coaches’ eyes at the tryouts when he hit twenty-three out of twenty-five free throws during warm-ups.
    “That kid can shoot,” one coach said to another.
    “Nice stroke,” said the other. “Consistent. He makes the same motion every time. That’s the key.”
    Guys like Spencer Lewis and Jared Owen and Jason Fiorelli—the stars of the middle school’s championship team—stopped what they were doing to marvel at Dunk’s ability as he worked on his next set of twenty-five. They tried razzing him with whoops and burps and stamping their feet, but Dunk kept his eyes focused on the rim and kept swishing the shots.
    “He’s like a robot or something,” said Fiorelli.
    Dunk smiled and sank another one. “Robots got nothing on me,” he said, never looking away from the basket.
    Still, shooting free throws is only part of the game, so Dunk was not a lock to make the all-star team. His weaknesses were obvious—stronger guys out-muscled him for rebounds, quicker guys darted past him for layups, and springier guys lofted their jump shots over his outstretched arms for buckets.
    He had his good moments, too. A rebound and a put-back with Jared all over him; a sweet pass to Miguel Rivera on a give-and-go; a fade-away jumper from fifteen feet (well, maybe it wasn’t quite a jumper , but a decent shot anyway).
    So the coaches figured they might as well keep him. He wouldn’t play much, but in the right situation he’d definitely be an asset. They’d seen many close games decided by which team could shoot better from the line.
    “Say we’re protecting a lead in the final minute and the opposition has to foul somebody to get the ball back,” Assistant Coach Red Creighton said in making his case. “You get the ball to Dunk and let ’em foul him. That’s two points guaranteed.”
    “I could see it,” said Head Coach Larry Temple, rubbing his jaw. “A free-throw specialist.”
    So that’s why Dunk found his name on the all-star roster after three days of tryouts. He’d made more than eighty-five percent of his free throws over those three days. The best pro and college players only make a little more than ninety percent. Of course that’s in the heat of a game, with the heart pounding and the crowd screaming and the intense pressure of competition. Even so, eighty-five percent in practice isn’t bad, either. Especially for a kid who’s not yet thirteen.
    So Dunk was on the twelve-man squad, mostly a practice player, a body to give the first-stringers some competition during workouts. He might get a few minutes of game-time at the tail end of a blowout.
    And in the right situation, at the end of a tight game, he just might surprise a few people.

2
    Sweaty as a Pig
     
     
    “D idn’t you already practice today?” Aunt Krystal asked a few nights later as Dunk walked onto the YMCA gym floor, dribbling a basketball. “Twice?”
    Dunk grinned. With his index finger he straightened his glasses, which had slid down his nose. “The tournament starts tomorrow,” he said. “Gotta be sharp.” He set the basketball down at the free-throw line and helped his aunt stack some gym mats on the side