J.J. Redick doesn’t wait. As DeAndre Jordan swats the opening tip to the Clippers, Redick dashes across the baseline as if gold awaits on the other side. Within seconds, he bolts past his defender to knock down a pull-up jump-shot against the Cavaliers on March 13.
“He’s a freak of nature,” said Pelicans forward Ryan Anderson, Redick’s former Magic teammate. “I can’t think of one person that’s in better shape than J.J.”
Redick soon nets nine of L.A’s first 14 points, as he squeezes into the lane for a floater, drills another shot off the dribble and then pops a three in the corner.
Ten years into his NBA career, Redick has evolved into a more dynamic shooter, matching a career-best 16.4 points, 1.9 rebounds and 1.4 assists a night. He has a blistering 47.5 percent from three and 47.9 percent from the field as the glue of the playoff-bound Clippers. That’s because with every shot he releases and every drill he completes, Redick increases expectations for himself. He must exceed his output each time he steps on the floor.
Kyle Allman sprinted toward the basket on a fastbreak. He didn’t care that Washington’s Markelle Fultz, considered by some to be the No. 1 2017 NBA Draft pick, trailed closely during a non-conference game in November.
Receiving the pass from point guard Lionheart Leslie, Allman leapt toward the sky, hammering the ball over Fultz for the dunk. Though Allman was blocked, the 6-foot-3, 175-pound Brooklyn, N.Y., native landed undeterred, as his motto has always been: attack, attack, attack.
“He’s just a dog, man,” said guard Jamal Smith, shaking his head, praising Allman’s competitiveness. “He always wants to be that Alpha.”
UCLA basketball benchwarmers Josiah Johnson and Quinn Hawking didn’t think they’d sub in. It was way, way too early, as 15 minutes remained in the 2003 game against powerhouse Arizona, whose lead ballooned to 20. Rarely rising from the bench, Johnson and Hawking usually shimmied, swayed and stomped for teammates like future NBA players Matt Barnes, Trevor Ariza and Jason Kapono. They discovered the best camera angles in timeout huddles in hopes of appearing on TV after the commercial break.
“They called themselves ‘The S— Crew,'” said Brian Morrison, who played for the Bruins from 2002–05. “They entertained everybody.”
The women file into the gym, most in their late 40s to early 60s and most Asian American, every one of them eager for tipoff.
It’s a Sunday morning at a high school in Huntington Beach, but these women have been playing basketball in gyms like this, on mornings like this, for decades.
Today, it’s the High Rollers against Forever Kidz. Both teams are part of the Orange Coast Sports Association, which sponsors a basketball league of mostly Japanese American women age 40 and older. They play today because they still love the game more than they hate the sprained ankles and floor burns that come with it.
Two hours before a recent game between fierce Los Angeles high school rivals Westchester High and Fairfax High, the gym is packed. The Fairfax band plays alongside a D.J., while fans jockey for seats on the wooden bleachers to catch the freshman and junior varsity games. “If you don’t get there early, you don’t get in,” Westchester coach Ed Azzam says.
Red banners displaying Fairfax’s City and state championships remind all what’s at stake for the Jan. 22 Western League matchup between the two schools separated 13 miles apart. It’s a rivalry that runs deep. “My uncle told me that if I lost to Fairfax—this is my freshman year when I played JV—you gotta find your own way home,” says USC associate head coach Tony Bland, an All-America on Westchester’s 1998 state championship squad.
It had been seven, long minutes since Troy converted a bucket. So long, Warriors coach Roger Anderson joked on the sideline in the early December game against Legacy of South Gate: “We haven’t scored in oh, maybe, I don’t know, a month?”
Senior Kianna Smith – face stone cold, hair slicked back in her signature bun – caught the ball at the three-point line in the corner. Everyone knew: the 6-0 Cal commit was about go for the kill. “She can always get a shot off, whenever she wants,” Troy point guard Hope Kakihara said.
Smith paused with her dribble – getting a rise out of her defender – then exploded past. Running into a help defender, Smith shook free, floating to the rim for two points. “She makes moves look so effortless,” Anderson said. “But you know how hard what she’s doing is.”
Cal State Fullerton needed a bucket. The Titans swung the ball around the perimeter, trailing Portland State by three points in double overtime earlier this month. Freshman guard Jamal Smith waited on the wing — legs bent, palms open — ready to catch the ball.
Jamal’s father, John Smith, the Titans’ associate head coach, prepares the team for moments like this, often sharing a lesson he learned from his father, the late former NBA point guard Lucky Smith: You’ve got a carrot, an egg and a coffee bean. If you boil a big bowl of hot water, which represents adversity, and you put the carrot in there, it gets soft and mushy. You don’t want to be the carrot. If you put an egg in there, it gets stiff. You don’t want to be the egg. But when you put a coffee bean in there?