Few People Deserve a Second Chance

Before class the next day, Yang Shuai called Curry into his office. Under Curry's puzzled gaze, Yang Shuai pulled a shoebox out from under the desk and handed it over. The moment Curry saw the Air Jordan logo on the box, an excitement he couldn't hide lit up his eyes. What basketball player wouldn't want a pair of Air Jordans! Still, Curry held the excitement in and didn't reach out to take it. "This is too expensive." He knew Yang Shuai was only a student himself. A pair of Air Jordans cost at least a hundred and change — a huge expense for a student these days. "I already bought them. Open it up." Yang Shuai smiled and held the box out to him again. When Curry still didn't take it, the smile left his face. "What, you think they're fake?" "Of course not!" Curry shook his head quickly. He took the box and opened it under Yang Shuai's prompting look. When he saw the shoes inside, his excitement climbed even higher. A white upper, a black outsole, and a midsole in yellow and black — this was the new AJ4 "Tour Yellow," released only this past May! Teenagers had chased after the new release from the moment it hit the shelves. It didn't reach the heights of the AJ1, but it was already a potential hit. But soon Curry realized that the most special thing about these shoes wasn't the model at all. It was the line of writing on the side: "I'm no worse than anyone else." The moment he read it, Curry felt as if something had slammed hard into his chest. This was something Yang Shuai had said more than once — something he wanted to prove to everyone — and now here it was, made concrete, written right there. The rims of Curry's eyes began to redden, and he couldn't hold it back. After a long while, he let out a long breath, raised his head to look at Yang Shuai, and spoke with great solemnity. "This is the most precious gift I've ever received. I'm going to keep it forever." Yang Shuai smiled. It was thanks to Cole securing him a scholarship for the new semester that he'd had the money to buy Curry these Air Jordans. Of course, the gift wasn't only meant to help Curry rebuild his confidence — it was also meant to bring the two of them closer. But that alone wasn't enough. Yang Shuai then took a second item out of the drawer and handed it over. It was a game videotape. "This is the tape of our last game. You can use my computer to go through the details of that game." As he spoke, Yang Shuai also took one of the office keys from the desk and passed it to Curry. Regaining confidence was only the foundation. What really mattered was having Curry pinpoint the problems from that first game and then solve them one by one. One advantage the NAA had over the NBA: teams played roughly two games a week, which gave players enough time to adjust. This time Curry said nothing more. He took the tape and nodded hard. With Curry taken care of, Yang Shuai headed for the practice gym. He had no classes scheduled that morning — a perfect chance to loosen up his body. Players were already training inside, Westbrook among them, doing shooting drills. Yang Shuai shot around for a while, and by then Westbrook's own workout had ended too. Seeing him walk over, Westbrook got up to shake his hand and bump shoulders in greeting, then lifted his bag off the nearby bench and set it on the floor to make room. "You don't have class this morning either?" Yang Shuai sat down, took the water Westbrook handed him, and asked curiously after a sip. "No — I took two classes off." Westbrook shook his head. The answer took Yang Shuai by surprise. Back when he had gone to Westbrook's high school to recruit him, the fact that Westbrook wouldn't skip class had left a deep impression. "I've upped my training load," Westbrook went on to explain. "How many shots are you taking a day now?" "A thousand." "A thousand?" Yang Shuai was somewhat stunned. Forget college players — plenty of NBA players never got that many up. No wonder Westbrook was skipping class; it took a huge amount of time. "Yeah. Five hundred from the left side, five hundred from the right." "I remember it used to be 500 a day?" Yang Shuai searched his memory. "In high school I shot 35 percent from beyond fourteen feet, so over the summer I raised my reps to 700 a day. But at training camp, my percentage from fourteen feet out was only around 40, so once the new season started I went up to 1,000. My goal is to get it to 45 percent." "You might be the best mathematician in basketball." When he'd heard it all out, Yang Shuai gave Westbrook a big thumbs-up. Still, a training load like that was not for ordinary people. Even someone with the willpower to keep at it wouldn't have a body built to take that kind of pounding. "Back then they all said I should go to Stanford." Westbrook drifted into the past. In his sophomore year of high school, he had already received an offer from Stanford University. "What a shame. America lost a mathematician named Westbrook." Yang Shuai's words set Westbrook laughing out loud. After resting a while, Westbrook went back to his shooting drills. Watching him pour with sweat, Yang Shuai stroked his chin, now fully aware of Westbrook's determination. On a team that was handing a rookie heavy playing time in his first season, Westbrook was straining at the bit to put up a big performance. Which meant that the scenario Yang Shuai had once entertained — Westbrook declaring for the draft after a single year of college — was growing likelier by the day. When the afternoon practice session ended, Yang Shuai went to Prosser's office. Prosser looked a little surprised to see him, but he still went ahead and brewed him a cup of coffee. "Thanks." Yang Shuai accepted the coffee and sat down. "Russell has played very well. I hear he's training especially hard, too. You've brought us a future star." Once he sat down, Prosser began praising Westbrook. "And Serge. He can't meet the standard for playing time yet, but his defensive talent is plain to see." Prosser's next words explained why he had brewed the coffee for Yang Shuai — the young man really did have a keen eye. "I'd say the comeback win came down to how you deployed the lineup. Not every head coach can make in-game adjustments that good, and not every coach knows how to bring out his players' strengths." Yang Shuai lifted his coffee, took a sip, and set it back on the desk. That drew a laugh straight out of Prosser. "David is right. You're nothing like a student." Now it was Yang Shuai's turn to laugh — though it was to cover the flicker of unease inside. He truly hadn't realized how little his behavior since crossing over resembled a student's. "Then again, that's just how kids born in Los Angeles are, aren't they? Just like Russell." Fortunately, Prosser found an explanation for him right away. The reason Westbrook played basketball at all was that in Los Angeles, the basketball court was the only place where a kid could stay clear of drugs and crime. Yang Shuai shrugged and gave a wry smile of acknowledgment. "So what did you actually come to see me about? Don't tell me it's just to pay me a few compliments." Prosser eyed Yang Shuai, all but saying "brownnosing" out loud. Hearing that, Yang Shuai stopped circling the subject and got straight to the point. "I'd like Stephen to keep starting in the next game." "Stephen?" Prosser shook his head at that. Never mind starting — he had even been toying with the idea of a DNP for Curry. "We all know what Stephen can do. He just had one bad game." "No." Prosser shook his head all the same. "Real games and scrimmages are two very different things. Stephen isn't ready yet." Yang Shuai scooted his stool closer. "Coach, we all know how important Stephen is. Without him, we'll have a hard time fighting our way out of the ACC." Prosser looked at him in earnest. "You think this group of rookies can make the NAA tournament this year?" "With anyone else coaching this team, I'd say it would be hard. But you've done it before, Coach." Yang Shuai's face was serious. Paul had led the team into the NAA tournament as a freshman, and Gray and Williams had only been sophomores back then. "They're not Chris." Yang Shuai's words still pleased Prosser — but Paul had been the No. 6 high school player in the nation, and the No. 1 in that class had been LeBron James. "They're not. But what they go on to achieve won't be any less than Chris's." That sounded like quite the claim. Prosser stared at Yang Shuai for a few seconds, then finally spoke. "You're serious?" "Coach, you know better than anyone how fast they're improving." Yang Shuai's tone was calm but firm. Prosser sank into thought. The strides Curry and Westbrook had made really were rare. "All right. If you insist." Prosser finally changed his mind — not because he believed Curry could do it, but because he believed in Yang Shuai's eye. "Coach, this will be a great decision in your coaching career," Yang Shuai said with a smile. Wake Forest's second game fell on a Saturday, but this time they were on the road. Before boarding the bus, Prosser called Curry over to him. "You're starting tonight's game again." Curry's face went stiff with shock; he could scarcely believe his ears. After all, in the practices over these past few days he hadn't been in the starting lineup at all, and he had already braced himself to come off the bench — or even be DNP'd. Watching his reaction, Prosser said something weighted with meaning. "Few people deserve a second chance. Fewer still deserve a third." It was praise — and more than that, a warning. "Coach, I won't let you down again!" Curry slapped his chest in promise. "We'll see." With that, Prosser turned and boarded the bus. Wake Forest's opponent that night was Virginia Tech.