Court Wizards: Chapter 1
The Fieldhouse, Part 2
The boughs of the oaks grew closer and more tightly knit as Elbow walked deeper and deeper into the grove. There was a reason he couldn’t see down the path earlier. The canopy was so dense that, for a few moments, Elbow picked his steps cautiously in pitch blackness until a new light source appeared to his right. He saw a single torch propped up in the middle of the path by a stack of stones.
His laces were tight, ready for action. Elbow’s wrist loosely pinned a basketball against his hip. Eventually, his sneakers carried him past the torch and into more darkness before the tree limbs opened up and thinned, allowing a bright light in front of him to dapple through the leaves.
A red barn came into view. As Elbow exited the tree tunnel, he looked skyward and saw that the oak grove’s canopy stretched up and over the barn. They were completely enclosed. A pocket of civilization hidden away in a natural refuge.
The barn’s huge double doors were thrown wide. The hum of old auditorium lights, and the beams they shot forth from the open doors, led him on. Elbow saw no one outside the barn, just a uniform layer of cut grass ringing the building and an old rocking chair by the entrance.
Bom, bom, bom. Flick. Swish.
Bom, bom, bom. Flick. Swish.
The unmistakable sound of someone shooting free throws in an empty gym.
Elbow entered the barn and stood in shock. The rustic structure housed two hoops on either end of a beautiful parquet floor. The place had a mystical feel outside, but once inside, Elbow felt the pure magical energy of the place. Could he hear the crowd? Nearly. He thought the hum was the sound of lights or a generator, now he wasn’t so sure. The court resonated with an energy Elbow could only describe as holy.
Bom, bom, bom. A meditative pause, and then: Flick. Swish.
At the far hoop, a tall, thin man with a freshly shaved head and a sharp beard pounded the ball, breathed deep, and let the ball fly. Nothing but net.
Bom, bom, bom. Flick. Swish.
And again.
He wore the gray-on-gray garb of The Order of Gym Rats save his kicks: black and red.
Bom, bom, bom. Flick. Swish.
And again.
Elbow stood transfixed. His father had sent him to an old court wizard hidden in this enchanted grove. This wizard must be the keeper of the quest that had tested Shake. Elbow shook himself from his reverie.
“Ho! Sir! Greetings!”
The wizard didn’t turn.
Bom, bom, bom. Flick. Swish.
“Not much to look at, are you, boy?”
Elbow huffed in anger.
“Perhaps you should take a look then, grandpa,” Elbow taunted. “My legs have more spring than those old stilts of yours.”
Bom, bom, bom. Flick. Swish.
Another make. Elbow’s taunt hadn’t even thrown him out of his rhythm.
“You’ve got confidence, kid,” the wizard said. “Can you back it up?”
Bom, bom, bom. Flick. Swish.
Elbow walked in front of the wizard and looked down into his face. He moved in close enough that the wizard couldn’t continue his shooting meditation.
“You’re old and, compared to me, short,” Elbow scoffed. “I’m here for some test or challenge, no?”
“You are.”
“Let’s make this quick then, old man.”
The wizard sized Elbow up, uncurling from his shooting stance and bringing himself almost nose-to-nose with Elbow. He held Elbow’s gaze for three or four breaths, a potent electricity vibrating in the fraction of space between them. The boy didn’t flinch until the wizard broke from his trance and shook the barn with a deep laugh. It reminded Elbow so much of his father that he took a few steps back.
“No, I’m not related to Wolfman, boy,” the wizard said, reading Elbow’s thoughts. “But you better get used to more experienced ballers laughing in your face if you bring that youthful gaul to every court.”
The wizard walked to the side of the court and shed his robe. The gray zip-up hoodie fell to the ground. He took a slug from a waterskin, and then gestured at Elbow with it.
“You slow?” the wizard questioned.
“Do you imply I’m stupid?” Elbow’s face began to heat up.
“No, but a lack of court sense could be a problem too.” The wizard took a last slug from the waterskin and strolled back to the free throw line.
“Lack of speed, strength, or smarts and you won’t go far in this game without hard work. And based on your attitude, I can see why your old man brought you here. You could use the work.”
That sounded just like Elbow’s father. Never one to let him rest on his laurels. Any gain was a temporary win — simply a step toward the next goal. His father looked at training, he said, like a shark perceived stillness: you stop moving forward and you drown.
“Wolfman has my respect,” the wizard said. “He says you have some potential. So, he submitted a challenge to The Order of the Gym Rats for a right of passage. Something that anyone who wishes to follow the way of the hooper must overcome.”
He pulled a headband from his shorts pocket and carefully set it on his brow.
“I’m Hoops Harvey, an old head from the old school, a hall-of-fame member of the Order.”
He strode to the three-point line. Elbow had gone wide-eyed, his mouth agape.
“Ah, you’ve heard of me.”
Every student of the game within 50 miles knew Hoops Harvey. In the time between the dissolution of The League, the Fall of the States, and the rise of the Prairie Tournaments, a noble war was fought on courts across the land. A resource had been discovered. A power that emanated from the game. Many true ballers battled greedy men and women who sought to control the game, to claim monopoly over it — and its power. Eventually, the war ended in a hard-fought stalemate. Hoops was there. He wasn’t simply an old head. He was a legend.
“My deepest apologies, wizard.” Elbow dropped to one knee and bowed his head.
“Arise, boy. Your confidence is a source of great power, so long as you don’t let it get the best of you.” He passed the ball to Elbow. The sound of the catch echoed in the field house. “Let’s see if you have.”
The trial was simple. Elbow simply had to best the old wizard in a game of one-on-one. When he did, he could leave. First to ten by ones and twos won the challenge. “This should be quick,” Elbow thought. The wizard was a legend, no doubt, but his youthful speed and strength gave him an edge. He’d reach ten points in no time.
At the top of the key, the wizard dried his hands on his shorts.
Elbow tossed the ball back to him.
“Check.”
The wizard rotated the ball to inspect every bit of its surface with his weathered hands. He pulled the ball into his hip with both hands and dropped a foot back into a classic triple-threat pose. He pulled in a deep breath and let the air flow slowly out.
Elbow was starting to get angry with this pregame ritual. He was anxious to get on with it. He slapped the floor with both hands in preparation for whatever attack the wizard was readying.
“Enough delay! Let’s play!” Elbow taunted.
That same booming laugh filled the gym. The wizard brought his gaze up to Elbow’s.
“That’s how you want to play it, huh? Young squire, it’s gonna be a long night.”
Elbow had heard talk like this before. He’d dished it out as well. It was rare when a player’s bite matched their bark, and this wizard’s talk seemed tame to most. Was this simply a ceremonial challenge? Did his father seek to humble him by forcing him to play an old man? Or did his father fear his confidence was becoming a problem, so he set him up for an easy victory against a legend so he could teach him a lesson about respecting his elders? All those seemed too conniving for his father’s typically direct training methods. But surely this man, whose beard was streaked with gray and whose face was lined with age, would be easy pickings for the Prairie League’s most promising free agent.
Without warning, the wizard pulled up with lightning speed, reaching the apex of his leap before Elbow had even left the ground. He let the ball fly and Flick. Swish.
“That’s one.”
It wasn’t just talk, Elbow realized. This wizard’s magic was strong.
With the ball back in his hands, the wizard lowered his head. Elbow could sense it. He saw it in the wizard’s eyes. He was about to make his move. He could rise up with a quick jumper, but surely he was too old to beat Elbow to the rim. No doubt the wizard would try to use his old man strength to back him down.
A deft jab step landed right between Elbow’s feet.
He tried to step back, ready to shuffle defensively and harry the wizard’s drive,
He tried.
But he froze.
He’d never frozen like this. Elbow was a player. He didn’t freeze.
The wizard stepped back, rose up, and drained another jumper.
Elbow took a deep breath. He’d underestimated the old wizard. It wouldn’t happen again. He’d be ready for the next fake.
“Two to zero. Check ball.”
Elbow bounced the ball back and, this time, more warily, dropped into his defensive stance.
The jab step came again. Elbow barely managed to react. At least he hadn’t frozen. The wizard had brought the ball back onto his hip. Elbow recovered, but right has he did, the jab step came again.
And he froze.
He couldn’t move.
His feet held fast to the court.
It was as the jab step hit the court, reached through the parquet floor, tapped into the earth, and cemented Elbow’s sneaker in place.
The wizard pulled back and shot again.
Flick. Swish.
“What wizardry is this?” Elbow asked.
“Wizardry, mastery. Same thing,” the wizard said. “Three, zero. Check.”
The wizard never took a dribble. He varied his attack. Sometimes it was one jab step, sometimes three. Once he spun on his pivot, drawing Elbow in before spinning back for an open look. Another two times he pulled up immediately after the check and effortlessly scored before Elbow could even react.
Ten shots and the game was over. The wizard hadn’t dribbled, nor had me missed.
“You see what I‘m trying to teach--”
“Again!” Elbow cut him off. He’d never been beaten so badly.
The next game went much the same. The wizard added a single dribble to his repertoire in this match. With just jab steps, fakes, and a single dribble, he hit Elbow with a flurry of moves that left the boy stumbling and gasping for air. Ten shots and ten makes later and Elbow had lost again. Two games in a row and Elbow hadn’t even gotten an offensive possession.
“Drink?” the wizard asked, offering his waterskin.
“Again!” Elbow was sucking air, but determined.
Game three was another clinic. The old wizard had a bag of tricks he’d gained over years of battles on the court and every time Elbow thought he’d learned the Wizard’s attacks, the old head showed him three new moves, knocking him off rhythm before returning to the initial jab step spell and fooling Elbow again. It was maddening.
“Why don’t you start with the ball this game,” the wizard suggested.
“Winner gets ball,” Elbow recited the ancient rule.
“And I’m giving it to you.”
“I decline.”
“Suit yourself.”
The wizard spun his enchantments and Elbow was defeated, again, by ten straight baskets.
Not only was he beating Elbow without ever losing the ball, he hadn’t even needed to rely on shots from beyond the arc to do it.
Elbow sat down on the bench to catch his breath. He knew he had skills, talent, and a connection to the power of basketball. He should be able to beat this old wizard. And yet, he hadn’t slowed him down one bit.
“Your father brought you here to learn,” the wizard. “Are you ready for the growth, or do you insist on continuing to receive the lesson?”
Elbow stood, breathed deeply, and walked back onto the court.
“Again.”
For three more games, the wizard dazzled him. Elbow could barely keep up, let alone get a step ahead.
After another barrage of fakes, the wizard cut past an off-balance Elbow for an easy bucket. He was up nine to nothing and the next point would be game point. Again. And Elbow hadn’t even touched the ball.
Was he really going to lose again? Sweat poured from his brow. He bent, hands grasping the end of his shorts, and he gasped for air. Reading his expression, or maybe even his mind, the wizard spoke.
“You have speed, youth, and strength. These things can amplify your power. But they are raw. Your mind is the lens that harnesses and focuses that power. Use it.”
While the wizard dribbled back to the top of the key, Elbow gazed up at the bright orange halo that hung above him. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose. He did it again. He called forth all his energy. He reached deep within himself to a reserve of hoop magic that pulsed at his core. He took a few more deep breaths, trying to clear his head and open his mind to everything around him. The squeak of sneakers on the wood floor, the echo of the dribbled ball in the lofty fieldhouse, the inhale and exhale of his opponent and teacher.
When he turned around, he didn’t see the old wizard, he simply saw a player. Elbow let his impressions fade away. He let preconceptions go, he let the past few hours go. He used the lens of his mind and no longer did he see a legend, the wizard who schooled him point after point. He saw his opponent in the present.
“Game point.” The wizard checked the ball.
Elbow passed it back and dropped into his defensive stance.
He nodded, but in his mind he thought, “No. It’s zero, zero now.”
It was a whole new ballgame. A game within the point. An eternity in a moment.
The wizard drove right and Elbow slid to cut him off. The wizard pulled back his dribble, putting his back to Elbow, and punched the ball into the ground while bodying Elbow backward into the post.
Breathe in, breathe out. The ball thumped, it’s bang on the floor ricocheting around them. Their breath whirled like smoke.
The wizard backed in, but Elbow fought him. He parried each attack with a quick defensive slide. He matched his every step and began to read his every dribble, sneaking a hand in, jockeying for possession to keep the wizard off balance. For the first time since he’d entered the gym, he didn’t feel overconfident nor did he feel beaten. He felt present. Elbow could feel in the air, the court, the sweat — he had become one with the game, flowing with it, not trying to force his will upon it.
And so he knew the wizard was going to pick up his dribble a split second before it happened. As his teacher spun left, Elbow danced with him, perfectly in sync. The wizard rose up for the fadeaway. Anticipating the move, Elbow’s mind and body worked in concert and he leapt before the wizard’s spell could cement his feet to the ground. His hand flew up to block the wizard’s shot.
The wizard released the ball.
And Elbow caught the edge of it on his extended middle finger.
It altered the wizard’s shot just enough and the ball clanked off the front of the rim, falling to the ground and bouncing right to Elbow. He collected the rebound and brought it back to the top of the key. Now, he had possession. But more importantly, he’d found his focus. He was tapped into the power of the game. His court sense was buzzing.
Elbow saw his objective. The hoop. He saw an obstacle. An opponent. He saw himself. A wizard. And he saw his moment.
While his opponent tried to recover, Elbow planted his back foot, gathering power from the court, and sped to the basket with uncanny speed. The ball rolled off his finger, tapped the glass, and went through the hoop.
“One to ten. Check ball,” Elbow said.
It was a new game indeed.
The student and the master sat on the sideline, slowing their hard breathing between sips of water. In the shadow of the massive oaks that cloaked the barn, there was no way to tell how much time had passed, but it felt as though they’d played for a lifetime. Even after Elbow figured out how to fight through the wizard’s magic, the old man was a worthy opponent — it took many more battles before he could call “Game.”
“There are easier ways to learn this lesson, you know?” The wizard laughed. “But you’re young and headstrong. At a certain point, we all are. That’s why your father brought you here.”
Elbow nodded. He should have recognized it earlier. His father had a deep connection to the court sense. He could have taught him this lesson himself, but he had a knack for knowing when Elbow needed to take an L at the hands of another teacher.
“It’s never enough to have power,” the wizard went on. “Your speed and strength is an edge, yes. Your skill gives you an advantage. But never forget your mind is the only way to truly conjure this magic.”
The wizard stood up, took a quick dribble through the legs and rested the ball against his hip. Facing Elbow, he pointed a finger at his own forehead.
“Not only can your brain detect and break down an opponent’s wizardry,” the old master explained. “It helps you see the patterns in the game. Train it right and it can show you pathways on the court that are closed to others.”
He pointed a finger at the center of his hoodie, now dark gray with sweat.
“Your heart is an engine. It can fuel your game in ways nothing else can. Move faster, jump higher — all your power emanates from right here.”
With a claw-like hand, the wizard tightly gripped the gray fabric of his hoodie, squeezing it together, balling it in his fist.
“But your heart can be your greatest weakness too. Look at what happened today. Blinded by pride, you removed your heart and mind from the game. I beat you before you ever touched the ball.”
Elbow nodded.
“Your enemies will attack you here. But you can use their emotions against them, as well,” the wizard continued. “But it’s not your legs, arms, or any of your magic on the court that will lead you to victory. Your head and heart working in unison will allow you to tap into court sense you’ve only dreamed of.”
Elbow looked up and the wizard tossed him the ball. It seemed to glow as Elbow’s hands traced the lines in the leather with his fingertips. He pulled the ball close and hugged it between his forearms, squeezing the orange, and absorbing its elemental power.
The wizard looked Elbow straight in the eyes, sweat still on his brow, but no sign of fatigue in his stance.
“Do you understand now?”
Elbow shielded his eyes against the sharp rays of the setting sun as he emerged from the grove. He saw the silhouette of his father walking toward him, coming down the tunnel to meet him.
“I had a premonition this test might take all day,” his father said. “You are stubborn like your mother.”
Elbow grinned as he always did when Gray compared him to his mother. Though his memories of her from childhood weren’t of the game, his father had taught him all her moves. He felt close to her when he used them, connecting with her spirit via the game’s magic, he thought.
The Wolfman wrapped a hooded cloak around Elbow. The air was growing cool as the evening came on, and steam rose from the warm sweat that coated Elbow’s head and shoulders.
“How’s my old running mate, Hoops?” the Wolfman questioned, placing an arm around his son.
Elbow shrugged off the arm and glared at his father.
“You should have told me more about this trial. Once I puzzled out the challenge, it was easier to face.”
His father took a step in front of him and placed his hands on his shoulders. Elbow met his eyes for a moment, then looked down. This didn’t deter the Wolfman. He knew his boy listened better when he put his eyes away so he could focus his ears.
“We rarely know what challenges await us in life. On the court, only the sense can help you,” his father said in a quiet, even tone. “I cannot help you. If she was here, your mother could not help you. I can give you instruction and wisdom, but only experience can truly teach those lessons to you.”
An evening wind rustled the oak leaves around the entrance to the grove.
Gray inhaled and placed his hands on both sides of Elbow’s head. He brought their foreheads together.
“If I could protect you from everything, I would.”
Elbow grasped his father’s forearms.
“I understand, dad.”
He met his father’s gaze.
“A worthy opponent hones our skills. The unexpected forces us to adapt those skills. The court sense isn’t just the moves, it’s the connection to the game a true master can only forge on their own.”
His father swelled with pride. He knew that moments like these were as rare and beautiful as open baskets.
“Doesn’t make it easy, though,” Elbow finished.
For the second time that day, the oak grove echoed with laughter. Gray rubbed his son’s head before putting him into a headlock. They mock wrestled for a few seconds, then embraced before walking together out of the wooded arena.
The sound of dry leaves blowing across the gravel road outside was the first hint they were nearing the exit. The seasons were ready to turn to autumn. There was a smell in the crisp evening air that signaled it as much as those few dead leaves. In the time before, that shift marked not only fall, but the beginning of basketball season. It was still considered a sacred time.
A wagon door slammed.
“I was about to set up a tent. I thought we’d be here all night,” Chieftain Gill said. “You told me Elbow was as stubborn as his mother, but I couldn’t believe it.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” the Wolfman said, placing a hand on the back of his son’s neck.
“There should be just enough time to make it back to my village before the moon is high,” Gill said. “Shall we?”
Elbow furrowed his brow. He and his father were nomads. They typically camped out of their car between matchups he played in villages along their constant migratory route through the prairie.
“We’ll have a meal, get some rest, and tomorrow,” Gill continued. “We’ll show you the practice facility. Shake’s done a lot of the work on it herself.”
Now Elbow was truly confused.
“What does he mean, father?”
“Surely the Wolfman taught you the value of practice, Elbow,” the Chieftain mock-chided. “It’s essential to ensure teammates can tap into their magic together.”
His mouth dropped open for a moment. “But,” Elbow began. “But I only play in single-opponent matchups.”
“Not anymore,” the Wolfman said. “It’s time to elevate your game.”
The passenger door of the wagon kicked open. Shake stomped out.
“He’s never played with a teammate before?!” She almost yelled. “Father, surely you jest!”
Once again, Elbow’s cheeks went red. He could play, he knew that, but he knew she was right. This was new to him. Would his court sense be up to the challenge?
The chieftain’s arm shot out, almost as if he had to hold his daughter back. Only those tree trunk arms made it seem possible. She dwarfed her father.
“All the more reason that training must commence tomorrow,” said the Chieftain.
“Your father is right,” Gray chimed in. “Both of you have the skill, but you’ll only win the county tournament if you can work together.”
Elbow didn’t think he could be more shocked. A county tournament! His father had exclusively taken him on a circuit through more rural villages, challenging their champions in single combat matches. When he pressed his father to play with teammates, he’d always said they had to stay on the move, though he never gave a convincing reason as to why. This shift in behavior, something Elbow had pushed against so many times that he’d eventually given up, was more astounding than the field house court inside an enchanted grove of trees.
His father read his mind.
“It’s time, son. This was the final test. You’re ready.”
Even after besting an old head, Elbow wasn’t so sure. And the fury he saw in Shake’s eyes at this potential partnership made him even less sure.
That’s the first quarter buzzer, folks! - AJ
Your mind is the lens that harnesses and focuses that power. Use it.”