The analysis was delivered with stunning speed and precision, the same calm, almost detached certainty he dispyed when taking a crucial shot. It was clear his basketball IQ was operating on a different level; he wasn't just seeing the py, he was seeing three steps ahead, reading the defense's likely reactions like an open book. Kiyoshi and Tahera exchanged another quick gnce – a silent acknowledgment of the tactical depth James possessed. Tahera quickly scribbled notes, capturing the essence of the weak-side attack strategy.
Tahera nodded, underlining a point on the board. "Excellent breakdown, James. That weak-side action is definitely something we need to drill." She capped her marker and turned back to the now slightly-recovered group of pyers congregating nearby, wiping sweat and catching their breath.
"Alright team, listen up! While we're identifying weaknesses in their potential defenses, we gotta talk about shoring up one of ours!" Her voice projected across the gym again, pulling everyone’s focus. "Rebounding!"
She spped the whiteboard for emphasis, making a few pyers jump. "Robi! Tariq!" The two big men straightened up. "You guys are our anchors inside."
"We cannot, cannot give up offensive boards in this tournament! Every second chance we give them is a dagger! It kills momentum, demoralizes the defense, and in a knockout game? It can send us home!"
She made eye contact with them. "I want to see elbows out – legally, of course," she added quickly, "finding a body the second the shot goes up, and securing that ball like it's the st slice of pizza!"
"Assume every shot is a miss!"
"No exceptions! Box. Out. Every. Single. Time!"
Robi grunted, a low rumble in his chest that signified understanding, and used his jersey to wipe the sweat pouring down his face. Tariq gave a sharp, determined nod, his expression hardening. You could almost see them mentally preparing to battle for every loose ball.
From the edge of the huddle, Arshad, ever the optimist (or maybe just trying to lighten the mood), muttered just loud enough for everyone to hear, "Seriously though, Coach, fingers crossed we draw the School for Interpretive Dance in the first round, right? Easy W?" A couple of nervous chuckles rippled through the group, quickly stifled.
Kiyoshi's head snapped towards Arshad, his eyes narrowed. He took a step closer, his presence silencing the lingering chuckles immediately. "Hope?" Kiyoshi repeated, the word sounding sharp and foreign in the context of their intense preparation.
"Let me be perfectly clear, Arshad. Hope is not a strategy. Hope is a lottery ticket. Hope is what you cling to when you haven't put in the work, when you haven't prepared for the storm."
He scanned the faces of the team, his gaze sweeping over each pyer. "We don't hope for an easy draw. We don't pray for weak opponents. We prepare."
"We prepare for the absolute toughest fight right from the opening tip of the first game. We train assuming every team we face is Motijheel pying like champions, or St. Abraham hitting every impossible shot. Assume every pyer you guard is an all-league monster."
