"Expect double-teams, triple-teams, maybe even a full-court press that looks more like a rugby scrum. They'll try to smother him, deny him the ball like it's the st slice of pizza, anything and everything to neutralize his… impact. Basically, they're gonna try to make his life as miserable as humanly possible on that court."
Tahera continued, her tone becoming more thoughtful, almost analytical. "Also, let’s be real here, we got lucky. Like, lottery-winning lucky. Remember how we were saying Motijheel was supposed to be unbeatable? Well, turns out, two of their main MVPs are MIA today. Their star forward, and their… well, their other guy who’s usually pretty decent, whatever."
She shrugged dismissively, as if downpying the absence of two key pyers was just part of her master pn. "If those two were actually on the court right now… things would have been… less… easy." She practically choked on the word "easy," dripping with so much sarcasm it could corrode metal. Everyone in the room knew that nothing about this game had been even remotely close to easy.
Her words hung in the air, a sobering spsh of cold water amidst the lingering euphoria. Yeah, they had tied the game. Huge win, massive momentum shift, all that good stuff. But the war, the actual battle for victory, was still a long way from being over.
Motijheel was going to regroup, re-strategize, and unleash their fury in the second half, probably with the intensity of a thousand suns. And Banani High, now fueled by the almost unbelievable, possibly supernatural abilities of James, was going to have to be ready to face whatever chaotic storm came next.
The second half was looming, heavy with anticipation. Halftime was officially over. And the real game, the gritty, down-and-dirty, nail-biting game, it seemed, was just about to begin.
Third quarter's about to kick off. But hold up, scratch the buzzer sound effect. Nah, fam, this wasn't no regur buzzer. This was like, straight outta a horror movie, scream-from-the-depths-of-hell type noise.
Imagine a banshee realizing she left her phone at home after a night out - BLAAAAAAAARE! Round two, let's GOOOO! Coach Rahman from Motijheel, bless his sweet, ancient heart, he's rounding up the squad. This dude? Seriously, he’s probably seen more basketball games than there are cat videos on the internet, and that's saying something.
You look into his eyes, and it's like, yeah, there's basketball wisdom for days, but also maybe a little PTSD from just this specific game we're in right now. He’s calling them in close, like a wise old owl summoning his baby owlets before shoving them right back into the middle of a tornado.
He starts talking, and you can tell he’s trying to channel his inner zen master, all calm and collected, but underneath it all, you can hear the faint tremor of pure, unadulterated "we are SO done for." “Alright team,” he starts, voice all shaky-calm, “gather ‘round, gather ‘round. Halftime… yeah, that was… an experience, wasn't it?
Okay, well, it happened. It’s in the past. We need to… uh… make a tiny… little… adjustment.” Adjustment?! Dude, ‘adjustment’ is what you do to your pylist when a song you skip comes on again.
