Wizards a hundred and eleven, Knicks a hundred and nine. Preseason. AJ Dybantsa, number one pick in the draft, twenty-three minutes, eleven points, five for eleven from the field, zero for three from deep. And four steals.
I read it on BasketNews, my folder open on the kitchen table. He said he had always known he had defensive potential. That it was just him being a bit lazy in college. That at the highest level, why not play with emotion, with heart, and on defence.
I have no opinion on the person. I have a sheet. On my sheet, there is no column for potential. There is a column for what happened. At BYU, twenty-five and a half points a game, and nobody was talking about the steals column.
At our place, Saturdays at half past eight, I don’t note who felt like defending. I note who took the ball. The clock doesn’t argue. Neither do I.
Defence isn’t something you declare at the table. You record it. Four times, that night.
Four steals, Martine. Me, I’d have played the jingle every time.
There was no jingle. There was the sheet. Steals: four. Laziness: no column. It’s on the sheet.
It’s true, we checked: BasketNews.
