By Tuesday afternoon, Fergus had discovered that Coach McKenzie’s response to a twenty-two-point defeat was considerably more exhausting than his own.
The Wallace Memorial players entered the gym expecting a difficult training session.
Nobody had needed to say so.
St Francis had beaten them comfortably on Friday, and McKenzie had spent most of the game becoming increasingly irritated with their defensive rotations, rushed decisions and tendency to abandon the offence whenever the score moved against them.
Fergus had therefore anticipated extra defensive work, perhaps longer scrimmages and considerably more stopping and starting whenever somebody made a mistake.
He had not expected McKenzie to begin by placing two cones beneath opposite baskets.
“Baseline to baseline,” McKenzie said.
“Down and back is one.
Ten.” Arthur stared at him.
“Before we warm up?” “This is the warm-up.” Several players groaned.
McKenzie folded his arms.
“Excellent.
Eleven.” The complaints stopped immediately.
Fergus almost smiled.
Suicide Sprinter had made him considerably better at understanding how to pace repeated efforts, although that didn’t make running enjoyable.
By the sixth repetition his breathing had become heavy, and by the ninth his legs were beginning to burn.
Arthur started too quickly and suffered for it near the end, while Merrick’s larger frame made every turn increasingly unpleasant.
Jaime refused to show any obvious discomfort and finished each repetition aggressively, although Fergus could hear him breathing hard enough afterwards to know the effort had cost him.
When the eleventh run ended, McKenzie gave them barely enough time to drink before gathering everyone near halfway.
“That’s not because you lost.” A few players looked surprised.
McKenzie pointed towards the scoreboard, which remained blank.
“You’re going to lose basketball games.
If I make you run every time that happens, all I’ll teach you is to associate losing with conditioning.
You’re running because we spent Friday jogging back after turnovers, failing to communicate and allowing one mistake to become another.
That’s effort and discipline.
Both are controllable.” He looked around the group.
“St Francis were better than us.
Fine.
What I won’t accept is making their job easier.” The rest of training reflected that distinction.
McKenzie wasn’t interested in dramatic changes.
Wallace didn’t install an entirely new offence or abandon the defensive principles they had spent weeks learning.
Instead, he became obsessive about details they already knew.
A passing drill stopped because Finn delivered the ball towards Arthur’s knees rather than his chest.
An offensive sequence restarted because William cut half a second too early and compressed the space Jaime needed to drive.
Merrick was corrected for setting a screen before his feet were properly established.
Arthur received an extended explanation after dribbling one step too far towards the sideline and allowing the defence to trap him.
Even Jaime wasn’t spared.
During a half-court possession, he beat his defender, entered the lane and attempted a difficult finish over two players rather than passing towards William beneath the basket.
The ball bounced out.
McKenzie’s whistle sounded immediately.
“Again.” Jaime caught the ball as it was returned to him.
“I can make that.” “I know.” Jaime frowned.
“Then why…” “Because Campbell had a better shot.” William smiled.
“Nice to be appreciated.” “Don’t get excited.
You missed three layups earlier.” The smile disappeared.
They reset.
This time Jaime attacked the same gap, drew the second defender and dropped the basketball to William for an easy finish.
McKenzie nodded once.
“That’s basketball.
Again.” Fergus found the session strangely satisfying despite the running.
After spending the weekend thinking about the limitations of the System, McKenzie’s approach felt like another version of the same lesson.
Wallace wasn’t going to improve because somebody delivered an inspirational speech after losing to St Francis.
They had to identify where possessions were breaking down and make those moments better.
For Fergus, one particular problem emerged repeatedly.
Screens.
It wasn’t a new weakness.
He had encountered screens throughout tryouts, training and both league games, and Perimeter Pest had helped him understand how to position himself before they arrived.
Fergus was becoming reasonably good at recognising the screener early, adjusting his angle and making it harder for his assignment to use the screen exactly as intended.
The trouble began when recognition wasn’t enough.
During one defensive drill, Arthur handled the ball while Fergus guarded him.
Merrick approached from Fergus’s left to set a high screen, and Fergus saw him coming early enough to shift his feet.
Arthur noticed the adjustment.
Instead of immediately using the screen, he hesitated for a fraction of a second and allowed Merrick to become completely stationary.
Fergus tried to squeeze around.
His shoulder struck Merrick’s chest.
It felt like running into a wall.
Arthur turned the corner and entered the lane before Fergus had properly recovered.
McKenzie blew the whistle.
“Stop.” Everyone relaxed.
Fergus knew immediately that the correction was meant for him.
McKenzie walked towards the screen position and pointed at Merrick.
“What happened?” “I got caught.” “Why?” Fergus glanced towards Arthur and then Merrick.
“I saw the screen.
Thought I could get around it.” “You tried to go through Fletcher.” A couple of players laughed.
Merrick spread his arms.
“Good luck.” Fergus ignored him.
“I thought I had enough room.” “You did before the screen was set.” McKenzie positioned Fergus where he had been standing.
“That’s the part you’re getting wrong.
You’re actually seeing screens earlier than you did a few weeks ago.
Your problem is what you do once you see them.” He motioned for Merrick to reset.
“You’re skinny, Robertson.
That’s not an insult.
It’s an observation.
If Fletcher gets his feet set and you run shoulder-first into him, who’s winning?” “Merrick.” “Every time.” Merrick looked pleased with himself.
McKenzie pointed towards Arthur.
“And while you’re trying to fight through two hundred pounds of Fletcher…” “I’m not two hundred pounds.” “Nobody asked.” Arthur laughed.
McKenzie continued.
“While you’re stuck here, Reid is already turning the corner.
By the time you recover, somebody else has had to help, and we’ve started rotating.” That sequence was familiar to Fergus.
It had happened against Dalry and again against St Francis.
Sometimes his recovery speed allowed him to get back into the possession, but against a disciplined team the damage had already occurred.
William stepped towards the ball, another defender covered William’s assignment, and suddenly Wallace was reacting to passes rather than controlling the possession.
“So what should I do?” Fergus asked.
“Stop treating every screen like something you have to physically fight through.” McKenzie moved him slightly higher.
“If you recognise it early and it’s already set, your first option should be getting over it.
Beat the ball-handler towards the top shoulder and stay attached.
Don’t give him a clean route towards the middle.” Fergus looked at the position.
“Why not go underneath?” “Sometimes you will.
Depends who you’re guarding, where the screen is and what we’re trying to take away.” McKenzie pointed towards Arthur.
“But if you go underneath against someone who can shoot, what have you given him?” “Space.” “Exactly.
Reid isn’t Steph Curry, despite what he apparently believes, but I’m still not giving him an uncontested jumper because you’re frightened of a screen.” Arthur looked offended.
“I don’t think I’m Steph Curry.” William spoke from behind them.
“You compared yourself to him last week.” “I said I shoot better than you.” “That’s not what you said.” McKenzie’s whistle interrupted them.
“Can we complete one explanation without discussing the NBA?” Silence.
“Wonderful.” He turned back towards Fergus.
“You’re already doing the hardest part better.
You’re recognising the screen.
Now I want you avoiding the contact when you can rather than accepting it.
Get over the top, stay on Reid’s hip and recover.” They reset.
Arthur dribbled near the top while Merrick approached again.
This time Fergus concentrated less on the ball and more on the space around Arthur.
He heard William call the screen from behind and saw Merrick establishing position.
Instead of waiting until Arthur reached him, Fergus moved.
He stepped towards the high side of the screen and tried to slip through the narrow space before Arthur could turn the corner.
He was too aggressive.
Arthur rejected the screen entirely and drove the opposite direction.
McKenzie blew the whistle.
Arthur grinned.
“Worked perfectly.” Fergus stared at him.
“You’re annoying.” “Thank you.” McKenzie walked towards Fergus.
“Better idea, poor execution.
You committed before Reid actually used it.
Read the ball-handler as well as the screener.” “So I have to get over before the screen catches me, but not so early that he can go the other way.” “Now you’re beginning to understand why defence is difficult.” They tried again.
On the next attempt Fergus waited longer.
Arthur moved towards Merrick’s screen, and Fergus stepped over the top just as he committed to using it.
Fergus’s hip brushed Merrick, but his shoulder avoided the centre of the screen, and he emerged close enough to Arthur to remain involved.
Arthur still gained half a step.
Fergus recovered and stayed attached.
McKenzie let the possession continue.
That was enough to tell Fergus he had done it correctly.
The drill repeated from both sides, with different screeners and different ball-handlers.
Fergus’s success varied considerably.
Jaime caught him twice by changing pace before using the screen, while William’s larger frame made the available space feel much smaller when he acted as screener.
Finn was particularly difficult because McKenzie insisted Fergus go over almost every screen rather than surrendering an open jumper.
Sometimes Fergus navigated the screen cleanly.
Sometimes he clipped the screener and fell behind.
Once he mistimed his movement badly enough that Jaime entered the lane almost uncontested.
McKenzie corrected him every time.
“Don’t turn your shoulders too early.” “Stay attached.” “You’re watching the screener and losing the ball.” “Better.” “Again.” By the end of the drill, Fergus’s legs were tired enough that the movement became noticeably harder.
That, McKenzie explained, was part of the point.
Nobody cared whether Fergus could avoid a screen while fresh and expecting exactly where it would come from.
In a game, he would have to recognise it while tracking his assignment, listening to teammates, watching the ball and dealing with fatigue.
The final portion of practice involved live half-court play.
Fergus found himself matched against Finn, which meant McKenzie immediately reminded him that going underneath was not the preferred option.
Finn smiled.
“Better stay close.” “Planning to.” Merrick came towards the top.
Fergus heard Arthur, playing on his defensive team, call the screen.
Finn moved towards it.
Fergus stepped over.
For a moment his shoulder brushed Merrick’s arm, but he slipped through without absorbing the full contact and stayed close enough that Finn couldn’t comfortably rise into a jumper.
Finn continued towards the wing before passing the basketball away.
The possession continued.
No whistle.
No praise.
Fergus smiled anyway.
A few minutes later, the same action caught him completely.
Finn changed pace before using William’s screen, and Fergus reacted too late.
He collided with William, stumbled and watched Finn bury the resulting open jumper.
McKenzie didn’t need to say anything.
Fergus already knew.
That was perhaps the clearest evidence that he was improving.
Not that mistakes had disappeared, but that he increasingly understood them without requiring someone else to explain every one.
Training ended with another set of runs.
Arthur groaned when McKenzie announced them.
“No complaints this time,” McKenzie warned.
Arthur immediately closed his mouth.
The team finished exhausted.
Fergus remained bent over for several seconds after the final repetition before forcing himself upright, sweat running down his face and his shirt clinging uncomfortably to his back.
McKenzie dismissed them with a reminder that Thursday’s training would be just as detailed.
Nobody cheered.
Fergus collected his bag and headed towards the changing room with William and Arthur.
His shoulders ached from several collisions with screeners, and one side of his chest felt tender after Merrick had caught him cleanly during the drill.
Arthur noticed him rubbing it.
“Still think going over is better?” “Ask me when Merrick stops trying to kill me.” “He was standing still.” “That’s the problem.” William laughed.
“You could always get bigger.” Fergus looked down at his narrow arms.
“I’ll schedule that for tomorrow.” They separated after changing, and Fergus began walking home with McKenzie’s corrections replaying in his mind.
The weakness was frustrating because it wasn’t something he could solve merely by understanding the technique.
Fergus could learn where to step and how to position his body, but he remained small and light.
If a larger screener caught him squarely, no amount of knowledge would magically allow him to pass through another human being.
The answer was to avoid getting caught squarely.
Recognition.
Positioning.
Timing.
Going over before the screen could remove him from the possession.
Fergus had almost reached home when the familiar translucent light appeared at the edge of his vision.
He stopped walking.
A System notification expanded in front of him.
‘Mission Issued: Unlock Pick Dodger – Basic Understanding’ Fergus blinked and opened the details.
‘Mission Objective: Develop the practical foundation required to unlock Pick Dodger – Basic Understanding.’ ‘Unlock Requirements: 35/50 Screens avoided in game-like situations.’ ‘Have Perimeter Pest – Basic Understanding.’ ‘Requirement Complete.’ Fergus stared at the first number.
Thirty-five.
He was already seventy percent of the way there.
Apparently the System had been counting successful screen avoidance long before McKenzie made it a specific focus of training.
Tryouts, team scrimmages, the Dalry game, St Francis and today’s practice had all contributed.
Another section appeared beneath the requirements.
‘Time Frame: 2 weeks.’ ‘Mission Reward: One Basic Understanding skill of user’s choice.’ Fergus read the reward again.
Not random.
His choice.
For the first time since the System appeared, Fergus had been offered the opportunity to select a Grey skill as a direct mission reward rather than relying on luck or spending Hooper Coins he no longer possessed.
All he needed was fifteen more successfully avoided screens.
After an entire training session spent learning exactly how to do that, two weeks suddenly felt like plenty of time.
Fergus dismissed the notification and continued towards home, soreness forgotten beneath a growing smile.
McKenzie had identified the weakness first.
The System had merely given Fergus another reason to work on it.