Young Brandon heaves a heavy orange ball that’s bigger than his torso. His stringy arms bend in and spring out. All of his might exerts and he falls forward onto his knees—the kind of fall that would bust any grown man’s knee caps, but barely scathes the light bodied youngster. Brandon looks up. The heavy orange ball catches the rim, lolling in a state of indecisive physics, then falls back to the ground. The impact on the pavement sounds like a mocking percussion to Brandon, meant to pound in failure through his ears. His father admires him from behind the screen door as he picks up the ball and tries again.

Years later…
Brandon’s dad sits on the back steps, pensive.

A memory flashes, The ball floats two feet above the rim. Brandon catches it at the apex and drops his arms down like sledge hammers.

“Crrraaaaaack,â€? thunder rips the sky.

Dad scans the backyard—littered with bent rims and broken hoops. He touches his shirt pocket with Brandon’s acceptance letter from USC neatly folded inside.