The League
By Za Raapini
Legendary. That was the only word to describe this building. Mareson Square Garden, home of the New Yoke Bucks. Generations of players had entered the league from this very building, this hallowed ground of steel and concrete. As ponies walked by you could taste the history in the air, feel it with every step. This was a magical place.
This was the spot where careers began. It was time for Dunk to start his.
He entered the building with his best friend from college, Foul Line, and made his way over to the waiting area.
As he walked through he looked at all the reporters in the area, all the journalists, ponies whose livelihoods were based off others' abilities on the court. These were the ponies who would be putting Slam Dunk's legacy into words for future stars to emulate and desire, to live by. Because really, who's legacy would they be writing about instead?
He stopped to breath in the history in the making, then smiled to himself.
"You know, it's funny Foul. In twenty years, they'll mark this as the day when the league changed. They might end up having to change the rules because of me, make it harder to score," Dunk said with gushing confidence. Foul Line seemed to pause before he responded.
"Yeah bro. First you gotta get drafted though you know? Each journey begins with a single step and all that," Foul said.
"Oh come on man! Who wouldn't draft a power forward with a mean three pointer?," Dunk said. Again Foul Line seemed to pause. What was with him? He had been acting weird ever seen they had both declared for the draft.
Probably worried that he won't get picked. Pretty legit concern- all he can really do is rebound. Yeah, important, but his shooting percentages are just awful! He never puts up points like I do Dunk thought.
"Yeah, sure dude. Let's just take our seats, huh?" Foul finally said.
With that the pair walked to the main floor, and looked at all the hopefuls. With just two rounds in the draft, only sixty ponies would hear their names today. Dunk wondered how Foul would take it when he wasn't drafted. Hopefully he knew it was coming. He was a good friend, but he just lacked the style necessary to make it in the bigs.
Silence suddenly overtook the room as the EBL Commissioner, Stern Gaze, walked up to the podium. A few boos hissed here and there, and all they got in response was a smirk. He cleared his throat and began talking.
"Hello ladies and gentlecolts. Welcome to the two thousand thirty two EBL Draft. The winner of this year's lottery was the Coltcago Bulls, so they will select first."
There was a wave of cheers throughout the audience, with many side conversations erupting as to who the lucky pony might be to be the first pick in the draft. Dunk let the wave of noise wash over him, and he tuned it out. He only needed to hear two words. That was all he was waiting on.
Finally the Bulls indicated their selection to Gaze, and he walked back up to the podium. Dunk wondered what he should say when the commissioner announced his name. He had prepared a quick speech of course, but it never hurt to go over it again.
"And with the first overall pick in the two thousand and thirty two draft EBL Draft, the Coltcago Bulls select…Alley-Oop out of Cloudsdale University!" Gaze announced to the crowd.
Dunk listened to the whoops and hollers of the audience, and took it all in. He wasn't first, but it wasn't that big of a deal he guessed. Alley-Oop was phenomenal on the fast break, and the Bulls had been needing that for ages. He could deal with that.
The power forward settled back in and waited for the next name to be called. He would be selected. He was sure of it.
000
"And with the thirty first selection of this year's draft, the Marelina Bobcats select Foul Line out of the University of North Marelina!"
Hold up. Hold up. Even Foul Line got drafted ahead of him? Foul Line couldn't score! Sure, he pulled in boards really well. But he had been a sub-par shooter ever since he started playing!
The power forward tried to feel happy for his friend, but all he could feel was the cold embrace of failure. He was turning into a laughingstock. He slowly shut out the world around him and waited for this day to be over.
000
"And with the final selection of this year's draft, the Los Pegasus Lakers select Quick Shot, out of Salt Lick City College!"
That was it. His career was finished before it had even started. Nobody paid attention to undrafted players. Ever. How could this have happened? Dunk was wondering whether he would even play at all. What had gone wrong? He had played the way he had always played at the Rookie Showcase; he thought he had said all the right things.
Why had nobody selected him?
Quietly sobbing, Dunk began walking out of the building, wondering what he was going to do with his life. He had pinned everything on being selected in the first round of the draft. He felt it was only befitting a player of his stature. Now? Undrafted? Now he didn't know what was going to happen.
Walking out, he saw none other than Sure Shot, the Hall of Fame member of the draft's TV coverage, was still around, talking to ponies and seeing what they thought about the day. To maintenance ponies! What did they know about basketball? What insight could they possibly give a Hall of Famer?
Stomaching his pride, Slam Dunk walked up to the legend, determined to try to find out why he hadn't been selected today. Ignoring the annoyed looks the other ponies were giving him, he made it a point to barge in and try to talk to Sure Shot.
"Hey, what are you doing? We were having a conversation, in case you couldn't tell," Shot said.
"Why wasn't I picked today? Why did all those teams pass on me? I'm the best player in this draft!" Dunk said with anger, whole-heartedly believing every word.
"You ever think it's your attitude?" one of the maintenance ponies said to him.
"Yeah, nobody wants to draft a jerk onto their team dude. And I seen your highlights- you can't play defense to save your life," another said.
"What…what are you talking about?" Dunk said. He always played hard! Sure, he had a hard time running a zone versus pony to pony coverage, but he felt he more than made up for it on the other end of the court.
"Look- you score more naturally than anyone I've seen in a while. It's like watching your dad sometimes, the way you just control the offense. But your selfish. Your dad liked to score too, but he knew how to spread the points around, get guys on the board, and get the entire offense in a rhythm. You just try to get yours."
"But I-"
"But nothing. Not only that, you're worse than useless on defense. Whatever points you put up are erased by the other team. You easily make fifteen or twenty mistakes a half that either lead to shots from the line or outright uncontested shots. Just standing in front of your pony doesn't mean you're guarding him."
Slam Dunk fumbled for words, but nothing would come out of his mouth. He wanted to tell Sure Shot that he was wrong, but couldn't.
"The sooner you figure out that the world doesn't revolve around you and that this is a team sport the sooner you'll figure out why you didn't get drafted. Will you make it on a tryout? Probably. Should you be? That's not my call to make. But I'll tell you this. I played in the league for fifteen years. I've seen all kinds of ponies come through teams. And you are without a doubt one of the most selfish ponies I've ever had the displeasure of having to report," Shot finished.
"But," Dunk started to say.
"Not a word. Get out of here. You'll get a call from your agent if anything happens tomorrow," Shot said.
"But I wouldn't hold your breath."
He was speechless. The normally confident, all-star pony had just been crushed by a Hall of Fame EBL player. Defeated, Dunk hung his head low and exited the building, on his way back to his hotel room. He wanted to talk to his dad. His dad would know what to do right now. He would be disappointed in him for sure, but together they would come up with a plan.
He saw Foul Line waiting outside for him, and he walked up to meet his friend. Dunk hadn't seen Foul in a few hours, not since the Bobcats announced that they had picked him. Foul looked like he was happy, which Dunk guessed was a good thing. At least one of them was. They began walking back towards their hotel.
"So, I'm sorry to hear what happened today man," Foul started. Guess there was no letting this one just get brushed under the rug.
"I just don't get it man. Was I really that bad at defense? Do I really let everything but scoring slip in my game?"
Foul waited before he responded. Dunk was getting tired of all these pauses in their conversations lately. As long as he had known Foul, he had never been at a loss for words.
"It's like this man. Everyone says it, you've heard this a million times, but it's true- you have a knack for scoring. You do. You averaged what, twenty five points a game? It's ridiculous. But there's more to the game man!"
"Yeah, a lot of people say that last bit too. So why not let ponies who are better suited for the job do it?" It was a philosophy that Dunk had lived by for years now, and it had seemed to work out at all levels of play. Hell, that's what his dad had done. He had never had impressive numbers in a lot of things, and ponies called him the best player of all time!
"More often than not they do. But check it. Just because you're not the best at something, doesn't mean you don't have to do it. I'm not the best shooter, but if I can add points, I do. Because every little bit counts. It never really mattered with you, because you always had teammates that were able to pick up the slack without a lot of ponies noticing."
Dunk was the one who paused now. Had he really been that lucky the whole time he had been playing? Is that why Sure Shot had said what he did?
"So... but that doesn't make sense! There's no way that was the case! Why didn't anypony say anything?" Dunk was furious. His whole life he had been lied to? Made to be something that he wasn't?
"Nopony wanted to upset your father. You know, the legendary player with a short temper and a propensity for verbal abuse on and off the court."
Despite himself, Dunk felt a smile start to appear on his face. His father had been a legendary trash talker while he had played, and the mindset had just never left him. His father was well known for terrorizing reporters after his retirement.
"That was it? They didn't want to piss off my dad? That was the only reason nobody ever said anything to me?"
That couldn't be it. Surely his dad would want him to realize his potential. To maybe become a better player than him. To forge a brilliant new legacy.
"Well, you never really allowed anyone to say anything. I tried telling you when you first started helping me with shooting that you needed to grab more rebounds. We were the tandem, I grabbed boards and you scored points, but I couldn't get all of them. You need to pick it up man."
What was this attitude? Dunk had known Foul Line for years, dating back to youth league. He had always been his quiet backup, a pony to unload on after a frustrating game or practice. Never had he heard him say anything like this to him.
"You couldn't think to tell me this a few years back man? Maybe help me the way I helped you?"
"I tried man. We all did. But you wouldn't have any of it. You scored more points than half the team in high school, and you thought that meant you were above everyone else's opinion of what you needed to do with your game. Truth be told, I'm surprised your dad didn't mention it to you."
Now there was the biggest shocker. Why hadn't his dad told him how to fix his game? Surely this many people couldn't be wrong about what Dunk needed to improve on. At a loss for words, the conversation stalled and the two players walked the rest of the way in silence.
The time spent reflecting on what had happened that day hadn't helped, and now Dunk was faced with the daunting prospect of calling his father to talk about what had happened.
Arriving at the hotel, Dunk went up to his room and shut the door. Trembling, he picked up his room's phone to make a phone call he thought would never happen.
"Dad, hey, it's me. Don't know if you were watching today… yeah. Yeah. Um… I didn't get drafted."
There was no response for a while. Dunk was beginning to wonder if his father was on the other end when he heard him begin talking.
"Well, you had to have known this was coming. Sure Shot just got done talking to me. Apparently you and him had words."
Of course Sure Shot had talked to his dad. He had been the three-point anchor for his dad's championship teams. How could he have possibly forgotten about that? Dunk swallowed and tried to salvage the conversation.
"Yes sir. He told me I couldn't play defense and that I was selfish on the court. I tried to explain myself but I couldn't get a word in."
"He's right. Look son, I've been trying to tell you this for years now. You're a great scorer- hell, you're probably better than me. But you gotta play both sides of the ball. You can't just try to put up points and then expect everyone else to do the work. I knew that you would never listen to me about this, and I knew you weren't going in the draft. I wanted you to learn this for yourself. Witness it firsthand."
Each word stung as he heard them. His own father had left him out to dry like that. But why?
"But dad, why would you do that? Why would you just let that happen to me? I wanted to play in the big leagues, just like you! Why can't I do that, huh?"
"You better calm the buck down there boy-o, lest you find my hoof upside your face. Do you even talk to your agent? Stupid question, because he talks to me instead. He told me that he was informed by the Kickers that they're willing to let you try out for them next week."
The Kickers? Perennial losers 'The Kickers'? The same Kickers that hadn't made the playoffs in almost fifteen years? Not playing was almost certainly better than that.
"The Kickers? I don't wanna play for them though!"
"I'm sorry, I could have sworn the pony I was talking to said he wanted to play in the big leagues. The Kickers are in the damn big leagues! They're the only team willing to give you a shot; every other team passed on you because you're selfish and arrogant, and whining about not wanting to play for them is not going to help your situation!"
Slam Dunk didn't respond for a moment. He hadn't heard his father get this angry with him in years. He decided to end the call and brood in silence.
"Yes sir."
With that the conversation was over. Dunk had never liked talking to his dad, and this time was certainly no different.
He felt a sudden ache in his body as the events of the day caught up with him. He had spent hours waiting on the floor, waiting for his name to be called, waiting to show the world that he was ready for the big time. All of it was for nothing.
He laid down in his bed, and wondered what the future would hold.
A/N: Alright, trying something new here. Been on a basketball kick, and this wouldn't leave my head. Let me know what you guys think. Currently working on getting a commission set up for some good cover art. Something all bad-ass and cool. I dunno. If you know anyone who's pretty good at art things, has reasonably good turnaround time, and has good rates (I will fairly compensate someone for their time and effort; just know that cash is not something I have an unlimited amount of; I would probably have more if I didn't play tabletop games) feel free to name-drop the shit out of them in either comments section or drop me a line via PM. This is Za Raapini saying, 'stay classy.' Good night and good luck.