The alarm went off at 4:00 AM, but I was already awake. Been getting up at this time for ten days now, ever since I started following Kobe's routine. Six hours a day, six days a week, six months a year - just like the Black Mamba used to do.
I rolled out of bed quietly, not wanting to wake my mom. Grabbed my gear and headed out into the Chicago morning. The streets were empty except for a few delivery trucks and people heading to early shifts. This was my time - when the world was quiet and I could focus on becoming the player I used to be.
First stop: the track at the local park. Two hours of track work - sprints, jogging, interval training just like Kobe used to do. 100-yard sprints, 200-yard jogs, 400-yard walks. My legs burned after the first set, but I pushed through. Kobe didn't get comfortable, so neither would I.
Sprint, jog, walk. Sprint, jog, walk.
The routine was becoming automatic now. Ten days ago, I could barely finish half the workout without feeling like I was gonna throw up. Now some of my conditioning was coming back, my lungs weren't burning as much, and I was actually enjoying the grind.
After track work came the real test - basketball. I'd found this outdoor court about ten minutes from the house where dudes played pickup games all day. But at 6:30 AM, it was just me and the rim.
Seven hundred shots minimum. That was Kobe's daily routine - between 700 and 1000 shots every single day. Five spots around the court, making at least ten from each spot before moving on. Mid-range first, then three-pointers. Post moves, turnarounds, everything.
Swish. Clang. Swish. Swish. Clang.
The rhythm was coming back. Ten days ago, I was making maybe five out of every ten shots. Now I was hitting seven, sometimes eight. My form was getting more consistent, my follow-through was cleaner, and the ball was coming off my fingers with better rotation.
But the biggest difference was my handles. Twenty minutes of pure dribbling work every morning. No shooting, just ball handling. Eyes up, ball low, switching hands every few seconds. Right hand, left hand, between the legs, behind the back. The same moves that used to embarrass defenders in high school.
I'd always been ambidextrous - could dribble, shoot, and finish with either hand since I was little. Back in the day, coaches used to call me "Baby Kyrie" because of how I could make the ball dance. Left hand crossover, right hand behind the back, spinning the ball around defenders like they were cones.
Bounce, bounce, switch. Bounce, bounce, crossover.
The moves were starting to feel automatic again. That connection between my hands and the ball was coming back, like riding a bike after being away for too long.
By 8:30, I was drenched in sweat but felt alive. This was what I'd been missing - the burn in my legs, the ache in my shoulders, the satisfaction of making difficult shots look easy.
But I wasn't done yet.
The third part of Kobe's routine was weights, but I couldn't afford a gym membership yet. So I improvised. Push-ups, pull-ups on the playground equipment, sprints up the stairs at school. Bodyweight stuff that would keep me strong until Coach Holloway let me back into the real weight room.
By 10 AM, I was finally done. Six hours of work before most people even had their first cup of coffee. I felt tired but accomplished, like I'd already won the day before it really started.
Walking home, I thought about the conversation I'd had with Coach Holloway ten days ago. How he'd given me a chance to earn my way back onto the team. How he'd said he needed to see consistency, dedication, proof that I'd really changed.
Well, here was his proof. Ten days of 4 AM wake-ups, six hours of training, no weed, no parties, no bullshit. Just me, the court, and the grind.
But today was different. Today I was gonna test myself against real competition for the first time since getting kicked off the team.
I'd heard through Marcus that some of the best players from around the city were running pickup games at Jackson Park this afternoon. Varsity players from Lincoln Park, Simeon, Young, even some dudes who'd graduated and were playing junior college ball.
Real competition. The kind of games where reputation mattered, where you had to earn respect with your play instead of your mouth.
Ten days ago, I wouldn't have had the confidence to show up. But ten days of Mamba Mentality had me feeling different. Sharper. Hungrier.
Time to see if all this work was paying off.
The court at Jackson Park was buzzing by the time I showed up at 2 PM. About twenty-five guys were there, stretching and shooting around. I recognized most of them - all varsity players from schools around the city, plus a few older cats who still had serious game.
Josiah Johnson from Simeon was there, the top point guard in the state with offers from Duke and Kentucky. Kevin Williams from Young, a 6'8" forward who'd already committed to DePaul. And in the corner, shooting threes like they were layups, was Tony Martinez from Lincoln Park - the same dude who'd torched us for 30 points last season.
When I walked onto the court, conversations slowed down. People noticed.
"Yo, that's Dre from Roosevelt," I heard someone say. "Heard he got kicked off the team for smoking."
"That boy used to be nice though. Before he started fucking around."
"Keyword: used to be," Tony called out loud enough for everyone to hear. "Now he's just another waste of talent who chose weed over winning."
A few dudes laughed at that comment. I felt my face get hot, but I kept walking toward an empty basket to warm up.
"Damn, Tony," someone said. "You ain't got to do him like that."
"Nah, I'm just keeping it real," Tony said, still shooting. "This dude had everything - talent, opportunity, coaches who believed in him. And he threw it all away to get high with his boys, and become a gang member. That's facts."
I started with some simple shots close to the rim, trying to ignore the conversations around me. The ball felt good coming off my fingers. The release was smooth, natural.
Swish. Swish. Swish.
"Oh, he still got a little something," someone said mockingly. "Those are layups though."
I stepped back to the three-point line and let one fly without hesitation.
Swish.
"Okay, okay," Tony said, clapping sarcastically. "Practice shots. Let's see what happens when somebody's actually guarding you and there's pressure."
Josiah Johnson walked over, spinning a ball on his finger. Dude was about 6'2", quick as hell, with that confident swagger that came from being heavily recruited.
"Dre, right? Heard you been putting in work lately. You trying to run today?"
"That's why I'm here."
"Good. We been needing another guard who can actually play." He paused, looking me up and down. "Or at least used to play."
A skinny kid named Marcus from King High started picking teams for the first game. "I got Josiah," he called out first.
"I'll take Tony," said another captain.
The picks went back and forth. I was chosen fourth, which was probably generous considering my recent reputation. Some dudes were picked before me who I knew I was better than, but I understood. I had to earn my respect back.
"Don't worry, Dre," said my teammate Carlos, a big center from Crane who was built like a truck. "We know you still got it. These fools just forgot how you used to cook people."
"We about to remind them why they forgot," Tony laughed from the other team. "This dude been getting high for three months straight. Probably can't even run full court without getting winded."
"We'll see about that," I said, finally speaking up.
"Oh, he talks!" Tony said, getting louder. "Y'all hear that? The ghost got a voice! What happened, Dre? You finally sober enough to remember how to play basketball?"
The games were five-on-five, winner stays on. My team was running first against Tony's squad. We had some solid players but nobody special. They had Tony, a quick guard from Crane, and three other varsity starters.
On paper, we were supposed to get smoked.
"Yo, Dre," Josiah called out as both teams lined up. "Hope you stretched, bro. I heard Tony been waiting months to cook you in front of everybody."
"Man, I been ready for this," Tony said, dribbling between his legs. "About to show everybody why some people make it and some people don't."
The game started physical from the jump. These dudes weren't playing around - this was serious basketball, the kind where every possession mattered and every mistake got punished.
Tony brought the ball up court first, already talking trash. "Y'all ready to get schooled? Especially you, Dre. Hope you remember how to play defense, cause I'm about to give you problems."
He tried to blow by me with a quick first step, but days of sprint work had my lateral movement returning. I slid with him, keeping my body between him and the rim.
"Damn, you actually stayed in front of me," Tony said, sounding surprised. "Let's see if you can do it again."
He pulled up for a mid-range jumper.
Clang.
"Locked up!" Carlos yelled from under the basket as he grabbed the rebound.
I pushed the ball up court in transition. The defender was sagging off me, probably expecting me to pass like I always used to do. Tony was talking from the sideline.
"Don't let him shoot! He can't make nothing under pressure no more!"
Instead of passing, I took three quick dribbles and pulled up from three.
Swish.
"OH SHIT!" somebody yelled from the sideline. "Dre got his shot back!"
"Lucky shot," Tony said, but his voice had less confidence now.
"That's one," I said, jogging back on defense.
The next few possessions were feeling-out time. Both teams trading baskets, testing each other's weaknesses. I was being conservative, just trying to get comfortable with the pace and physicality.
But then Tony started really going at me.
"Yo, pass me the ball," he called to his point guard. "I want to see if this fool can really guard somebody who ain't high."
Tony posted me up on the left block, trying to use his size advantage. Dude was about 6'4", probably had 20 pounds on me.
"You feel that?" he said, backing me down hard. "That's what real players feel like. Not like them weak-ass dudes you been practicing against by yourself at 6 in the morning."
But I'd been working on my core strength every day, doing hundreds of sit-ups and planks every morning. When he backed into me, I held my ground better than he expected.
"Damn, you got a little stronger," he admitted, sounding frustrated. "Still ain't gonna help you though."
He spun left toward the rim, but I stayed with him, keeping my arms straight up to avoid the foul. He forced up a difficult shot over my outstretched hand.
Miss.
"Ball don't lie!" Carlos shouted, grabbing the rebound.
"Yo, what the fuck was that?" Tony yelled at himself. "I'm supposed to score on this dude easy!"
"Maybe you ain't as good as you think," I said under my breath.
"What you say?" Tony got in my face.
"You heard me."
"Oh, now you feeling yourself cause you played one possession of defense?"
On the other end, I brought the ball up court myself. Tony was playing off me, still daring me to shoot.
"Shoot it, Dre!" he called out mockingly. "Show these people what three months of smoking did to your shot!"
I called for a screen from Carlos instead. He set a solid pick at the top of the key, and as Tony fought through it, I used the separation to attack the rim.
The help defender stepped up, but I was ready for it. Instead of forcing the shot, I threw a soft floater over his outstretched hands.
Swish.
"Baby Kyrie with the touch!" Carlos yelled, running back on defense.
"Y'all see that shit?" one of the sideline guys called out. "Dre still got handles and vision!"
Tony was getting frustrated now. "That's just lucky bullshit! Let's see him do it again!"
But I was feeling it now. The moves were coming back natural, my conditioning was holding up, and my confidence was building with every possession.
The game intensified. Tony's point guard was getting frustrated that he couldn't blow by our defense, so he started calling for more screens and picks.
"Set a screen, man! These dudes are playing actual defense!"
With the score 8-7 in our favor, I found myself isolated against a skinny guard from King who thought he could press me full court.
"I heard you can't handle pressure no more," he said, getting up in my face. "Heard you crack under stress now. That's why you got kicked off your own team."
Bad idea bringing up personal shit.
I let him get close, then hit him with an in-and-out crossover that had him leaning the wrong way.
"OHHHHH!" the crowd erupted.
As he tried to recover, I crossed back between my legs and exploded past him.
"Ankles!" someone yelled from the sideline.
The center rotated over to help, but I was ready. Instead of going up strong, I used a euro step to glide around him, finishing with a high-pickup layup off the glass with my left hand.
"NASTY!" Carlos yelled, pointing at me. "Where that come from?"
"That shit easy!" I called out, feeling myself getting hyped for the first time in months.
Tony was heated now. "Y'all acting like that was some special shit! That's basic moves that any varsity player should be able to do!"
"Then guard it pussy," I said, looking right at him.
"OOOOOOH!" the crowd reacted to that exchange.
"Oh, now you feeling yourself?" Tony said, walking toward me. "Alright bet. Let's see how you handle me when I stop playing around."
Tony demanded the ball from his teammate. "Give me the rock. I'm about to show this fool what happens when you talk shit to them real ones."
This time when he posted me up, he was more aggressive, using his shoulder to bump me as he backed down.
"You had your little moment, Dre. But this is where reality hits. I'm about to remind everybody why you ain't on your team no more."
But I wasn't backing down. I bumped back, letting him know I wasn't going anywhere.
"Damn, you really been hitting the gym," Tony said, sounding surprised. "But you still soft mentally. That's why you chose drugs over basketball."
He tried a quick spin move to his right, but I anticipated it and slid my feet to stay in front.
"What the fuck?" Tony said, frustrated. "How you reading my moves?"
"I been studying film while you was probably getting drunk at parties," I said.
"Oh, this dude thinks he's Kobe now!" Tony yelled, forcing up a tough shot. "Mr. Mamba Mentality over here!"
Clang.
"Ball don't lie!" Carlos shouted, grabbing the rebound. "Dre got you shook, Tony!"
"Ain't nobody shook!" Tony protested to his teammates. "That's just a bad shot!"
"Keep telling yourself that," I said, getting back on offense.
Now it was my turn to be aggressive. I took the ball up court slow, letting the defense get set. Tony was guarding me tight now, trying to make up for getting embarrassed on the other end.
"Come on then," he said, pressing up close. "Show me what all that practice been for. Let's see if you really changed or if you still the same quitter."
At the top of the key, I gave him a little hesitation move - just a slight pause and shoulder fake to the right. He bit on it, shifting his weight.
"Got you leaning," I said with a smirk.
That's all I needed. I crossed over hard to my left, then immediately hit him with a behind-the-back snatch back to my right side. The move was so quick and smooth that Tony's feet got tangled up and he stumbled backward.
"OHHHHHHH!" the whole court erupted. "HE GOT CROSSED!"
"SIT DOWN!" Carlos yelled, pointing at Tony who was trying to regain his balance.
With a clear lane to the basket, I drove hard. The center came over to help, but this time I was feeling good.
"Don't go up soft!" Tony yelled from behind me, trying to recover.
I went up like I was going for a regular layup, then at the last second, pump-faked to get the center in the air.
As he flew by, I came back down and went up again with an up-and-under move, finishing with a soft touch around his outstretched arm.
Swish.
The whole court erupted. Even some of the guys on the other team were shaking their heads in appreciation.
"YO, WHERE YOU BEEN HIDING THAT SHIT?" Josiah yelled from the sideline, actually smiling despite watching his boy get cooked.
"That was filthy!" someone called out.
"Just been working," I said, trying to stay cool, but inside I was hyped as hell.
Tony was getting up, brushing dirt off his shorts. "Y'all acting like that was something special. I just slipped on some dust or some shit."
"Slipped?" Carlos laughed. "Bro, you got crossed so hard you probably need GPS to find your way back to the court!"
"Man, fuck y'all," Tony said, but I could see he was rattled.
The momentum had completely shifted. My teammates were getting hyped, making extra passes and playing harder defense. The other team was starting to force shots, trying to match the energy but losing their rhythm.
Josiah tried to take over for Tony's team, calling for an isolation play. "Y'all move out the way. Let me see what this comeback story really about."
I welcomed it.
He sized me up at the top of the key, dribbling between his legs and talking.
"You been playing good, Dre, I'll give you that. But you ain't guard me yet, bro. I'm different. I got D1 offers for a reason."
"Show me," I said, getting low in my stance.
He attacked my left shoulder with a quick first step, but I stayed low and slid with him. When he tried to cut back to his right, I was there waiting.
"Damn, you really been working on your defense," he said, picking up his dribble.
Now he was trapped. Desperately, he tried to pass out of it, but I read his eyes and got a hand on the ball.
Steal.
"LET'S GO, DRE!" Carlos shouted.
I pushed the ball up court in transition. Only one defender back, backpedaling and trying to slow me down.
"Don't let him score!" Tony yelled from behind, trying to catch up.
At the three-point line, I hit the defender with a quick between-the-legs crossover, then immediately stepped back to create space. He lunged forward, trying to contest, but I was already rising up.
"THAT'S WET!" I called out as the shot left my hands.
Swish.
The step-back three felt perfect.
12-7.
"Damn, Dre!" Carlos dapped me up. "You playing different, bro. You moving like you got something to prove."
"Cause I do," I said.
"This fool really been putting in work," one of my other teammates said. "Ten days ago, people was saying you was washed."
"Ten days ago, they might've been right," I admitted. "But that's why we grind."
From the other side, I could hear Tony getting heated with his teammates.
"Y'all letting this dude cook us! He ain't even been playing organized ball! We supposed to be the best players in the city!"
"Chill, Tony," Josiah said. "He's playing good, but it's still early. We got this."
"Nah, fuck that," Tony said loud enough for everyone to hear. "This dude think he Kobe or something cause he been waking up early and watching YouTube videos. Watch me show him what real hooping look like."
When play resumed, they made adjustments. They started double-teaming me whenever I touched the ball, trying to force me to give it up.
"Two on the ball!" Josiah called out every time I got it.
But days of working on my handles had my confidence up, after all no one had a handle like me. When two defenders came at me, I stayed calm and made the right play.
One possession, they sent the double team as soon as I crossed half court. Instead of panicking, I used a quick spin move to split them, then found Carlos rolling to the basket for an easy dunk.
"Preciate the dime!" Carlos yelled, hanging on the rim.
The game got more intense. Tony was getting frustrated, bumping me on screens and talking more trash.
"You think you nice, but this just one game against some high school kids," he said during a break in play.
"I'm hearing a lot of talking and not much playing," I shot back
With the score 13-10 in our favor, Tony finally got a good look at a three. The ball rattled around the rim before dropping through.
Swish.
13-13.
"NOW WE GOT A GAME!" he yelled, running back on defense with his arms spread wide. "Y'all thought it was over? It ain't over!"
The next possession was crucial. I brought the ball up slowly, letting them get set.
I made my move. Started with a hard jab step to my right, selling like I was going to drive. The defender shifted his weight.
Then I stepped back, creating separation, and rose up for a fadeaway jumper from about fifteen feet out.
Swish.
15-13. Game point.
"GAME POINT!" Carlos yelled. "One more stop!"
Tony was heated. "Y'all really about to let this dude beat us? Give me the ball. I'm ending this shit right now."
On the final possession, Tony demanded the ball and tried to face me up. He backed me down, trying to get to an easier shot, but I'd learned from watching Kyrie how to defend bigger players.
As he went up for his turnaround jumper, I timed my contest perfectly, getting a hand up without fouling.
CLANG.
The ball hit the front rim hard.
"THAT'S GAME!" I shouted.
We'd won 15-13. The court erupted. My teammates were dapping me up, and even some of the guys watching were showing love.
"YO, DRE REALLY BACK!" someone called out.
Tony was frustrated, arguing about calls. "This is some bullshit. We should've won that easy."
As we shook hands, Tony gave me a grudging look. "You played alright," he said quietly.
Josiah was more genuine. "Yo, Dre, whatever you been doing these days, keep doing it. You look different out there. More focused."
"Appreciate it, bro."
"For real though, you been watching film?"
"Every day. Kyrie, CP3, studying how they move and read defenses."
"It shows. Your defense was crazy today."
As I walked off the court, I felt better than I had in months.
But I knew this was just the beginning. One good game didn't erase three months of mistakes. I had to keep proving myself, keep working, keep earning my way back.
Coach Holloway wanted to see consistency? I'd show him consistency. Every single day.
I was ready to be great.