March 20, 2014
The video room at the Joe Craft Center had a capacity for twenty people, and on that Thursday morning, it was filled with twelve.
The tournament began the very next day, and every person who walked into that room that morning knew it.
The players entered two by two between 10:15 and 10:20, some with coffee in hand, others with backpacks still slung over their shoulders on their way back from breakfast. The reclining chairs were arranged in two rows facing the main screen. The projection system was powered on, displaying the NCAA logo against a blue background, and on the side table sat a pot of coffee and paper cups left by a staff member before they arrived.
Julius walked in with Aaron Harrison, and when he saw Aaron sitting in the second row with his arms crossed and an expression completely different from recent days, he stopped halfway down the aisle between the chairs.
"What happened to you?" Julius said.
Aaron looked at him without saying a word.
"Nothing."
"You look like someone who actually slept."
"I slept well," Aaron said.
Julius stared at him for a moment longer than necessary. Aaron Harrison, who had walked in behind him, also looked at Aaron, then at Julius, then back at Aaron again.
"Where were you last night?" Julius said.
"Here."
"When I woke up this morning, you weren't here."
"I went for a run."
"You're not the type to go for a run at seven in the morning the day before the first game of March Madness."
"Today I am."
Julius evaluated him for another second.
Then he sat down in the chair next to Aaron's.
He studied him with the focus of someone gathering information from multiple sources and verifying that every piece pointed in the same direction.
"Looks like things went well for you," Julius said finally. He already had his conclusion. He didn't need confirmation.
Aaron didn't respond.
However, he couldn't stop his smile from widening just a bit.
Julius let out something between a laugh and a gesture of approval.
He shook his head slowly.
"There it is," he said.
Andrew Harrison entered at that moment with James right behind him, both carrying the energy of people who had just finished breakfast and had the film session as their first obligation of the day. When the two saw Aaron's expression, a single glance between them was enough.
"Good evening," Andrew said with a smile he didn't bother to hide.
"Good morning," Aaron said.
"Whatever."
The door at the back of the room opened before the conversation could proceed any further, and Calipari entered followed by Orlando Antigua, who carried a laptop under his arm and a folder containing the scouting reports he had prepared over the last two days. The players still standing found their seats within the next ten seconds.
Calipari stood in front of the screen without taking a seat.
Antigua connected the laptop to the projection system, and the NCAA logo image disappeared, replaced by the Kansas State Wildcats logo over a gray background.
"Kansas State," Calipari said. He left the name hanging in the air for a moment before continuing. "Ranked eleventh nationally. 24 wins and 9 losses in the regular season. A team that didn't reach this point by accident, and they have two players who, if we let them do what they know how to do, will make this game much harder than any favorite projection suggests."
Antigua pressed a key.
On the screen appeared the player profile for Marcus Foster. Eighteen years old. Point guard. Six-foot-one. Averaging sixteen points per game in the regular season.
"Marcus Foster," Calipari said. "Eighteen years old. Point guard. The youngest of their starting lineup and the most dangerous from the perimeter. 42% from three-point range this season and capable of creating his own shot whenever the defense gives him an inch of space. The key with Foster isn't just trapping him. It's not letting him find a rhythm. When Foster gets into a rhythm, he shoots. When he faces pressure, he looks for the open man. And looking for the open man when you're well-positioned to shoot is what makes a player genuinely difficult to defend."
"Who's covering him?" Aaron Harrison asked.
"You," Calipari said without hesitation. "And Andrew when you need rest. I want pressure from the moment he crosses half-court. Don't give him a single comfortable yard of space."
Both brothers nodded in unison.
Antigua changed the image.
Thomas Gipson appeared on the screen. 21 years old. Power forward. Six-foot-nine. The most experienced player on the Kansas State squad, with four years in the program.
"Thomas Gipson," Calipari said. "21 years old. Power forward. This is the main issue. 3 years in the Kansas State system, 3 tournament appearances. A post game that has been refined over several years and is currently one of the most complete in college basketball. He averages 14 points and 9 rebounds. Those numbers are correct, but they leave out the important part, which is how he controls the tempo of the entire game when he gets the ball in the low post and the defender in front of him isn't on his level."
He paused while Antigua pulled up a video clip on the screen from Kansas State's game against Baylor three weeks prior.
Gipson receiving the ball on the low block with the defender on his back. Fake right. Pivot left. Short hook shot with the right hand.
Swish.
"Reed," Calipari said.
Aaron raised his eyes.
"He's yours. All game long. If Gipson catches the ball near the rim with anyone other than you on him, it's a problem."
"Understood," Aaron said.
The session continued for another forty minutes. Antigua cycled through clips while Calipari broke down Kansas State's defensive rotations and how to crack them, the opposing team's offensive sets over their last five games, the moments they tended to commit turnovers under pressure, and the instances when their defense intensified, requiring careful care of their own possessions.
He spoke about transition play. Kansas State pushed the ball rapidly on the fast break whenever they forced a turnover anywhere on the court, with Foster acting as the primary ball-handler in most cases and two players cutting down the wings to create three-on-two opportunities. He discussed the high screens the team systematically used to free up their perimeter shooters before the opposing defense could recover position. And he addressed their defensive intensity in the final five minutes of close games, where Kansas State had demonstrated the grit needed all season long to compete when the scoreboard was against them.
"Questions?" Calipari said as Antigua shut the laptop.
A moment of silence followed.
Julius raised his hand.
"What if Foster gets hot from three?"
"We switch defensive matchups. Antigua, show them rotation B."
Antigua reopened the laptop and displayed a diagram on the screen. He explained rotation B in thirty seconds. The players followed along in silence.
"Any more questions?"
Nobody spoke.
Nobody raised a hand.
"Good," Calipari said. "This afternoon you're off until five. At five, I want everyone at the Joe Craft with your bags completely packed, not half-packed." He paused. "The flight to St. Louis leaves at seven-thirty. When we reach the hotel, it's straight to rest. Tomorrow is game day, and this team is going to show up to that game rested and prepared."
Another shorter pause. "Get some rest during this break. Eat well. And be there at five."
The players began moving toward the exit.
It was the movement of a group that had received clear instructions and had only a few hours to complete their part, which in this case was to exist in a relaxed state for a limited window of time before something began that admitted no relaxation.
Aaron and Julius were the last to walk out.
Antigua was already disconnecting the laptop when they crossed the doorway.
The hallway was empty.
The hallway of the Joe Craft Center was quiet at that hour except for a staff member who passed toward the gym without stopping. Aaron and Julius walked toward the dorm building with their hands in their pockets. The mid-March air in Lexington still held a chill—the kind of cold that isn't severe, but serves as a reminder that winter hasn't fully ended even if the calendar says it should have.
Neither spoke for the first minute.
The campus at that hour carried the usual flow of a Thursday morning. Students with backpacks. A group of three people near the courtyard fountain. A cyclist.
Aaron and Julius passed through the middle of it all without anyone recognizing them yet.
Nobody stopped them. Nobody asked anything. It wasn't time yet.
That would change tomorrow.
When the tournament started and the game result circulated across campus before the afternoon came to a close.
But that was tomorrow.
Today was this: two players walking back to their dorm room in silence, hands in pockets, with the crisp March air hitting their faces.
"Gipson's going to be a problem," Julius said finally.
"I know."
"3 years of experience playing at Kansas. More actual post experience than any interior player we've faced all season."
"I know."
"You ready?"
Aaron glanced sideways at him.
"Yeah," Aaron said.
Without hesitation.
Julius nodded.
That was enough.
They kept walking.
They reached their room.
Their suitcases were half-packed from the night before, when they had pulled out clothes and gear, leaving them in piles on the beds without finishing the job. Aaron picked up his and started folding his shirts with his usual order: uniform on top for easy access, practice gear underneath, personal items in the side pocket with his phone charger first.
Julius worked in silence from the other side of the room.
The only sound was the zipping of bags and the folding of clothes.
And the muffled noise of campus drifting in through the window.
They remained like that for several minutes, each occupied with his bag and his thoughts, until Julius paused with a pair of shoes in his hand and looked around the room with an expression Aaron didn't immediately recognize.
"What?" Aaron said without looking up from his suitcase.
"Nothing." Julius looked at the desk, the photos on the wall, the mini-fridge in the corner, the two beds separated by the five-foot space they had negotiated back in September when they first arrived. "It's just..." he paused. "This might be the last time we're in this room."
Aaron kept folding shirts without answering.
"Why do you say that?" Aaron asked without taking his eyes off his bag.
"Because after the tournament comes the draft." Julius set the shoes on the bed. "And after the draft, we're both going to be in different places. Or at least, that's what we're both hoping for."
Aaron set the shirts down on the bed.
He stopped.
He looked around the room.
The photos on the wall that they had put up during the first days of September and that no one had taken down since. The Jazz poster Julius had hung on the first day of the academic year, which he had threatened to take down multiple times without ever actually doing so. The mark on the window frame where Aaron had pushed the edge of his bed when they tried reorganizing the room in October, only to give up after ten minutes because the alternative setup was worse than the original.
"The draft," Aaron said after a moment. It wasn't a question. It was simply the name of what was just around the corner.
"June," Julius said. "Decisions get made before then. But the draft is in June."
"I know."
A silence followed.
It wasn't uncomfortable, but it carried weight.
"We might end up rivals," Julius said. "Next time we see each other on a professional court, we might be on different teams. I might have to guard you. You might have to guard me."
Aaron kept looking at his suitcase for a moment without speaking.
"Or maybe not," Aaron said without raising his eyes from his bag.
"Or maybe not," Julius admitted. "But maybe we will. And if we do, let's make sure it's a good game."
Aaron finished closing the side zipper of his suitcase.
Then he looked at Julius.
Julius zipped his bag shut.
Then he extended his fist.
Aaron bumped it.
He said nothing.
It wasn't necessary yet.
Nothing else needed to be said.
It was the kind of moment that grows larger with words and stays more honest without them.
Two players who had shared a room, a court, and an undefeated season, right on the verge of entering the biggest tournament in college basketball, and who in the coming months were going to go their separate ways to build whatever came next, each in his own spot.
Julius turned back to his bag.
Aaron did as well.
The sound of zippers was all that remained for a while.
Nobody put on music.
Nobody turned on the TV.
The room stayed the same.
For a few more hours.
And that, too, was enough.
At five o'clock they would be at the Joe Craft with their bags packed.
The tournament was waiting for them.
St. Louis first.
And after St. Louis, whatever came next.
Whether together or apart.
But that was after everything that had to come first.
Right now, they had bags to finish.
And that was enough.
For now.
Authors thought
What did you think of today's chapter? Give me your opinions and thoughts.
For football fans, check out my other fanfic, *The Golden Standard*, and discover the story of Wyatt Sterling.
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