The League
By Za Raapini
Legendary. That was the only word to describe this place. 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. It was in this building that Trot Chamberlain had scored one hundred points in a single game. It was in this building that Losino Bird had made his legendary steal to propel the Celtics to the EBL Finals. History and era-defining moments were made here, and Slam Dunk knew every single one by heart.
It was the most famous arena in the world’s most famous city. From the imposing welcome sign above all the doors that loudly proclaimed, Welcome to Mareson Square Garden, to the statues of the athletes that had made their living playing in fronts of the crowds of ponies here, to the impressive size of the place, it was a building that forced its way into the memories of everypony who saw it.
It was the building where careers began, and it was time for Dunk to start his. This was the first step for his dream, to follow in his father's footsteps. To become legendary. To carry on the legacy built by Air Jam.
He could see it now. Thousands of ponies cheering his name, chanting when he made big plays, giving him thunderous ovations when he drove the lane for a powerful jam. That was his goal.
The white coated, red-maned stallion calmly entered the building, his eyes aglow with the moment, his mind lost in his dreams of glory, his normally unkempt mane smoothed out. Beside him, looking classy as ever, was his best friend, Foul Line. The bulky black stallion sidled up alongside Dunk as they walked through the double doors into the arena.
As he walked through, he looked at all the reporters and journalists in the area, ponies whose livelihoods were based off others' athletic abilities. He heard all the arguments going on, where which pony would go in the draft and why. He heard shouts being made and jokes being told. He saw ponies pulling out their notepads and readying their cameras.
He stopped to breathe in the history in the making, then smiled to himself. This was the deepest draft in years. Almost half of the players that had declared came from Elite Eight teams. Dunk had played for the winners.
“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 a grin.
“Man, you ain’t even been drafted yet!” Foul said.
“Oh come on man! Who wouldn't draft a power forward with a mean three-pointer?” Dunk asked.
“‘Mean three-pointer.’ Yeah, when you getting open looks! Even I can sink a three when I got an open look!” Foul Line said.
“Just because a pony doesn't want to challenge me outside the arc doesn't mean you get to rag on my shot Foul,” Dunk said.
“Man, I’ll rag on whatever I want to, whenever I want to,” Foul said.
“How’s your perimeter shot by the way?” Dunk asked as they squeezed through the crowd.
“Man, you know I don’t like to talk about that. We can’t all just do a fadeaway or fall down and watch the shot go in. I like to pull in boards. Something that you can’t seem to bring yourself to do,” Foul said.
“Hey man, you try shoving ponies out of the way, trying to grab them. I’m not above effort, but they’re all built like you! You could’ve put shipping companies out of business with how strong you are!” Dunk said.
“Ain’t that hard man, you just gotta worm your way in there. You a power forward though dude! Use that ‘power’ and you’ll be fine!” Foul said.
“I do emphasize that ‘power’. When I throw down in a pony’s face after driving the lane, that is,” Dunk said.
“That’s just it man! There’s more to basketball than three’s or jams! They’re fun, and they score points, but you gotta pull in the boards dude! You gotta play hard defense! That’s what makes you a complete player,” Foul said as they found their seats in the waiting area.
“All that comes in time man. ‘Sides, as long as other ponies do their jobs, I can let it slide occasionally, you know?” Dunk said as he sat down next to Foul.
“Nah, bro. You don’t know. You gotta figure it out. Other ponies been pulling your weight for way too long,” Foul said.
“Yeah, and it was me pulling their weight on the other end of the court,” Dunk said.
“That can only get you so far man. Yo, commish is heading up. Let’s can it,” Foul said.
Silence suddenly overtook the room as the EBL Commissioner, Stern Gaze, walked up to the podium, and the crowd hushed. A few boos echoed here and there. Stern Gaze merely smirked. He cleared his throat and began talking.
“Welcome, mares and gentlecolts, to the Equestrian Basketball League's 2032 Entry 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, soaked it in, and then turned his attention to representatives at the table. He was waiting on two words, nothing more: ‘Slam Dunk’.
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 2032 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 he shrugged it off and kept watching. Alley-Oop was phenomenal on the fast break, and the Bulls had been needing that for ages. He could deal with that.
Dunk 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 me? Foul Line can’t score! Sure, he pulls in boards really well. But he’s been a sub-par shooter ever since he started playing! Dunk thought.
He was beginning to panic, but managed to right himself with the knowledge that the draft wasn't over yet. He would be selected, he was sure of it.
000
"And with the forty-seventh selection of this year's draft, the Basuton Celtics select Easy Bucket out of Stableford University!"
That just about sealed it. Dunk knew that most teams were just guessing by this point. He began to feel his resolve crumble in the almost certain knowledge that he wasn't getting drafted.
000
“And with the final selection of this year’s draft, the Los Anduleses 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, his future was uncertain.
He saw Foul Line waiting outside for him, and Dunk 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.
“Yo, it is what it is man. At least one of us made the bigs,” Dunk said.
“You ain’t out of it yet bro! You heard about Jinzhou Lin, same as everyone! Undrafted, out of Hayvard University, lit Equestria on fire man! You just gotta shape up a bit,” Foul said.
“Dude, I know,” Dunk said as they walked along the streets of New Yoke. The bars were beginning to fill, and Dunk could have swore he heard his name more than a few times.
“To be real, you are a little lax on defense. Like I was saying earlier, you gotta play tough ‘D’. Force them to make the shot. Nobody can be mad if you did everything you could to contest a dude and he still makes it. But you gotta contest. That’s the big thing here,” Foul said.
“So just because my defense needs some work, that’s why I got passed over by everyone? Twice? Man, that’s bullshit and you know it,” Dunk said.
“Could just be they didn’t want you ‘cause you’re ugly,” Foul said.
“Yeah, and you definitely a catch compared to me then,” Dunk said.
The two friends laughed and continued walking back to their hotel. Dunk’s thoughts were bouncing around his head as he went back through all the games he could remember. His entire life had been built around the idea of scoring. Occasionally, he would have to grab a board or two to set up a play the coach was trying to run. Other than that, it was all about how many points he could pile up on the other end of the court.
The time spent reflecting on what had happened that day hadn't helped, and Dunk was now 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, um… I didn’t get drafted.”
There was no response for a while. Dunk was beginning to wonder if his father was even there when he suddenly started talking.
"Well, you at least know why, right?" Air said.
"Not really. Closest thing I heard all day was Foul Line telling me I needed to play more defense," Dunk said.
“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 tried telling you this. But this is what we’ve got going on now,” Air said.
“So what do we got going on then Pops? You talk to Top Dollar?” Dunk said.
“You know, it really should be you talking to him, not me. He’s your agent, not mine. But yes, I have been talking to him. We’re sending you out to Californiegha. The Kickers are interested in having you come down soon for a tryout,” Air said.
The Kickers? The same Kickers that hadn’t made the playoffs in almost fifteen years?
“The Kickers? Dad, they’ve been bad since you entered though!” Dunk said.
“Look Slam, sometimes, we don’t get an opportunity to pick and choose. Like right now. Your game needed shoring up, teams didn’t like what they saw, so they didn’t draft you. You go to LA, impress the right people, grind it out, take your chances as they come, you’ll come out of this. But you gotta be willing to put the work in,” Air said.
Dunk didn’t respond for a minute. He thought about all the work his father had done to get to where he was at. Dunk thought about all the times when he was growing up when his father wasn’t ever around, when his father was busy practicing or going through his workouts. He thought about all that his father had sacrificed to become the best he could be.
“We’ll get through this, together. Just listen to Top, don’t give him lip, and work hard. Stay positive. Basketball isn’t a Celestia-given gift,” Air said.
“I know Dad… I’m tired, it’s been a long day. I think I’m gonna go to sleep,” Dunk said.
“Stay strong,” Air said.
With that the conversation was over.
Dunk 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 in his bed and stared blankly at the ceiling. Hopefully tomorrow would be better.