The Crossover by Kwame Alexander Page A

Principal,
    is talking to some of the teachers
    on the other side of the gym.
    I’m feeling better already.
    Coach calls us in,
    does his Phil Jackson impersonation.
    Love ignites the spirit, brings teams together,
he says.
    JB and I glance at each other,
    ready to bust out laughing,
    but Vondie, our best friend,
    beats us to it.
    The whistle goes off.
    Players gather at center circle,
    dap each other,
    pound each other.
    Referee tosses the jump ball.
    Game on.

The Sportscaster
    JB likes to taunt and
    trash talk
    during games
    like Dad
    used to do
    when he played.
    Â 
    When I walk onto
    the court
    I prefer silence
    so I can
    Watch
    React
    Surprise.
    Â 
    I talk too,
    but mostly
    to myself,
    like sometimes
    when I do
    my own
    play-by-play
    in my head.

Josh’s Play-by-Play
    It’s game three for the two-and-oh Wildcats.
    Number seventeen, Vondie Little, grabs it.
    Nothing
little
about that kid.
    The Wildcats have it,
    first play of the game.
    The hopes are high tonight at
    Reggie Lewis Junior High.
    We destroyed Hoover Middle
    last week, thirty-two to four,
    and we won’t stop,
    can’t stop,
    till we claim the championship trophy.
    Vondie overhead passes me.
    I fling a quick chest pass to my twin brother, JB,
    number twenty-three, a.k.a. the Jumper.
    I’ve seen him launch it from thirty feet before,
    ALL NET.
    That boy is special, and it doesn’t hurt
    that Chuck “Da Man” Bell is his father.
    And mine, too.
    JB bounces the ball back to me.
    JB’s a shooter, but I’m sneaky
    and silky as a snake—
    and you thought my hair was long.
    I’m six feet, all legs.
    OH, WOW—DID YOU SEE THAT NASTY CROSSOVER?
    Now you see why they call me Filthy.
    Folks, I hope you got your tickets,
    because I’m about to put on a show.

cross·o·ver
    [ KRAWS-OH-VER ]
noun
    Â 
    A simple basketball move
    in which a player dribbles
    the ball quickly
    from one hand
    to the other.
    Â 
    As in: When done right,
    a
crossover
can break
    an opponent’s ankles.
    Â 
    As in: Deron Williams’s
crossover
    is nice, but Allen Iverson’s
crossover
    was so deadly, he could’ve set up
    his own podiatry practice.
    Â 
    As in: Dad taught me
    how to give a soft cross first
    to see if your opponent falls
    for it,
    then hit ’em
    with the hard
crossover.

The Show
    A
quick
shoulder SHAKE,
    a
slick
eye FAKE—
    Number 28 is               way past late.
    He’s reading me like a
    BOOK
    but I turn the page
    and watch him look,
    which can only mean I got him
    SHOOK.
    His feet are the bank
    and I’m the crook.
    Breaking, Braking,
    taking him to the left—
    now he’s took.
    Number 14 joins in . . .
    Now he’s on the          H
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â O
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â O
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â K
    I got TWO in my kitchen
    and I’m fixing to COOK.
    Preppin’ my meal, ready for glass . . .
    Nobody’s expecting Filthy to p a s s
    I see Vondie under the hoop
    so I serve him up my
    Alley- oop.

The Bet, Part One
    We’re down by seven
    at halftime.
    Trouble owns our faces
    but Coach isn’t worried.
    Says we haven’t found our rhythm yet.
    Then, all of a sudden, out of nowhere
    Vondie starts dancing the Snake,
    only he looks like a seal.
    Then Coach blasts his favorite dance music,
    and before you know it
    we’re all doing the Cha-Cha Slide:
    To the left, take it back now, y’all.
    One hop this time, right foot, let’s