in basketball everybody loves the shooter. if you can shoot that ball, if you can score, you will be adored. but there are few things finer than a perfect pass. a perfect pass is a splendid song, a beautiful ballet, a wondrous bit of writing. it should never be minimized.
without a perfect pass there can be no shot, no score. so what’s the point? and it really can be a thing of beauty. there’s something magical about sending that ball under over or through a crowd of defenders, hitting your guy in just the right spot. only then can he or she step into the shot to make the point.
everybody loves the shooter but there are few things finer than a perfect pass. to look one way and throw it the other, to bounce it between two to be caught by the one: that’s what it’s all about. when you can pass that thing behind your head as though you’ve got eyes back there, that’s what it’s all about.
everybody loves the shooter and that’s alright. that’s the way it’s supposed to be. the passer requires no adulation. he or she revels in the shooter’s success. the passer basks in the reflected glory of the shooter’s success. the passer rests within the knowledge that there’s no two realities. at the moment of a perfect pass there’s only one, pure free and forever.
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