There's that moment where your feet launch off the court, ball in hand, with the target what some might call a mile away.
But not you.
As you ascend, the rim might as well be but an armslength.
As you release, there is no question, no debate, no earthly way that ball is going anywhere other than through that hoop.
Or, more specifically, the space within it.
For it will graze no metal.
You've sent it home to be swaddled, for a split second, by the soft fingers of the net, and net alone.
You hear it.
You only hear it.
Because you've long turned away, with a bead of sweat falling from your nose, complete in the fulfillment of what you foresaw.
BasketBill™ knows that feeling.
BasketBill is that feeling.