Chapter 2 Bottom of the Hoops Food Chain

"Discharge papers are sorted. Doc says you're good as new. Let's roll. Got a game day after tomorrow."

That afternoon, after begrudgingly accepting his new reality – broke college grad to broke G Leaguer – a tall, powerfully built Black man strode into Link's hospital room. His tone was familiar, friendly. Link dug through the new memories: Zeke Upshaw.

Zeke Upshaw. Another anonymous pro baller. Another G League journeyman. Undrafted, grinding for three years in the minors, still waiting for that elusive NBA call-up. Like most down here, Zeke clung fiercely to the dream, eyes fixed on the bright lights. Still soaking in the G League stew.

On the Oklahoma City Blue, Zeke was Link's closest friend. Being the only Asian dude, Link had faced some subtle exclusion early on. But Zeke? Pure warmth. When Link first arrived in OKC, homeless, Zeke opened his door without a second thought. Even now, Zeke regularly dragged Link home for meals.

In Link's book? Zeke was a genuine good dude. Maybe it came from years scrapping at the bottom. As a hoops food-chain bottom-feeder, Zeke knew the grind. He saw a kindred spirit in Link.

"You good, man? Concussed? Told ya, going all out in scrimmage ain't always smart. Relax, team covered the bill. Ambulance ride's on them too," Zeke grinned, clapping Link on the shoulder.

In the US, ER visits were financial landmines. An ambulance ride? Easily a grand. Then the ER itself charged triple the regular rate. A simple visit could bankrupt you. Link remembered an old joke: An American college kid collapses. His last conscious words? "Don't call an ambulance!"

But Link wasn't sweating the bill. He was trying to process this sudden, earnest friendship.

"Thanks for picking me up, Zeke," Link managed, unsure what else to say to this relentlessly optimistic dreamer.

"Come on, man, since when we so formal? Headin' to my place for dinner. Ma scored some killer chicken legs. You're in for a treat."

Zeke slung an arm around Link's shoulders, steering him out. The physical affection felt foreign, but hey, a friend was a friend. Couldn't hurt.

Walking the streets of Oklahoma City, Link gawked like a tourist. OKC wasn't exactly a metropolis; fans jokingly called it "The Village." But for someone experiencing "America" for the first time? It was sensory overload.

"Yo, you actin' real weird today," Zeke frowned, studying Link. "You straight-up knocked out yesterday. Docs say you're clean, though. Sure they didn't miss somethin'?"

Zeke reached up, prodding the back of Link's head.

"I'm good, Zeke," Link finally spoke up, pulling Zeke's hand away gently. Staying silent was risky. "Just feels like... I slept a real long time."

They walked, conversation stilted, until they turned into a neighborhood that looked like it had seen better days. Way better. This was Zeke's turf. Where he grew up. A forgotten corner of OKC: the Calvin District.

Back in China, Link pictured American cities as gleaming metropolises. Calvin District shattered that illusion. Pothole-riddled streets. Alleys crowded with hollow-eyed homeless. Suspicious figures in baggy clothes exchanging things in shadows. Walls plastered with graffiti. Even as a first-timer, the signs were unmistakable: a poor, Black neighborhood. Link felt a prickle of unease. Without Zeke beside him, he wouldn't feel safe walking here.

On the edge of Calvin, a tiny, weather-beaten two-story house marked the Upshaw home. Beside it, enclosed by chain-link fence, was a cracked concrete half-court. "That's where it all started," Zeke said, nodding towards the court. "My first hoop."

"Ma! I'm home! Brought Link! Thank the Lord, his dome's intact!" Zeke yelled before the door even opened.

A short, plump Black woman appeared, wiping her hands on an apron, a kind smile spreading across her face.

"Told you the Lord watches over our Link. Come here, child, let me see." She pulled Link into a hug, checking the back of his head. "Lord have mercy, when Zeke called sayin' you passed out? Near scared me to death!"

The embrace was awkward for Link, unexpected. Yet, in this strange land, the warmth seeped in. It had been a long, long time since he'd felt anything like... home.

Inside, the modest reality hit. Worn sofa. Cluttered living room. The Upshaws weren't living large. Zeke's dad had done time... for drugs. His mom, the kind woman in the apron, raised Zeke and his sister alone. Zeke being a "pro baller" now? Didn't change much. Not financially.

Unlike the NBA, where the minimum salary was hundreds of thousands, the entire G League team salary cap was a measly $200,000. Pocket change by comparison. Zeke, a three-year G League vet, pulled down $19,500 this season. Not $195,000. Not $195K. Nineteen thousand, five hundred dollars. For the whole year.

The average US salary? Around $40,000. So yeah, "professional athlete" sounded fancy. Reality? Zeke and Link were scraping the lower-middle class barrel.

"Link, you good for practice tomorrow?" Zeke asked as they settled on the worn sofa, the sounds and smells of cooking drifting from the kitchen.

"Uh... honestly? Not sure," Link admitted, forcing a weak smile. $19.5K was peanuts, but right now, even that paycheck felt precarious. He loved basketball in his past life, sure. But his skills? Train wreck level. Couldn't even make his college intramural team. So, shoving his clumsy basketball IQ into a pro athlete's body? Did that magically make him G League material? Doubtful. Very doubtful.

"What's up?"

"I... just got outta the hospital. Dunno if I'm... game ready. Maybe after dinner? You could run some drills with me on that court outside? Just to get the feel back?"

Link needed a reality check before tomorrow's practice. Needed to know if this pipe dream was even remotely possible. If not? Better to cut losses now, grab a pair of work gloves, and learn landscaping from this world's dad. At 22, a college senior by G League standards, he couldn't afford to waste prime years chasing a fantasy in the minors. This second chance? He craved a better life. Dreams were fine, but you gotta eat. Grinding hopelessly in the G League wasn't a plan.

"Sure thing, man. We'll get some shots up after we eat," Zeke agreed easily. "But relax, you'll be fine. Probably just nerves."

"Heh... yeah, probably," Link chuckled, the sound strained and hollow. Playing one-on-one with a real pro baller? This was gonna be a disaster. A spectacular, humiliating disaster.