Chapter 3 Hill, It Shouldn't Have Been Like This

What basketball fan hasn't dreamed of tearing it up on the pro court? Who hasn't fantasized about sharing the hardwood with legends, stacking championship rings, rolling in cash and fame?

That's why the MyCareer mode in NBA 2K blows up every year. It lets every hoops junkie live the dream. Since NBA 2K10 dropped that mode, it's been the franchise's golden goose.

But outside the game, outside the fantasy? Making that leap is damn near impossible. Pro ball ain't no video game.

Now, Link had his shot.

He had the pro athlete's frame. He had a foot in the door. But turning that dream into reality? That depended on whether he could squeeze every drop of talent from this borrowed body.

After dinner and a short break at Upshaw's place, the two hit the cracked concrete court beside the house.

The backboard was wood, stained and grimy. The net was just chains – cloth wouldn't last a week out here. Cracks spiderwebbed across the cement, and the chain-link fence sagged with holes. It was a dump. But in this neighborhood? It was sanctuary.

Link gripped the ball, nerves twisting his gut. Six-foot-eight, two-hundred-something pounds... but his basketball IQ? College intramural level, at best.

Sure, the NBA had monsters who dominated without textbook skills – Shaq, the Greek Freak who'd explode onto the scene later. But those guys only looked "raw" against other freaks. Against regular Joes? Their skills were lightyears ahead.

Take Shaq. Dude could handle like a point guard when he felt like it.

So, pure athleticism wouldn't cut it in the NBA. Especially since Link's body was strictly average by those standards.

"Hey, maybe start with some shots? Get the feel back?" Upshaw suggested, seeing Link frozen.

"Yeah... yeah," Link nodded. Shooting was his go-to back in the day. He thought he was decent. Truth was, he only shot because he couldn't drive past a traffic cone. His jumper wasn't anything special.

As Link raised the ball, words flashed before his eyes.

"Ah!" He yelped, the ball clattering away.

"Whoa, man! You okay?" Upshaw rushed over, worried the head injury was acting up. Getting knocked out cold was no joke, doctor's clearance or not.

"Nah, I'm good... just... you go ahead, Zeke. I'll stretch a bit more." Link waved him off, pretending to stretch while his heart hammered.

Confirming only he could see the text, he read it:

*"10-11 Season Grant Hill Abilities Implanted."*

As the words faded, a progress bar appeared. Empty. Above it, smaller text: *"09-10 Season Grant Hill Abilities."*

"Grant Hill!?" Link's mind reeled. Grant Hill was his favorite player! The night of the storm, he'd been watching old Hill highlights... then the zap. Had to be connected!

While other kids worshipped T-Mac, AI, or Kobe, Link had always been drawn to the "Next Jordan" – Grant Hill.

Before the... incident, Link knew Hill made the Hall of Fame. Some had questioned it, citing a lack of hardware. Those doubters just didn't know the story.

Summer '93. MJ's first retirement.

The NBA panicked as ratings tanked. They desperately needed a new face, a "Next Jordan."

That crown landed on two players: Penny Hardaway... and Grant Hill.

Hill was a college legend. Led Duke to back-to-back NCAA titles in the 90s. His all-around game, smooth style, and squeaky-clean image made him a national icon before he even stepped on an NBA court.

Rumors even said he led a college All-Star team to beat the original Dream Team – MJ, Pippen, Magic, Bird – in a scrimmage! No proof, sure, but the fact that story existed showed Hill's hype level.

1994. The much-hyped Hill entered the draft. Detroit took him third overall. He delivered: 19.9 ppg, 6.4 rpg, 5.0 apg, 1.8 spg. Rookie of the Year.

Crucially, Hill led the All-Star voting as a rookie. In the MJ-less void, he was the league's savior.

Even MJ's return the next year couldn't dethrone Hill as All-Star vote leader.

And Hill backed it up. Peak season: 25.8 ppg, 6.6 rpg, 5.2 apg. His first step was lightning. His crossovers embarrassed guards. His dunks were poetry.

The "Next Jordan" tag fit. All he needed was a ring.

Then, disaster. Just as Hill learned to read the game, entering his prime... injuries shut it down.

Three years after leaving Detroit? 47 total games played. He eventually got healthy, but the explosiveness was gone. Late career? A role player. Zero rings.

Retired at 40. Seven-time All-Star starter. Zero championships. Hall of Fame doubts.

Grant Hill... it shouldn't have been like this.

Yet, through it all, Hill battled until 40, earning respect as a grizzled vet. That grit was why Link loved him. Not just the peak highlights, but the refusal to quit. As a broke college grad scraping by, Link needed that inspiration.

Now, somehow, he was tangled up with Grant Hill.

*10-11 Season Grant Hill Abilities Implanted.* What did that mean? Did he have old man Hill's skills now?

"Yo, Link! Quit daydreamin'! Warm up's over, let's see some shots!"

Upshaw's shout snapped Link back. The progress bar vanished.

Link nodded, dredging up memories of the 10-11 Hill.

No athleticism left by then. Just a role player for Phoenix. But 13.2 ppg in the NBA? That wasn't something any G Leaguer could sniff.

Hill's strengths then: Three-point shooting. Savvy. His shot was pure. If he really had Old Man Hill's skills... his catch-and-shoot three should be money.

"Hit me!" Link called out, stepping behind the arc.

Upshaw blinked. Link never shot threes. But, eh, just warm-up shots. He passed.

Link caught it. The ball felt... different. Natural. Like an extension of his hand.

Jump. Wrist snap. Release. Fluid. A feeling he'd never had before.

The ball traced a perfect arc. Swish. The chains rattled. Link stared at his hands. Was this his cheat code?

"Hell yeah! Again!" Upshaw grinned, figuring it was a fluke.

Another pass. Link moved right. Same smooth motion. Swish.

Upshaw fed him ten more times. Ten straight makes. The eleventh rattled out.

NBA guys hit ten in a row in practice all the time. But for a G Leaguer, especially one who couldn't shoot? This was nuts.

"Hold up..." Upshaw walked over, circling Link. "That knock on the head... straighten out your shot?"

"Uh... been workin' on it in secret. Heh. Got lucky, I guess." Link scratched his head. The progress bar flickered back.

A sliver of white filled the previously empty bar. Training? Games? That's how you filled it?

Fill it, unlock the 09-10 Hill? Then keep going?

What if he leveled all the way to prime Hill...

The thought was too big. Link shut it down.

Making it as an NBA pro? Maybe... just maybe... it was possible.