Chapter: Something Different About Jacob
It didn't take long after that first game.
Word got around the league fast. "The little kid on the Raptors who can hoop." That's what they called me. I was only 4'1"—shorter than most kids in the league—but it didn't matter. I was faster, smarter, smoother. I didn't just play basketball—I understood it. And that confused people.
By the third game of the season, I started getting double-teamed. Seven-year-olds don't usually double-team. They barely remember who they're guarding. But coaches started pointing at me during warmups, saying things like, "That's the one. Don't let him shoot."
They didn't know my name. Just "that kid."
My teammates started noticing too.
At first, they were excited. Winning feels good, and I helped us win. But then things started to shift. I'd hear little comments when I dribbled too much or took the final shot.
"Jacob thinks he's the only one on the team."
"Coach only lets him shoot."
One kid—Daniel—who played point guard before I came in, started getting cold with me. Stopped passing when we practiced. Started trying to go one-on-one with me during drills like he had something to prove.
Coach Tony saw it happening, but he didn't say much. He was a let-the-game-do-the-talking type of coach. I didn't mind the competition. It sharpened me. But it made practices a little more tense. I kept my head down and stayed focused.
Off the court, things with my dad started getting… interesting.
He never said anything directly, but I caught him watching me more. Not just watching—studying. Like he was trying to figure out how this tiny seven-year-old could run a pick-and-roll or time a pass like a high school varsity player.
One night, after practice, he pulled me aside.
"You've really improved fast," he said casually, handing me a juice box.
I just nodded. "Yeah… I guess I've just been working a lot."
He paused for a second. "You ever think about how you picked all this up so quick? Like… did it just click for you one day?"
I didn't know how to answer that without freaking him out. What was I supposed to say? Hey Dad, I used to be a seventeen-year-old high school shooting guard with broken dreams and now I'm on my second run?
So I just said, "I think I just love it."
He smiled, but I could tell he wasn't totally satisfied. Something in his eyes said he knew there was more to it.
By mid-season, coaches from other teams started hanging around our games. One of them—Coach Reed from the Bulls—came over to Coach Tony after we beat them and asked, "Where'd you find this kid?"
Coach Tony just laughed and said, "Didn't find him. He found us."
Even after games, parents came up to my dad, asking where I trained or if we had a private coach. He just shook his head and said, "He plays in the backyard."
I could feel it happening.
The buzz. The beginning of the name.
But I didn't let it get to me. Not yet. Because I knew this was just the smallest step. The real climb was still years ahead. Still, I couldn't help but feel a fire building inside me.
Every bucket, every assist, every stop on defense—it wasn't just for the game.
It was to rewrite my story.
And even though I was still just a 4'1" seven-year-old kid in a dusty 1996 gym… I was already chasing greatness.