The day after they beat the Krakens, the Roarers gathered in the film room to prep for tomorrow night's home opponent—the Drayport Talons.
The lights dimmed, and Crawford put his laser pointer to the screen.
"Sixth in the East. The Talons." He didn't waste words. "Mid-tier team, but don't take them lightly. Last time we lost to them, it was the second night of a back-to-back—our legs were gone. That's the truth. But I'll say this too—" He paused, his gaze sweeping the room. "—you've got to give it to them: that fast break of theirs is the real deal. Catch them on heavy legs and it's a nightmare for anybody."
A few guys nodded, heads down.
That game—88 to 104—nobody liked bringing it up. It had snapped the Roarers' eight-game win streak at the time. Easy to pin the whole thing on the back-to-back; but everyone there also remembered just how smoothly the Talons' break had carved them up that night.
