Roarers' Bench
The lead assistant leaned in close to Crawford, voice low. "The plan we drew up still holds. They're running the same spacing looks. The one wrinkle is Stith—he's too hot tonight. We can't let him get anything off clean."
Crawford said nothing for a moment. "And?"
"Lock him down." The assistant paused, dropping his voice another notch. "And maybe… get in his head a little."
He watched Crawford's face out of the corner of his eye—still calm, unmoved—and only then let himself breathe easier.
Crawford said nothing more. He went straight to the rotation. "Darius for Ryan. Lin for Malik. Small lineup."
Sloan and Stanley had no range to speak of, but Darius, Lin, and Kamara were enough firepower to carry the offense. They'd run the whole thing in practice yesterday; he only added a few key details, then told Kamara last to stay tight on his man, Stith, and not let him loose.
The buzzer sounded. Second quarter, about to tip.
