13 June 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3133: not gonna fail this time
“So, uh … George … what are you doing?”
Eleven-year-old Eleanor was looking at her nine-year-old brother George throwing wild shots at the basketball hoop over the garage and running to get the ball and then throwing more wild shots.
“I thought about … getting the most of my time while Milton is locked down … I gotta learn all these jumpshots and stuff back from the prehistory of basketball. I gotta show Rob some things he has never seen the next time we all play pickup with the Trents.”
Eleanor considered this and sighed.
“Rob is five,” she said. “He hasn't seen anything yet. He just has a huge vertical leap and the competitive spirit of a champion sitting there in his basically sweet temperament.”
“Right, so I have to show him things he hasn't seen and that nobody has ever seen – like, I'm trying to combine Wilt Chamberlain's moves with Kareem Abdul-Jabbar's sky hook and Hakeem Olajuwon's dream shake with some Lebron dunks on the side,” George said. “But we've all seen Lebron James, so that's not enough.”
So then George did the combo … or tried … and ran into the garage door … and the ball went across the street.
“Ouch,” he said as he got up and went to get the ball.
“This is probably not the safest way to do this,” Eleanor said.
“Yeah, but, it takes a lot to be a champion,” George said. “I'm just not gonna fail this time – like Michael Jordan got tired of being beat down by the Detroit Pistons and stuff, I'm tired of getting beat by my baby brother. I'm four years older and six whole inches taller than him, and this makes no sense!”
“So, you are going to beat yourself down,” Eleanor said after George tried a fadeaway … and went over the bushes into the Lee yard while she caught the ball on the bounce.
“Whatever it takes!” he said, and jumped right back over the bushes.
“You know what move you could try?” Eleanor said.
“What?” George said.
“You could stop insulting Rob and telling him he can't guard you,” Eleanor said, “especially since we all know that is a straight lie.”
George considered this.
“But that's kinda the easy way out,” he said.
“But you get out without breaking your neck,” Eleanor said. “Let me show you something. I'm three inches taller than you. Hey Rob! I bet you can't smack this ball out of my hand!”
And Eleanor held the ball up for five-year-old Robert Edward Ludlow III, aka Lil' Robert, aka natural-born high-level athlete, to come on a run from the porch, put up his entire vertical leap, and knock that ball clear into the Lee yard.
“Who says!” he said as he landed in the grass on his feet and sprang backwards, turning around in the air to face his big sister, his blue eyes blazing … but then to instantly relax as she threw her arms around him.
“I was just playing … I already knew you could do it, Rob!”
“Well, yeah, Ellie!”
George's eyes were as wide as dinner plates, looking at this. Then he cracked both his grandparents up as he went past them into the house saying, “Back to the drawing board … I gotta get some elevator basketball shoes, pronto.”