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The Super Hoopers_ The basketball tournament of dreams

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For my cousin Juanma

and those Extremadura summers

that heard our childhood dreams

A. C.

THE SUPER HOOPERS VOL. 1

The Basketball Tournament of Dreams

First edition: February 2024

© Text: Alberto Casamayor Otero, 2024

© Illustrations: Palma&Kako, 2024

Translation from Spanish: Carolyn Louise Black, 2024

© Editorial el Pirata, 2024

Sabadell (Barcelona)

info@editorialelpirata.com

editorialelpirata.com/en

All rights reserved

ISBN: 978-84-19898-07-4

Legal deposit: B 11169-2023

Printed in China

All materials used come from responsibly managed forests.

Editorial el Pirata supports copyright protection.

Copyright protects the creation of literary works; therefore, it’s an important element to stimulate

artists’ creativity and the creation of knowledge. We thank you for backing the authors by buying

an authorized copy of this book and respecting the copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or

distributing any part of this work by any means without consent.


THE BASKETBALL TOURNAMENT

OF DREAMS

Written by

Alberto Casamayor

Illustrated by

Palma&Kako


Over

heeerrrre!

I’M JOEL,

I’M NINE YEARS OLD,

AND UNTIL A FEW WEEKS BACK

I DIDN’T EVEN

LIKE BASKETBALL.

BUT HERE I AM…


My field goal percentage is soooooo low that

any one of my teammates would pass the ball to

an orangutan before they’d pass to me.

1

Bermúdez, who’s point guard of my team and my

best buddy, makes a fake, but he’s really unlucky;

the ball bounces off his foot, and he loses it.

Bounce, bounce, the ball’s coming in my direction.

Five seconds to go.

I catch it.

Why have I spent the whole game asking for it?

I’m scared to death!

The crowd roars, a lady flings up her arms, and

the salami goes flying out of her sandwich.

The coach yells:

“Shoooooooooot!”


I’m shaking all over.

The tallest player in the other team, who looks

about the height of three giraffes to me, stretches

out his arms to block the basket.

Four seconds!

I turn around so he doesn’t take the ball from me.

Shoooooooooot!


With my back to the basket, I shoot.

The whole world seems to move in slow

motion: The ball rises and curves in front of the

scoreboard and stopwatch.

Two seconds!

It starts to fall.

I realize it’s not going anywhere near the basket.

We’re going to lose the championship.

Shoot!

Shoot!

No! Not him!

No! Not him!


But wait up, wait up… I told you I didn’t even use

to like basketball.

Do you want to know how it all began?

What brought me and my buddies to the big

final of our town's Youth Basketball Tournament,

sponsored by Meaty Beans, ‘The veggie burger of

your dreams’?

Well, let’s go back in time a little—you don’t want

to miss this bit.

BOING!

8


JOEL

2

That’s me.

There’s nothing I like better than Mr. Prodigy comics.

He’s my favorite superhero because he can escape

from any kind of trap,

no matter what.

I dream of going to

a comic convention,

but my parents

are both freelancers

so they don’t have

the time or money

to take me.

Badly-combed,

wavy hair

I’ll let you in on a secret:

When I’m in my room,

I make little balls

from muffin liners

and throw them

into the waste basket

with my back turned!

And they often go in.

Well, actually, just twice…

in my entire life…

Ketchupstained

T-shirt

9

Mr. Prodigy

comic

Injury from

last game


It’s the first Thursday of the school year, a few

weeks before the shot I was telling you about, and

I'm in my physical education class.

We’re changing in the locker room when we hear

that our teacher—who we all call Pithicus, or

πTQs, because he’s supposed to have been around

since before dinosaurs walked the Earth—has

retired.

“What a tragedy,” I say to Bermúdez.

“Yeah, he was an understanding kind of GUY; we

passed the class without really having to TRY.”

Bermúdez and I think physical effort is overrated.

And Mr. Pithicus agreed.

If we managed to stay in line and run around the

schoolyard without hurting ourselves, he gave us

good grades.

Even if we didn’t run, as long as we didn’t hurt

ourselves he still gave us good grades.

A deep voice shakes the locker room walls and

fluorescent ceiling lights.

The voice yells:

10


HEY!

My name

is EVANS…

…and you can call me

Evans, Mr. Evans,

or, if you prefer:

Eh! Vans!

We’re going

to get in shape.

Aaaall out

in two lines!


We rush out like rats from a sinking ship and get

a real shock.

Facing the parallel bars, a circuit’s been put

together which includes jumping over a vaulting

horse, somersaulting over a beam, hanging from

some ladders, and climbing up those ladders to

reach a rope which we have to use to get up to the

ceiling.

I have no idea how it happened, but for the first

time in my life, I’m at the front of the line.

I’m Joel,

I don’t know

if the other teacher

talked to you

about me…


No, Mr. Pithicus clearly didn’t talk to him about

me. I swallow hard and look at the vaulting horse.

I swear I order my legs to run and jump, my

hands to grip the vaulting horse and push me up,

but…my legs are shaking so much that I stagger

jerkily to the vaulting horse.

I want to jump, but I don’t have enough

momentum. My sweaty hands slip and…

He’s crashed into

the vaulting horse!

GH!

UGH

One thing seems

pretty CLEAR:

Gym is going

to hurt a bit

this YEAR.

Everything’s spinning. If I almost break my neck

on the first day, how am I going to survive an

entire year of gym?

13


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