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Zusatztext Praise for Travel Team : “In a story every bit as exciting and tear-jerking as any novel or movie in its genre – Hoosiers! Mighty Ducks! The Bad News Bears – Danny gets his chance at glory. Lupica . . . has the knowledge of the game and the lean prose to make this a taut! realistic story not just about the game but about heart! character! and family. A winner.” –Kirkus Reviews “Lupica . . . sets the scene for on-court action! and delivers play-by-play descriptions . . . that will thrill basketball buffs. Genuinely affecting.” –Publishers Weekly Informationen zum Autor Mike Lupica Klappentext The #1 Bestseller! Twelve-year-old Danny Walker may be the smallest kid on the basketball court -- but don't tell him that. Because no one plays with more heart or court sense. But none of that matters when he is cut from his local travel team, the very same team his father led to national prominence as a boy. Danny's father, still smarting from his own troubles, knows Danny isn't the only kid who was cut for the wrong reason, and together, this washed-up former player and a bunch of never-say-die kids prove that the heart simply cannot be measured. For fans of The Bad News Bears, Hoosiers, the Mighty Ducks, and Mike Lupica's other New York Times bestselling novels Heat , The Underdogs , and Million-Dollar Throw , here is a book that proves that when the game knocks you down, champions stand tall.He knew he was small. He just didn’t think he was small. Big difference. Danny had known his whole life how small he was compared to everybody in his grade, from the first grade on. How he had been put in the front row, front and center, of every class picture taken. Been in the front of every line marching into every school assembly, first one through the door. Sat in the front of every classroom. Hey, little man. Hey, little guy. He was used to it by now. They’d been studying DNA in science lately; being small was in his DNA. He’d show up for soccer, or Little League baseball tryouts, or basketball, when he’d first started going to basketball tryouts at the Y, and there’d always be one of those clipboard dads who didn’t know him, or his mom. Or his dad. Asking him: “Are you sure you’re with the right group, little guy?” Meaning the right age group. It happened the first time when he was eight, back when he still had to put the ball up on his shoulder and give it a heave just to get it up to a ten–foot rim. When he’d already taught himself how to lean into the bigger kid guarding him, just because there was always a bigger kid guarding him, and then step back so he could get his dopey shot off. This was way back before he’d even tried any fancy stuff, including the crossover. He just told the clipboard dad that he was eight, that he was little, that this was his right group, and could he have his number, please? When he told his mom about it later, she just smiled and said, “You know what you should hear when people start talking about your size? Blah blah blah.” He smiled back at her and said that he was pretty sure he would be able to remember that. “How did you play?” she said that day, when she couldn’t wait any longer for him to tell. “I did okay.” “I have a feeling you did more than that,” she said, hugging him to her. “My streak of light.” Sometimes she’d tell him how small his dad had been when he was Danny’s age. Sometimes not. But here was the deal, when he added it all up: His height had always been much more of a stinking issue for other people, including his mom, than it was for him. He tried not to sweat the small stuff, basically, the way grown–ups always told you. He knew he was faster than everybody else at St. Patrick’s School. And at Springs School, for that matter. Nobod...
