I remember my first day as a professional basketball player, standing on the baseline with my hands on my hips while my weight swung from left leg to right leg as the previous season's captains Daniel Johnson and Brendan Teys picked the teams for today's scrimmages. Player after player was picked, my head spun just trying to remember everyone's names, let alone the fact that I was staring down the barrel of being picked last. I felt the shame in my feet while I scurried to Daniel Johnson as the last pick of the day. "I'm going to earn everyone's respect," I whispered to myself while I waited on the sideline watching the jump ball go up.

At the Australian Boomers camp last month, the same selection process went down. All 15 players stood on the baseline while Josh Giddey and Dyson Daniels chose their team one by one, initially causing that same fight or flight in my body from 10 years earlier. But I'm no longer the last pick. There was no scurry or wandering eyes, only a big hug as Giddey picked me early.

Rookie Jack had a lot of messed up habits, he stayed up late scrolling on Instagram, ate Mars bars before practice for energy and could sit on the computer playing League of Legends for 10 hours straight on an off day, but luckily he did just enough things correctly to make it work. The first was he understood the importance of earning your teammates' respect.

Early in my career I sat down with one of the greatest players to ever play the game of basketball in Dirk Nowitzki and asked him about how he convinced people that a seven footer could shoot pull up 3s and make spin move one foot fadeaways. Dirk explained that when he was first drafted into the NBA, his teammates didn't pass him the ball in the post, or find him in the pick and pop because they didn't trust him to make winning plays. Guys shook their heads when he missed a fadeaway or 3. "You're 7ft Dirk, get your ass in the paint," he recalls them saying to him.

Dirk knew that's not how he wanted to play, so he set out every day to play one on one against his teammates before or after practice. Day by day he shot his fadeaways. Day by day he beat his teammates in ones. As the season progressed his teammates reacted less and less when he missed and they passed him the ball more and more. His shot attempts increased while also getting regular opportunities to show the world what he does because his teammates trusted him. Beating his teammates daily built their respect.

At the Adelaide 36ers if I wanted the opportunity to make plays and touch the ball, I had to convince our best players that passing me the ball was the right decision for the team.

I followed Dirk. As the season went on playing one on one after practice became a tradition.

I'd catch the ball on the wing. Eye locked on the basket while another young contracted player would crawl up and in, ripping at my shirt to throw me off my game. The old heads would lay on the dusty Titanium arena floor or sit on the old plastic chairs off to the side and holla and whistle while we played. Blood would drop from guys' scratches while we argued if it was a foul or not. We got after it. We would finish playing with more competitive shooting drills like Big Boy or my own made McVeigh shooting drill.

But this wasn't enough to get me consistent minutes. I averaged 6 minutes a game with a lot of games not subbing in. It didn't matter how much my teammates respected me if I wasn't on the court playing with them. Something was missing and thankfully Joey Wright hit me with his truth when I approached him about how I could earn more minutes.

"You are a tool for me to use in games to help the team win. If I need a hammer, and all week you've been a hammer but I put you out there in the game and you're a flathead, I'll lose trust in you."

This made it simple for me. Be consistent in who I am as a player. My sophomore year I went from 6 minutes to 12 minutes and playing in every game. I was taking the shots I had been practicing and was happy with how aggressive I was playing although I still wasn't where I wanted to be. As a kid I didn't dream of sitting on the bench or coming in for energy sparks, I wanted to be on the court in the fourth quarter making big shots. That's the goal I was moving towards.

Progress was being made and that was continuing to drive me, but I wanted more. When I moved to the Tasmania JackJumpers I knew there was an opportunity to take that next step in becoming a starter and a closer because the franchise was brand new with no established spots. Preseason was long and brutal. We had conditioning days 3 times a week, Scott Roth held a high level of expectations when it came to playing hard and team defence, which was the weakest area of my game at the time. There were long days of competing with my teammates to earn their respect and bringing energy and consistency on defence to earn my coach's trust.

Opening night was at home against the Brisbane Bullets. I'll never forget the feeling of standing at centre court before the jump ball, the reflection of the lights bouncing off the wooden floor boards, the crowd hurrying to their seats all while I was our team's starting 4 man. The game was a low scoring battle with the crowd erupting over offensive rebounds and charges taken while both teams wrestled for possession and control. With 2 minutes left, we had worked ourselves into the lead. Our point guard Josh Magette kicked the ball ahead to me giving me the chance to make a play. I lined my eyes to the rim and released the ball with the flick. Splash. Tingles ran through my skin as I shot my arms in hyperextension to celebrate. The nail in the coffin. The kid in the backyard practicing his celebrations was now doing it in a sold out arena.

But this first fairytale game wasn't followed smoothly. As a team we started 2-8 and although I was still starting, my minutes were consistently dropping and I was averaging 5 points a game, the only time I had averaged less than this was my rookie season. I found myself sitting in the shiny, freshly green painted locker room after a particularly bad game. I played 18 minutes and didn't accumulate a single stat. Not one shot. Not one rebound, not even a foul. My head hung in my hands while the coach gave his post game speech. I didn't hear any of it. All I could think about was this one particular play.

I grabbed the ball with two hands as the smaller defender pushed me off the block. The post was my go to spot to get buckets and I had a mismatch. This was meant to be my moment to kill, but I didn't even look at the hoop. I squared up and passed the ball away in hopes that my teammate would shoot it, but they didn't. Instead they passed it into me again and out loud told me to go to work. This really was my moment. During preseason coach had been telling me to get out of my toolbox. To keep my game simple. His words echoed in my ear. I took one flimsy soft dribble and this time passed the ball across court to a semi guarded player. The other team rotated, we swung the ball again around the court all while the shot clock echoed throughout the arena letting us all know that our possession was over. No one shot the ball. I damn well know that I didn't. "Fuck," I thought, "I need help."

Covid hit our team and forced us all into a 2 week house isolation. This gave me the time to reflect on how my season was going and to make some much needed changes. Mika Vukona, New Zealand basketball legend, brought awareness to what I needed to do in one phone call. "We brought you here to be Jack, to be crazy, to bring energy and to shoot crazy shots." I was silent on the other end. How was I meant to apologise for not being myself when I was trying my hardest to please everyone?

This new awareness drove me to create the exact vision of who I want to be as a player. I wanted to walk and move like Reggie Miller after making a big shot. I wanted to find my spots on the floor and rise up like Kawhi Leonard, I wanted to cause chaos on the defensive end playing in passing lanes and hitting guys when they walk past me. This vision excited me, it brought me clarity and gave me energy, but it also scared me.

To live up to this vision meant going against rules the coach wanted from me and the team, it meant making plays that my teammates wouldn't yet trust me to make. It meant maybe losing minutes, it meant maybe getting fired, it meant maybe not having a job in the league.

Now this is the game within the game.

The way that if you try too hard to make a shot you aim it and your body tenses up making sure it never goes in. It was this balance I needed to learn. Earning trust and respect while working towards my vision. Not beating myself up when I don't live up to that vision because I needed to earn the coach's trust. Not beating myself up when I made the aggressive play that got me benched. Trusting that push and pull.

After the 2 week isolation, our team went on a run that took us from last place all the way to the grand final. I was being me.

At each step in my career these same cycles repeat themselves. I walk the tight rope of caring about my teammates and coaches while not losing my vision.

But recently at that Boomers camp, when I stood on the baseline for team drafts, I was no longer scanning the room, sliding from side to side or scurrying around the place. I was ready for a dap up and hug with whoever picked me.