The Bright Road to Madison Square
The basketball court in Harlem was made of cracked concrete and rusted iron hoops, but to Tony Russell it was the Colosseum. He was sixteen, Sicilian on his father's side and Irish on his mother's, which made him the colour of weak tea and twice as complicated. He wore a threadbare Giants jersey two sizes too big and basketball shoes held together with hope and duct tape. On that court, Tony...
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