I grew up in Chicago, where basketball wasn’t just a game—it was a language of emotion, written in points and odds. This piece isn’t about wins or losses. It’s about how a single number—1.30, 5.75, 4.25—became the rhythm of my awakening. I saw the bench not as empty seats, but as a cathedral of quiet tension. Here, data doesn’t predict outcomes—it reveals truths we refuse to name until we stop pretending.