She won't. On the floor, you'll see the no-look and the Teasley Shake, because they are part of who she is. On Halloween afternoon she hit the Carmichael court with the waistband of her blue practice shorts pulled down to her knees—her long jersey went almost that far—emulating a full-on ghetto roll. "I'm a thug," she yelled. "I'm a thug for Halloween."
Teammates howled as she grabbed a ball and pounded out a blinding series of dribbles through her legs and behind her back before flipping a soft shot that fluttered through the net and dropped peacefully to the floor.