Sooley - John Grisham

Sooley – John Grisham – Spoken Script

Have you ever wondered what it takes to transform a dream into reality? // John Grisham’s Sooley introduces us to Samuel “Sooley” Sooleymon, a seventeen-year-old from South Sudan with a passion for basketball and the determination to change his life.

Samuel’s journey begins on the dusty courts of his village, where his raw talent catches the eye of a coach. // Invited to the United States to showcase his skills, he faces a new world of competition, culture, and opportunity. // But just as his dreams seem within reach, tragedy strikes — war devastates his village, scattering his family and leaving Samuel to carry their hopes across continents.

Determined to succeed, Samuel earns a scholarship to play for North Carolina Central University. // On campus, he must navigate the challenges of college life, the pressures of high-level basketball, and the weight of expectations from those he left behind. // His journey is one of resilience, courage, and the pursuit of a better life, where every game, practice, and decision shapes not only his future but the legacy he carries with him.

At its core, Sooley is about perseverance under pressure. // Grisham explores the impact of opportunity, the struggles of adaptation, and the personal sacrifices required to achieve greatness. // Each challenge Samuel faces tests his character, discipline, and commitment, showing how determination and hope can guide us through even the most daunting circumstances.

So — why should you read Sooley? // Because it’s more than a sports story; it’s an inspiring tale of resilience, ambition, and the human spirit. // Grisham doesn’t just tell us about basketball — he shows us the transformative power of hope, courage, and hard work, making Samuel’s victories and setbacks resonate far beyond the court.

In the end, Sooley is a celebration of determination, heart, and the dreams that drive us. // It reminds us that even in the face of adversity, ambition and perseverance can lead to extraordinary outcomes. // And that is what makes this story unforgettable — a journey that uplifts, inspires, and proves that no dream is too distant if we’re willing to fight for it.

Reading 1 (Part 2)

In April, when Samuel Sooleymon was invited to try out for the national

team, he was seventeen years old, stood six feet two inches tall, and was

considered to be a promising point guard, known for his quickness and

vertical leap, but also for his erratic passing and mediocre shooting.

In July, when the team left Juba, the capital of South Sudan, for the trip

to America, he was six feet four inches tall, just as quick but even more

erratic handling the ball and no more accurate from the arc. He was hardly

aware of his growth, which was not unusual for a teenager, but he did

realize that his well-worn basketball shoes were tighter and his only pair of

pants now fell well above his ankles.

But back in April when the invitation arrived, his neighborhood

erupted in celebration. He lived in Lotta, a remote village on the outskirts of

Rumbek, a city of 30,000. He had spent his entire life in Lotta doing little

more than playing basketball and soccer. His mother, Beatrice, was a

homemaker, with little education, like all the women in the village. His

father, Ayak, taught school in a two-room open-air hut built by some

missionaries decades earlier. When Samuel wasn’t pounding the basketball

on the dirt courts throughout the village, he tended to the family’s garden

with his younger siblings and sold vegetables beside the road.

For the moment, life in the village was good and fairly stable. Another

brutal civil war was in its second year with no end in sight, and though

daily life was always precarious, the people managed to make it through the

day and hope for better things tomorrow. The children lived in the streets,

always bouncing or kicking a ball, and the games offered a welcome

diversion.

Since the age of thirteen, Samuel had been the best basketball player in

the village. His dream, like every other kid’s, was to play college ball in

America and, of course, make it to the NBA. There were several South

Sudanese players in the NBA and they were godlike figures back home.

When the news of his invitation spread through the village, neighbors

began gathering in front of the Sooleymons’ thatched-roof hut. Everyone

wanted to celebrate Samuel’s breathtaking news. Ladies brought pitchers of

cinnamon tea spiced with ginger and jugs of tamarind juice. Others brought

platters of sugar-coated cookies and peanut macaroons. It was the greatest

moment in the village’s recent history, and Samuel was hugged and admired

by his neighbors. The little ones just wanted to touch him, certain that they

were in the presence of a new national hero.

He savored the moment but tried to caution everyone that he had only

been invited for tryouts. Making the Under 18 team would be difficult

because there were so many good players, especially in Juba, where the

leagues were well established and the games were played on tile or even

wood floors. In Lotta, like other remote villages and rural areas, the

organized games were often played outdoors on concrete or dirt. He

explained that only ten players would be chosen for the trip to America, and

there they would be joined by five more players, all from South Sudan.

Once combined, the team would play in showcase tournaments in places

like Orlando and Las Vegas, and there would be hundreds of college scouts.

Perhaps a few from the NBA as well.

Reading 2 (Part 3)

Ida arrived after six and immediately went to the oven for a quick

inspection. “Who’s coming? Do we know?” she asked Ernie.

“Of course not. That would require some forethought.”

The table was set for five but the number was always a moving target.

Murray was often not bothered with notions of planning and was known to

invite anyone he passed in the dormitory hallway. He might call home with

the number of guests, or he might not. His invitations were usually limited,

though, by the number of friends he could stuff into the cab of his Toyota

pickup. Four long-legged basketball players seemed to be the max.

When he walked in with just Samuel, his parents were relieved. Murray

immediately went to the oven and as his mother said, “Don’t open that!” he

yanked it open and took a whiff. “Smells delicious.”

“I’m glad you approve,” Ernie said.

“Close the oven!” Ida growled as she stepped toward him. He grabbed

her and lifted her and spun her around as she tried to free herself. Ernie

laughed as Ida squealed, and once again Samuel was astonished at the

horseplay.

The men sat around the table as Ida sliced tomatoes for the salad. “Any

luck this morning?” Ernie asked. It was Wednesday, and all of them knew

the importance of the phone call.

Samuel smiled and said, “Yes, I spoke to my mother this morning.”

“Hallelujah,” Ernie said, rubbing his hands together.

“How is she?” Ida asked.

“She is safe, as are James and Chol.” He said the rains had stopped and

the food trucks were running on time. The U.N. had completed a water

pumping station and each person was getting almost twelve kilos of water a

day, but the lines were long. The money Samuel had wired the week before

had arrived and Beatrice said she almost felt wealthy. She was very careful

with it because the neighbors watched each other closely and money could

cause trouble. She had been able to buy some canned foods and personal

items, and she had shared these with her two friends from Lotta. They were

still living in the tents and had no idea how long they would be there, or

where they would move to next. They had been told, though, that the tents

were only temporary.

When dinner was served, the conversation shifted from Africa to the

basketball team. They were practicing two hours a day and Coach Britt was

trying to kill them. As a sophomore, Murray was worried about playing

time and moving up the bench. As a redshirt, Sooley was just happy to be

on the court. His four-year career was well ahead of him.

As always, he quietly enjoyed the meal. The meat and vegetables were

delicious, the sauce rich and tasty. But he had seen too many photographs

and videos of the long lines of hungry refugees waiting for a bowl of gruel.

The internet brought life in the camps to his laptop in living color, and he

could never again savor a fine meal without thinking of his family.

Reading 3 (Part 4)

Right on time, a black SUV stopped in front of the dorm where Murray

and Sooley were waiting eagerly. They tossed their gym bags in the back

and hopped in. Reynard had said to pack lightly. They would be wearing tee

shirts and shorts all weekend. It might be damp and chilly in Durham, but

on South Beach it was all blue skies, string bikinis, and sunshine.

It was almost five on Friday afternoon. Sooley looked at his cell phone,

frowned, and whispered, “It’s your mother. For the third time. I can’t ignore

her calls.”

“Ignore them,” Murray said. “I am. They’re out of line, Sooley. Forgive

them.”

“They’re just concerned, that’s all. I’ll call her from the plane.”

They arrived at the general aviation terminal and met a pilot in the

lounge. He took their bags and escorted them onto the tarmac where a

gorgeous private jet was waiting. He waved them up the stairs and said,

“Off to Miami, gentlemen.”

They bounded up and were met by Reynard, holding a bottle of beer. A

pretty flight attendant took their jackets and drink orders. Beers all around.

In the rear a comely blonde stood and walked forward with a perfect smile.

Reynard said, “This is my girlfriend, Meg. Meg, Sooley and Murray.” She

shook their hands as they admired her deep blue eyes.

They settled into enormous leather chairs and absorbed the cabin’s rich

detail. Meg, whose skirt was tight and short, crossed her legs and Sooley’s

heart skipped a beat. Murray tried not to look and asked Reynard, “So, what

kind of jet do we have here?”

“A Falcon 900.”

Murray nodded as if his tastes in private aircraft were quite

discriminating. “What’s the range?”

“Anywhere, really. We flew to Croatia last year to see a kid, a wasted

trip. One stop, I believe. Arnie wants to stop handling players in Europe,

though. He has enough here in the States.”

The flight attendant appeared with a tray with two iced bottles of beer.

Meg asked for a glass of wine. The airplane began to taxi as Murray kept

asking about what the jet could and could not do. The flight attendant asked

them to strap in for takeoff, then disappeared into the rear.

Fifteen minutes later she reappeared with fresh drinks and asked if

anyone was hungry. The thought of eating at 40,000 feet in such luxury was

overwhelming, and the boys ordered small pizzas.

Meg proved to be quite the basketball buff and quizzed them on their

run to the Final Four. Because of Reynard’s line of work, she watched a lot

of basketball, college and pro, and knew all the players and coaches and

even some of the refs. Reynard estimated that he personally attended at

least seventy-five games each season, and Meg was often with him.

Not a bad life, Murray was thinking, and quizzed Reynard about his

work. Sooley checked his cell phone, saw that there was coverage, and

stepped to the rear to call Miss Ida. She did not answer.

Arnie’s sprawling home was on a street near the ocean. It, along with

its neighbors, had obviously been designed by cutting-edge architects trying

mightily to shock each other. Front doors were taboo. Upper floors landed

at odd angles. One was a series of three glass silos attached by what seemed

like chrome gangplanks. Another was a grotesque bunker patterned after a

peanut shell with no glass at all. After eight months in Durham, Sooley had

never seen a house there that even remotely resembled these bizarre

structures.