Basketball game. Something happens that makes Avon very happy, and then we see that the score is 33-45 at the half. Avon and Prop Joe put aside the trash talk, and Prop Joe graciously tells Avon that he got a good ringer. Avon mildly says that it's not Joe's year, and Prop Joe shrugs, "It look that way, but you never know." Avon points out that Westside's up by twelve points, and Prop Joe agrees, but guess what? "I got a proposition for you." Well, that would stand to reason. Avon's listening. "Double down?" offers Prop Joe. "Let's give this wager a clean six figures." Avon is supremely confident, replying, "I don't give a fuck, baby -- it's your money. You can waste it if you want." How a gangster like Avon can't see the next twist coming, I am sure I do not know, but Prop Joe gives a pointed look toward his bench, and a kid grins and nods and takes off his tearaways. I'm guessing he's not just the manager.
In a truck, Daniels looks at a photocopy of Avon's old boxing photo, asking if anyone's got a visual on the present-day version. Herc radios that he doesn't even know what he's looking for. Daniels shakes his head. Play has resumed. Sydnor makes his way up the hill to the court, scanning the crowd on the sidelines. He seems to reject Prop Joe as a possibility, then Wee-Bey, then Stringer, and then his eyes pass over the space beside Stringer, but as soon as Avon sits back down, Sydnor's gaze swings back, and even with the visor and sunglasses, he can identify the target. Locks on like a tractor beam, in fact.
Back in his car, Sydnor checks his photo again to make sure, and then radios a description: "On the sideline, red shirt, white visor. I think he's coaching or something."
At the game, Stringer isn't pleased, and barks, "Who is this fucking midget?" Indeed, Prop Joe's ringer is short, but he's kicking basketball ass despite his height disadvantage. Avon takes off his sunglasses to glare at Prop Joe, who smirks, as well he should. Come on, Avon. Rookie mistake.