Shoot a hundred jumpers. Do a hundred pushups. Shoot a hundred free throws. Do a sick number of suicides until you feel like you're going to vomit. Vomit. Do a ridiculous amount of stretching. Repeat. That's the daily routine of Madison Hopps, the star forward of his college basketball team.

Some mornings, he gets to the gym as early as 6:30AM, still bleary-eyed from another long night in the library. By the time practice starts at 8:00AM, though, he usually feels awake and alive. Sometimes, he'll even forget about the brace on his left knee.

Hopps has always loved to play basketball. When he was five years old, he would throw down ferocious windmill jams on his Fisher-Price plastic hoop. His parents joked that he spent more time in the air than he did on the ground.

And then there was the time he got his thumb caught in the hoop and had to hang there for three hours.

In college, his natural gifts did most of the work. 

That is, until his injury.

Hopps was the top high school hoopster in his home state and ranked in the top fifteen players nationally. Despite receiving scholarship offers from several elite Division-I programs, he shocked everyone by choosing to stay in Tennessee.

The basketball program at College University of Hopps's Home State was a shadow of what it used to be. March Madness appearances and national championships were a distant memory. Hopps wanted to bring the glory back. What a guy.

His freshman year was a revelation. Hopps led his team in points and assists and carried the school to its first March Madness appearance in twelve years. Can you imagine the roar of the crowd in the stands each time his sneakers hit the floor?

He was an instant star on campus. He relished the spotlight on and off the court. We hear he became a bit of a ladies man, but he never stopped being a gentleman. And a scholar. When his team was knocked out in the first round, Hopps vowed to return stronger than ever.

His sophomore season was even better. Hopps led his team to a second consecutive March Madness appearance. This time, they lost in the Sweet 16. He was named conference player of the year. Totally baller.

Oh, cry about it, why don’t you.

By junior year, Hopps was unstoppable. (Do you know where we're going with this yet? Shh, don't tell. We don't care if you've seen Hoop Dreams.) His team cruised through the first two rounds and on to the Sweet 16. Tragedy struck when they played in the Elite 8.

Going up for one of his tomahawk one-handed slams, Hopps came down hard on his left leg. Crumpling to the ground, he knew that his knee and the season were both shot.

"When can I play again?" Hopps asked Dr. Strictorius.

"At least three months to heal. Then, you'll have to do physical therapy to get the strength and flexibility back."

Just as Hopps grabbed his crutches to leave, Dr. Strictorius patted him on the shoulder.

"Look, Madison, I have to tell you—your knee will heal, but you won't be able to jump the way you did before. That's what happens with these kinds of injuries."

Hopps had never gone through anything as difficult as the rehab process for his torn ACL. The man who loved to be in the air was grounded. He had surgery to repair the ligaments and had to miss what would have been his senior year on the team. He spent most of his time in physical therapy and at the gym, doing some strength training. He became frustrated and depressed. Who wouldn't?

His team, who were expected to get to the Final 4 that year, missed the tournament. Bummer City. Population: one basketball team.

Something changed during the last month of his physical therapy. Before, he hardly gave his studies the time of day. His mind was only on the game. But now, something was different. Hopps was ready to work both in class and on the court. He was hungry. Hungry to crush it.

Hopps was also always hungry for pancakes. (Source)

With his newfound intensity, Madison Hopps hit the court. He also hit the books. Hard. His teammates, inspired and slightly intimidated by his new work ethic, started to refer to him as "Mad."

Hopps liked that nickname.

He was working harder in every area and his whole team seemed to follow suit. Everyone was anxious for the new season.

A hundred jumpers. A hundred pushups. A hundred free throws. A ridiculous amount of stretching. Hopps couldn't jump as high anymore, but that wouldn't stop him. He had his groove back.

Finally, he made it to the last practice before the start of the new season. This would be Hopps's epic return from his injury.

Coach Bo Whissel called everyone together.

"Last year was a dark time for this team. It was hard on all of us. But what I saw today was incredible. I'm proud of each and every one of you. I can feel it—this is our time."

After the speech, everyone looked at their recovering hero. Hopps took a deep breath and looked back at the faces of his teammates. He was more excited than a cat in a paper bag. He began to tell of the team's journey from zeroes to heroes.

Surveying his teammates, he remembered it all. He felt his entire life had come to this moment. He was Luke Skywalker. Okay, maybe we're overdramatizing a bit.

Hopps could no longer jump as high. But he was a better, more complete player. More importantly, he was a better, more complete person. He saw respect in his teammates' eyes. Or was that sweat? Probably both.

When Hopps finished his speech, we can't be certain, but we swear we heard "Eye of the Tiger" start playing on the PA.