Journal-World Sports Writer Jesse Newell is preparing himself for Sunday’s walk-on tryout for the Kansas University men’s basketball team. The following is the third column describing his attempt to learn all he can from KU coaches and players before the tryout.

There was no doubt whom I would ask to help me with my shooting.

I have seen more three-pointers made by this Jayhawk than any other in my three years here. This player is the best returning long-range shooter at Kansas University.

I just hoped Erica Hallman was as good of a teacher as she was a shooter.

So I’ve heard lots of theories, Erica. Aim at the back rim. Aim for the middle. What do you do?

“I don’t aim – I just shoot,” she says. “When you get to aiming, that’s when you start missing.”

And suddenly, I realize my problem all these years. Here I was, aiming for the middle of the basket, when the best shooters don’t aim at all.

I’m pretty sure they should have covered that in basketball camp somewhere along the way.

Journal-World sports writer Jesse Newell rocks back to fire a shot during a game of horse against Kansas University basketball player Erica Hallman. Newell, who played Hallman last week at Allen Fieldhouse, lost H-O-R-S-E to Hallman's H.

I ask her about being 5-foot-8, because just this week I have discovered I am 5-8 as well.

“Height doesn’t matter. Height doesn’t matter,” she stresses. “If you can run off screens, get open and get the shot off, then you’re fine. I don’t think height has anything to do with it.”

So the chances of me making the men’s basketball team have nothing to do with my height?

“It’s all in the heart,” she says. “It’s all in the stroke. In the wrist. If you come in and shoot 50 percent, they’ll put you on the team.”

I quickly try to figure the odds of making half of my threes if I currently can only make two-thirds of my layups.

Obviously, she is going to have to help me.

“Elbow underneath. Elbow in,” she says. “Definitely hold the follow-through. Don’t have the ball sitting on your palm. It can’t rest on your palm.”

I ask her if I need to peek through the window made by my arms and the ball when I shoot. She tells me that’s one way, but also shows the side window I can also look through.

Already, I have greatly improved my shooting knowledge.

It’s time to put her on the spot. So much of shooting is confidence, and I’m about to see how much Erica has. I ask her if she is the best shooter – male or female – on campus. She pauses for just a second.

“Yeah,” she says. “I’d tell them to bring it on.”

So you’d challenge anyone?

“I’d play them in horse,” she says.

So you’d even challenge me in horse?

Her smile becomes wider.

I tell Erica she can have the honors, and she shoots me a glare.

“You want ME to go first?” she asks, somewhat insulted.

Great. Now I’ve made her mad. Just what I needed.

She lines up on the right baseline.

“This is a tougher shot than it looks,” she says just before draining the jumper.

I surprise myself and actually follow with a jumper that goes in. She moves to the other baseline.

“You’re not even going to get a letter on me,” she says, rattling in the next shot.

I complain about her having the homecourt advantage at Allen Fieldhouse with its friendly rims. Then I aim my shot at the basket.

Cardinal sins one and two. I now have the letter H.

“You’re lucky I’m being nice,” she says, hitting an 18-footer from the top of the key.

Is trash-talking a skill I need to add to my repertoire?

“Only if you can back it up,” she says.

Hallman has yet to release her three-point arsenal (she shot 39 percent from beyond the arc last year in 157 attempts), but it doesn’t matter. With my second miss, I add an O to my score.

A few poor shots later, and I’m one letter from elimination.

Desperate to get a letter on Hallman, and to silence her for maybe three seconds, I ask an important question.

Hey, Erica. What was your free-throw percentage last year?

“Not good,” she replies. “You might want to start there.”

With the charity stripe as one of my strong points, I step to the line and nail the shot.

I then work my way behind the backboard, jumping to try to distract her.

Doesn’t work. She makes the free throw.

I sink another one and try a different method: starting my arms left and then waving them right as she shoots.

This time I get her. The shot takes a hard bounce off the rim, and I jump up and down, celebrating my one letter while talking some trash of my own.

Hey, she said I could do it if I backed it up.

Not amused, Erica finishes me off quickly, calling glass on a shot from the elbow.

After my ugly miss, she takes the win by “proving it” with an equally impressive shot that kisses the window before falling through the net.

I drop my head in disappointment. I have officially been schooled.

Erica shakes my hand, offering me one last piece of advice.

“It’s all in the fingers,” she says. “Keep the ball on your fingers.”

She starts to walk away then stops.

“Oh, and good luck.”

Now two of us are convinced I’m going to need it.