*
Both basketball teams entered the gym to start their warm-ups. After missing a three-point shot, Carter glanced over at the other side to scope out the competition. Compared to his team, the Millbrook guys looked scrawny and frail. They were taking shots as well, and it seemed like they made every single one. Thanks to the supplement, Carter’s team had the advantage in muscle, but it still looked like it would be an extremely close game.
After practicing lay-ups and a few passing drills, Coach Howzer called the team back into the locker room. On the way in, Carter noticed the stands filling up with spectators. Among them, he spotted Ms. Downing sitting herself right behind his team’s bench. Wearing a pair of athletic pants and a tech-fiber t-shirt, both tight enough to cut off the circulation, she crossed her legs and waited for the game to begin. She turned her head suddenly and waved to him.
Swallowing, Carter ducked into the tunnel and took a seat on the bench beside his teammates. Coach Howzer, his arms behind his back, strolled up and down the room, inspecting his players.
“This is it!” he shrieked. “Either we take off and soar to the state championships, or we bite the dust and just jerk each other off until the season ends. Because we won’t face a tougher opponent this year. So it’s now or never boys! Do you hear me? I want you to listen carefully to this. I’ve got some advice you need to take to heart.
“Sometimes, you’ve got to leap without looking. You might be nervous, confused, afraid, but it helps to have an older guy like me take you by the hand and show you that everything’s going to be all right. I’ve been where you are now, and it took having someone on top of me who knew how to handle the situation to make me a better man. That’s what I want to do to you now. And I won’t stop until I get the job done.”
At that moment, Coach Howzer was crouching, his hands on his knees, facing the seniors along the opposite wall and sticking his ass right at Carter, who cringed and kept his eyes fixed on the pale green floor tiles.
“I’m going to tell you something right now that I want you to remember. When you’re out there in the game, I want you to carry this inside you. I want it coursing through your veins and putting the fire in your eyes. I want to plant something inside of you that will stay there forever. Are you listening? Ok, here it is: the key to winning games is teamwork.
“I know what you’re thinking. But, coach, you’ve been telling us that since our first practice. Let me tell you what I mean. When you get five guys together, sweat pouring off of rock hard muscles, something magical happens. You stop being five different guys, and you finally become one. It’s like you fit together, helping the guy who’s straining, taking a load off the guy who’s been pushed to the max. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? That’s what I want to see out there today. Five guys on the floor, and you can’t tell where one ends and the next begins.”
Coach Howzer, now fully erect, had a reverential look on his face. Swaying, he eyed his players, many of whom returned his determination and poise with every sinew on their faces. The coach started to nod, satisfied. Waving, he called the boys off of their benches.
“Ok, I’m loving the vibe right now. Let’s bring it in. Hands together.”
At his command, the boys got up and formed a circle around their coach. They took each other’s hands, and Carter noticed many of the guys were hesitant to touch. Daniel held hands with another player who started to breathe heavily and twitch.
“Oh yeah, baby,” the guy whispered, and Daniel jerked his hand away.
“This guy’s getting off over here!” Daniel complained.
“Ok, no hand holding. Just bring it in close,” the coach ordered. “On the count of three, Saints! Here we go. One, two, three…”
“Saints!”
Breaking up, the guys jogged out of the locker room and got ready for the start of the game. Carter, Paul, and Daniel stood by the bench, where they would spend the entire game. As the national anthem began, Carter glanced around at the packed stands, full of family members, friends, and supporters. Nearly all of them had one hand over their heart and a soda cup in the other.
Turning his gaze toward the back wall, the big screen under the scoreboard showed the starters taking their places on center court. The centers waited for the tip-off. The referee tossed the ball, the clock started counting down, and the game had begun.
Loose Lips Sink Ships Page 28
