Ernie got tied up by their forward and moved the pill outside to set it up again. We had penetrated, but we hadn’t scored. I knew it was going to be a long game.
When we stepped up our game, we were playing them just about even. We took away the little bump-and-run pick they were using and hustled back on defense fast enough to keep them from setting up easy plays. They had only one fast break the whole second quarter. But at the end of the half they were still ahead, 36–29.
“Right now it’s anybody’s game,” House was saying in the locker room. “Whoever wants it the most is going to get it. How much you guys want it? How much you guys want it?”
We all said we wanted it more than Lane did, and we meant it. Seven points can disappear in a heartbeat, and I knew it and everybody on both teams knew it.
We came out and started our warm-ups for the second half. When a television reporter started talking to the two coaches, I went over to where Fletch was standing.
“What you thinking?” I asked him.
“They’re not turning the ball over,” he said. “We got to take it on defense and get the ball inside more on offense. Their guards keep double-teaming the ball, and that boy on you is holding you so tight, I thought he was part of your jersey.”
The third quarter was all them. They didn’t do anything special, but they made plays and all we could get were a few humbles and some lucky bounces. At the end of the quarter they were up by nine.
“Tomas, can you do anything inside, man?” I asked him as we went out for the last quarter.
“Get me the ball,” he said.
He didn’t say it with a lot of confidence, but I saw that me and Ernie weren’t killing their guards. House wanted to win too bad to bring Colin in, and Ricky was too small to deal with their big guards. Sky’s man was tall, and he had this little twelve-foot jumper that he hit anytime Sky gave him an inch. Sky could keep him away from that shot, but he was keeping Sky off the boards. Tomas couldn’t jump with their forwards, so that left all the rebounding to Ruffy and whatever came out to me and Ernie.
“If you get the trey, take it,” House called to me.
It had worked the day before, but the man holding me wasn’t giving up squat.
Lane hardly ever made mistakes, but they started the fourth quarter with a weak turnover when their two guard carried the ball. On our possession I made a nice move at the top of the key and hit Tomas sliding across the lane. He got the ball and went up in one motion, made the deuce, and got the foul.
Tomas made the foul shot. Lane brought the ball down slowly, which surprised me. I thought they might be thinking about sitting on their lead, even though it was down some. They weren’t. What they did was spread their offense, bring out the new forward, and try to isolate him on Tomas. The forward they were using was shorter than Tomas, but he handled the ball well. He made a move on Tomas, spun around him, and walked the ball inside. The refs didn’t whistle the carry and the play made Tomas look bad.
“Drew! Drew! Twenty-three switch! Twenty-three switch!” House was screaming from the sideline.
We turned it over and fell back on defense. I switched defensive assignments with Tomas, who was our number 23, and he came out and took the young guard.
The forward I had mouthed off to told the new guy to burn me. He put the ball on the floor, threw a shoulder fake, and then made a quick move to go around me. But he was going too wide, and I stayed with him. I was on him when he went up, and when he let the ball go rim high, I pinned it against the boards, then knocked it out toward Sky. When Sky went coast to coast and slammed, everybody on our bench was on their feet.
The Lane coach, a short little brown-skinned dude, ran halfway up the floor calling the next play. They brought the ball down again, gave it to the same forward—who threw a jive fake inside that couldn’t have fooled a Barbie doll—and came across the center.
“Pick left!” Ruffy called it.
I knew it was coming and slammed an elbow into the dark body to my left. It was the same pick-and-run play they had made in the first quarter, where the guy who set the pick took the contact and then peeled to the basket. When I saw Sky pick up my man, I moved with the other forward as he reached for the ball. He should have gone straight up, but he bounced the ball once and dipped his knees. I knew he wanted to slam and I went up with him, reaching over his head and putting my fingers on the top of the ball before he started his dunk.
The dude was strong, but so was I, and I was on top of the ball so there was nothing he could do. As we came down together, I heard the whistle blow and saw the ref’s hands go up for the jump ball.
Yeah!
He tried to cop a plea for a foul, but the play was too pretty to be whistling any lame fouls. I had just embarrassed the chump and everybody knew it.
I had a good feeling in my stomach. We were going to win.
We hit some quick buckets and they got sloppy. They were still working plays, but they weren’t crisp.
Time was flying, and when the ref stopped play to wipe some sweat off the court, I checked the clock. There were less than two minutes to play and we were actually up by a point. House called a time-out. He told us what the deal was.
“We need to score a deuce and then be aggressive to get the ball back,” he said. “What they need to do is get the ball now. They know that and you know that, so hang on to the ball and look for a good shot. Sky, get more active. See if you can shake your man without the ball, then go for the backdoor. Drew, Ernie, if you see Sky break loose, see what it creates. It could end up with a backdoor or the two play, with both of you coming in and crossing at the foul line. Stay alert. It’s our game if we want it!”
Time was back in and the game was on. This was my game. I felt it, I could almost taste it as Ernie passed to me.
I put the ball on the floor and went hard to my right. As I moved toward the key, I saw Sky’s man chasing him. Tomas blocked out Sky’s man, and I let the pass go. Sky made the deuce and we were up by three. I looked up and there were thirty seconds to go.
House was waving us into a full-court press. I found my man and got on him as their center inbounded a full-court pass. I looked downcourt and saw Ernie chasing his man. The ball landed in the lane, and the dude who got it swooped it up and made a perfect layup. They had scored in one second.
We were still up by one, and now it was Lane who was in the full-court press. We got the ball across the ten-second line and they weren’t sure what to do. They made a few attempts at the ball but they didn’t want to foul us.
I didn’t want to look at the clock but I did. Fifteen seconds.
“Foul him! Foul him!” their coach was screaming.
My man came toward me, and so did Ernie’s man. I passed the ball to Ernie, who was open. They both ran toward him and he passed it to Sky, who started in one direction, then changed his mind and walked with the ball.
The ref blew his whistle as he signaled the walking violation.
I looked up at the clock. Six seconds. Their ball.
They called a time-out. They had six seconds to do something with the ball. We had six seconds to stop them.
“Okay, okay!” House was down on one knee in front of us. “We don’t have to worry about fouling them. I don’t think the ref is going to give them the game on the line. We don’t foul intentionally, but we’re aggressive after the ball. We reach for leather! We reach for leather! On three!”
“One! Two! Three!”
We lined up close. It was jersey on jersey, sweat on sweat. They were in a tight line when the ref threw the ball to them. Their center backed off, and their two guards took off down the court. Me and Ernie chased them and caught them before they turned. We turned with them and saw one of their forwards with the ball. I knew he was the one who had made the short jumpers. My man came out and took a bounce pass, with me reaching for the ball. He started falling forward. I brought my hands back and saw him push the ball back to the guy who had brought the ball down. Sk
y was still on him when he faked a move at the foul line and went straight up. Sky went up with him and they seemed to go up forever. The ball left the dude’s fingertips, and I turned and looked for somebody to block out. I saw their center move toward the basket and I stepped in front of him. I felt him on my back as the ball came down, rattled around the rim, and fell through as the buzzer sounded.
My head went crazy. I looked around for the scoreboard. At first I couldn’t find it high above the stands. Then I saw it, but by that time I didn’t need it. All the Lane players were screaming and shouting around me. We had lost.
In the locker room Sky was sobbing in the corner. Nobody thought it was his fault, nobody thought that he had lost the game or even that his mistake had cost us the game. But nobody had the emotional energy to console him. I was numb; all my tears were inside.
The world stopped. It just stopped. Noises stopped. Movement stopped. Reasons stopped happening. Someone was trying to get us to go back out onto the floor for some kind of ceremony. People were patting us on the back. Words were coming at us. But my world had stopped.
Was the game too important in my life? Did it weigh too much for me to carry any farther? I didn’t know. I just knew I felt so miserable. It was as if standing in the locker room, trying to get up the courage to go through the doors into the corridor and onto the gym floor again, was the moment that summed up my whole life.
We stood in a line on the floor and were given watches. There were photos and congratulations. Then we were back in the locker room and changing our clothes.
Jocelyn and Mom were in the parking lot. Jocelyn’s eyes were red despite her smile. Mom was patting me on the shoulder, her lips saying something I couldn’t hear or maybe couldn’t understand.
How quiet can a bus be?
House was cool. He went to each guy on the team, even the ones who had sat on the bench for the whole game, and said something about how the year had gone or what he hoped for next year.
Monday came, and there was a special assembly to thank us.
“We need to thank the team for their athletic performances,” Mr. Barker said. “But we also need to thank them for how they represented Baldwin. They were gentlemen in their wins, and gentlemen in their one defeat. I was proud of all of them, and proud of the school they come from.”
There was excitement about the NCAA college tournament. People were picking favorites, still high on the momentum of our tournament. I watched part of it, but I wasn’t really into it.
The team still hung together. Tomas was the first one to get college offers. He got an offer from New Mexico, one from West Virginia, and one from Winona State. We helped him look up Winona and found it was in Minnesota. They were a Division II school. I congratulated Tomas, but I felt bad that it was him and not me. I didn’t think it was right for me to feel bad, but I did. He said he would talk it over with House to see where he would go.
“The school that is cheapest is the one I will love,” he said. “What school are you going to go to?”
“I’m not even sure,” I lied, not wanting to say that I hadn’t received any offers. “I might even play pro ball in Italy for a while.”
Ernie got two offers, one from a university in Puerto Rico and one from Monroe Community College. He took the one at Monroe because he didn’t know anything about Puerto Rico.
“If I go to Puerto Rico, they’re going to expect me to speak good Spanish, man,” he said.
All I could think was that at least he had two offers.
Sky got an offer from Providence, which had a smoking basketball program, and I hadn’t figured him to get even a sniff from a Division I school. He said he had been hoping to play ball in the Midwest but that Providence was okay.
“All the fine mamas go to the Midwest schools,” he said.
I had sent regular applications to a number of schools, as my guidance counselor had advised me. My first letter back was from Arizona. It was a straight letter turning me down and asking me to reconsider for my sophomore year. Then I was turned down by Howard, in D.C., Charleston Southern, Virginia Union, the University of Washington, and Louisiana State University.
Ruffy didn’t get any offers either, and he was talking about working for the Transit Authority.
“Or maybe I’ll open a store,” he said. “That way I can give Tony a job if he comes up for parole.”
I knew Ruffy’s mom didn’t have any money to open a store, but I let it slide. The funny thing was at least Tony didn’t have to worry about what he was doing. That was seriously bad thinking, but I was feeling it.
It wasn’t that I just felt bad. I could deal with bad. But I felt ordinary. All my dreams of playing pro ball and being a star looked as if they were gone, and I was going to be just another brother standing on a Harlem street corner, leaning in a ghetto doorway, pretending the street hustle wasn’t about me.
Saturday morning I went to play ball but just sat on the bench and watched some kids. When I got home, Jocelyn met me at the door.
“There’s a priest here to see you,” she said. “Who did you kill today?”
I knew I hadn’t done anything and thought something had happened to Tony.
The priest was sitting in the living room, a cup of tea in front of him, looking cool in his priest outfit and white hair. The man with him was familiar. He was the one who had talked to me at the Bryant game, who had said I was a player. He looked a little sleazier sitting in my living room wearing a cheap suit that was getting shiny around the knees. Mom was sitting in the chair near the window. I couldn’t figure what was going down, but Jocelyn hadn’t given me a heads-up, which she would have if there was something I needed to know.
They stood up when I walked into the room.
“Hello, Drew. I’m Father Gabaccia, and this is Coach Mickey Burns.” The priest extended his hand and I shook it.
Burns stood up and looked me up and down. “You’re a solid six-five, maybe six-six,” he said. “So many kids put down six-something on their résumés and they’re really five-something.”
“We’ve come by to leave you with some information about our basketball program at DePaul University,” the priest said. “We think you’d fit into our program nicely, and we’re offering you a full scholarship if you commit to us. We had some other players in mind along with you, some quite good, but we can’t get them all. We’ve brought along a ton of paper for you to go over, but I just want to add two things. One is that we can offer smaller class sizes than most schools and you’ll get all the help you need to succeed academically, and second, we really want you out in Chicago.”
“That sounds good to me, sir,” I said.
“You were number three on our list of guards,” Burns said. “It doesn’t mean that you were the third best guard, it was just that we felt that the other two young men had a slightly better fit. We were lucky to get our first two choices. One was a beautiful kid from Chicago. Had everything going for him. Unfortunately he was caught up in a drive-by shooting and was wounded pretty badly. We’re going to give him a scholarship if he makes it, even though he probably won’t be able to play ball for us. That’s how much we think of him.”
“If he can’t play ball?” I asked.
“Spinal injury,” Burns said. “We have high hopes for the second kid. He’s a junior college transfer, so he’s got some experience on you, but you have size on him. I hope you look over the papers and DVD we brought, and that it will make you want to call us. You’ll look great bringing the ball down for DePaul.”
I didn’t want to grin. I wanted to be so cool, so calm and laid-back, and I almost pulled it off. Then I looked over and saw Mom sitting on the edge of her seat and Jocelyn sitting at the table.
“I’ve seen you play a number of times,” Coach Burns said. “I saw the way you handled yourself against Bryant, and I particularly liked the way you played against Lane. That was a tough team. I thought you could have worked the boards more in the first half. What do you think?”
“They were tough on the boards,” I said. “But I should have been in there banging with them.”
What DePaul had to offer was a full ride. Coach Burns started telling me about the program, who all they played, and who had played for them in the past.
“If you decide on our program, you’re going to have some competition for the starting guard slot,” Father Gabaccia said. “But you certainly have size and character going for you.”
They left me with some booklets about the school. All I had to do was write a letter of intent and I was set. I told them I would talk it over with my family and let them know as soon as possible.
When they left, me and Mom and Jocelyn were jumping up and down that apartment and hugging each other big-time. I had my tears coming again and couldn’t stop them.
House called me at ten thirty. He had heard about the offer, and Fletch called a little while later. He said he was sure he could get me into Armstrong Atlantic.
“Where’s that?”
“Savannah, Georgia,” Fletch said. “I think it’s the best school for you. You go to Armstrong and you can cruise through. You go to DePaul and you’ll have to play on national television, everybody in the country will be reading about you, all the pro scouts will be tracking your every move. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
“Yeah, I think I can deal with it,” I said. I was smiling, and I knew Fletch was, too. “Yo, Fletch, did you think I was going to get some good offers?”
“There was nothing written in stone, Drew,” Fletch said. “You have the skills, but sometimes the ball doesn’t bounce the way we want it to, does it?”
“No, man, it sure doesn’t.”
Later, when I was lying across my bed, just about levitating with joy, Jocelyn came into the room with a bunch of three-by-five index cards.
“Sign these for me and I’ll sell them on eBay,” she said, tossing the cards on the bed.
Game Page 12
