Game Changers--A Benchwarmers Novel

by John Feinstein

  They practiced hard, with Jeff and Ron Arlow back to splitting time at the point. Jeff knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t help but wish that Arlow had been a little bit sicker and hadn’t come back to school so fast.

  At 4:10 p.m., Jeff noticed members of the girls’ team coming into the gym dressed in practice gear. That had to mean Mr. Block had decided to allow Fran Dunphy to coach the team. Sure enough, a moment later, Coach Dunphy himself walked onto the court, wearing a maroon T-shirt that said TEMPLE BASKETBALL on it. He stood at the baseline with Andi and Jamie and watched as the boys wrapped up.

  Jeff knew Coach C had seen the girls and their new coach, but he gave no indication that he’d noticed anything unusual. A moment later, practice was over and they circled their coach again. He reminded them to be on the bus at two thirty the next day, asked Arlow and Jeff to lead a cheer—“Beat KOP!”—and sent them to the locker room.

  As the girls took the court to warm up, Jeff was amused to see Coach C stopping to shake hands with Coach Dunphy. They spoke briefly, before Coach Dunphy gave Coach C a friendly pat on the back and headed to midcourt. Jeff thought for a second about running over to say hello, then decided it was a bad idea. Arlow had already made a crack in the locker room about Jeff and “his daddy” riding to Andi’s rescue again. He didn’t need to make a point of the fact that he knew Coach Dunphy.

  * * *

  Coach Dunphy had told the girls to warm up the way they normally did—which meant two layup lines. Andi could feel the adrenaline pumping through her and could tell everyone else felt the same way.

  After several minutes, she heard Coach Dunphy say in a clear voice: “Everyone, here please.”

  He wasn’t wearing a whistle. It was pretty apparent he didn’t need one. Everyone raced to the center jump circle.

  “Before we start, I’d like each of you to introduce yourself to me,” he said. “I will try to be sure I learn everyone’s name as quickly as possible. I already know some of you, but I need to know all of you. And, even though I should be able to figure it out watching you play, tell me what you think of as your position.”

  He looked directly at Maria Medley. “You can skip the part about your position.”

  Everyone laughed.

  They went around the circle. Andi and Jamie went last.

  Then they did some warm-up drills and returned to the circle.

  “I asked Jamie and Andi to give some idea of how you guys have been lining up. On their recommendation, here are the five I want as starters—at least for now: Bronson, Carillo, Medley, Dove, and Carmichael.” The second team—for now—will be Jolie, Allison, Mearns, Lee, and Eisen. Jensen and Bonilla will sub in as the day goes along.”

  The scrimmage was spirited. Coach Dunphy occasionally said “Stop, everyone” or “Hang on” to make corrections on things like footwork or how to set a screen. It was the first teaching the girls had received all winter.

  When they were finished, he gathered them again and told them he was honored to have the chance to coach them. “I don’t know a thing about King of Prussia’s team,” he said. “We’ll all have to learn as we go tomorrow.”

  He looked around the circle and then added, “Jamie has suggested to me that I make Andi Carillo her co-captain. Any objections?”

  Everyone shouted, “No!”

  Coach Dunphy nodded. “Okay then, Jamie, Andi, get ’em in.”

  Jamie hadn’t warned Andi about this. Now she looked at her and said, “Lead the way, captain.”

  Andi was beaming. She stepped into the circle and waited for Jamie, and they put their hands up together: “Let’s go one and oh!” she said—her meaning clear.

  They stepped in and shouted, “Let’s go one and oh!”

  Everyone was grinning as they headed to the locker room.

  32

  Andi noticed the camera crews setting up their equipment as soon as she and the rest of the Merion sixth-grade girls’ team came onto the court the next afternoon to warm up. Oh, no, she thought, I should have known.

  Clearly, word had spread quickly in the Philadelphia media that the great Fran Dunphy was going to coach a sixth-grade girls’ basketball team. Andi should have realized that was inevitable but hadn’t given it any thought. She’d just been so happy to have a real coach in charge that she hadn’t thought about the ramifications.

  The first of those ramifications had been evident during school. When she passed teachers in the hallway, they all looked away. At one point, during earth science, she’d raised her hand to answer a question and the teacher, Ms. Marx, had looked at her and said, “Oh, Andrea, let’s give the other kids who don’t have the answers for everything a chance.”

  Pretty nasty, Andi thought. It also probably reflected the way a lot of the faculty felt. The presence of the media was only going to make things worse. She dreaded being asked to talk after the game—win or lose.

  By the time the game started, the little gym was full. Andi guessed the place seated about five hundred people. The average attendance for most sixth-grade basketball games might have been fifty on a big night: family, close friends, a few kids who liked basketball. Now there were people standing in the corners of the gym because the bleachers were packed.

  “Good thing no one’s called the fire marshal,” Eleanor whispered as they watched the King of Prussia starters get introduced.

  Like Merion, King of Prussia was 2–2 in conference play. But the Merion team that had been 2–2 was very different from this Merion team. To begin with, the best five players started. What’s more, the team now had a coach who knew how to make adjustments during the game. Merion bolted to an 18–8 lead at the end of the first quarter—Andi making two threes and a layup off a beautiful pass from Maria to lead the way.

  With Coach Dunphy going to the bench, KOP cut the margin to 27–20 at halftime, but the starters blew the game open again in the third quarter. The final, with the bench playing the entire fourth quarter, was 54–42. It hadn’t really been that close.

  The building was loud throughout. More than once a cheer started that said simply: “Dunph! Dunph! Dunph!”

  It was pretty clear whose side the students were on.

  Once they reached the locker room, Coach Dunphy told them how proud he was of the way they’d played and that he hoped this was the start of something good—and fun. Then, he brought up the media horde that awaited them.

  “I will, of course, talk to everyone and explain why I’m here,” he said. “It’s up to the rest of you whether you want to talk to anyone. I know there is some unrest among your teachers about this, so if you don’t want to talk because it might cause trouble for you in your classes, I will explain that to all the reporters.”

  That sounded like a great idea to Andi. Eleanor Dove raised her hand.

  “Coach, I think one of us should speak for the players,” she said. “And, unless I’m wrong, I’m pretty sure Andi doesn’t want it to be her.”

  Andi was nodding her head vigorously, agreeing with Eleanor.

  “So, how about Jamie?” Eleanor said.

  Jamie clearly didn’t want to do it, either. “It was a long day in class today,” she said.

  Maria jumped to her feet. “I’ll do it,” she said. “I honestly don’t care if the teachers are upset. We did what we had to do. That’s exactly what I’ll say.”

  Coach Dunphy looked around. “Everyone okay with Maria being the spokesperson?”

  The answering shouts were unanimous.

  “Thanks, Maria,” Andi said after their postgame cheer.

  “Hey,” Maria said. “Who can get mad at me? I’m adorable.”

  * * *

  By the time Andi showered and dressed and walked back into the gym, she could see Coach Dunphy surrounded by cameras, tape recorders, and notebooks. Maria was still in the locker room, probably primping, Andi figured, for her close-up.

  She was glad to see that everyone was focused on Coach Dunphy and walked quickly to where her mom, who had com
e to the game, was waiting for her.

  “Great playing—by all of you,” her mother said before Andi cut her off.

  “Let’s get out of here before any of them”—she nodded in the direction of the media—“notice me.”

  “Camera shy?” her mom said with a big smile.

  “Absolutely. Anyway, we voted to let Maria be the spokesperson for the players.”

  “How’d that happen?” her mother said as they walked quickly to the gym door.

  “She volunteered.”

  “Brave girl.”

  Andi wasn’t sure if Maria was brave or just unafraid. Maybe they were the same thing. Either way, she was relieved. Until her cell phone buzzed with a text.

  I saw you and your mom duck out. I understand why you don’t want media attention. But I’d like to talk to you—at least on background.

  Andi groaned. Leave it to Stevie Thomas to be the one seeing her leave. When her mom asked what the groan was for, she read her the text. “Text him back and tell him you’ll talk to him as long as he doesn’t quote you. He did say background—that means no quotes.”

  “But, Mom…”

  “He was very fair to you in the fall and he didn’t write anything after that first game when he could have.”

  She was right. She texted him back and he asked if he could call in about an hour.

  Fine, she texted back. Why was it, she thought, that nothing was ever simple?

  * * *

  The boys were also greeted by a media crowd when they walked into the gym at King of Prussia. When Jeff and Andi compared notes later, it was clear it wasn’t nearly as big a crowd as the one back at Merion, but it was not insubstantial.

  “What is the deal with all this?” Danny said to Jeff as they warmed up.

  “The Eagles’ season is over,” Jeff said, grimacing at the memory of their loss in Detroit. “The Flyers don’t play tonight; the Sixers are out of town. And the high school games are at night. So, they’re all bored and here.”

  He knew he was right because his father had told him he was working the newsroom that night to coordinate the high school coverage since it would be the focus of the ten o’clock news show. Or maybe not, Jeff thought, looking at the cameras.

  The media—and everyone else—got to see a very good game.

  KOP led 45–43 with ninety seconds to play. Coach C called time.

  “Let’s shorten this game a little bit,” he said in the huddle. “Jeff, Ron, you guys control the ball outside for a while. We aren’t playing for the last shot—not down two—but wait for my signal before you start the offense. They’re not going to attack because they’re ahead and their big guy has four fouls.”

  He looked at Jeff and Arlow. “You guys understand? Share the ball. No shot until I say so.”

  They both nodded.

  Coach C was right; no one from KOP attacked as Jeff and Arlow played catch with each other on the perimeter. A couple of times Danny Diskin or Eric Billings came out to catch a pass when a defender moved into the passing lane.

  Finally, with thirty seconds left, Coach Crist stood and yelled, “One-four, Michaels, take the point.”

  That meant he wanted them to run the same play that had won the Main Line game: Jeff controlling the ball up top, getting into the lane, and creating a shot for someone. Jeff’s defender was up tight on him, not wanting to give him space for a three.

  Jeff made a quick head-fake, put his head down, and drove the lane. Two defenders closed on him and he flipped the ball to Arlow—who was open for an instant. A defender ran at him, but it was too late. Arlow released the shot and stood posing, knowing it was going in.

  Only it didn’t go in. It hit the back rim. There was a wild scramble and Danny eventually tipped the ball back in the direction of midcourt. Jeff ran it down. The clock was under ten seconds. Arlow had his hand up, calling for the ball again.

  Jeff made a pass-fake as if he were going to throw him the ball and then, with his defender diving left to try to deflect the pass, he pulled up just outside the three-point line and took the shot. The ball hit the bottom of the net with the clock at:02. One of the KOP kids grabbed it and tried to throw it to a teammate—who did catch it just shy of midcourt. But his heave was short and wide left as the buzzer sounded.

  Final: Merion 46, KOP 45.

  Everyone—except Arlow, of course—mobbed Jeff, who kept trying to point at Danny. “He deflected it back to me,” he kept saying. “Mob him.”

  “Shut up, Michaels,” Danny said, laughing. “You’re the hero. Enjoy it.”

  Jeff decided he was right. So he enjoyed it.

  * * *

  Three schools: Main Line, King of Prussia, and Haverford were now tied for first place in the conference at 4–1; Merion and Ardmore were both 3–2. Jeff had wondered how Haverford had lost a game but got his answer in the handshake line: Michael Jordan had apparently rolled an ankle and hadn’t played in his team’s game against KOP.

  The kid from KOP who gave him this news said to him, “Wish you’d been out today the way Jordan was when we played them.”

  “I’m no Jordan,” Jeff answered, laughing.

  “No kidding,” the kid said. “But you’re pretty good in the mortal division of this league.”

  After Coach C congratulated them on the win and told them that they were now a game out of first place in the conference, he told them what they already knew.

  “There are a lot of media types out there,” he said. “They aren’t here because this was a big game in the conference. And Michaels, they aren’t going to want to talk to you because you hit the game-winning shot.” He smiled. “I think you all know that. All I can say is, be careful what you say. You know my colleagues on the faculty aren’t happy about what’s gone on with the girls’ team and I’m sure they’ll all be watching, listening, and reading tonight and over the weekend. Don’t make Monday difficult. If it’s going to be a problem, let it be the girls’ problem. Our biggest concern right now should be Bryn Mawr Tech coming to our place on Tuesday. Everybody understand?”

  The talk sobered them up a little after the postgame celebration. When Jeff came back into the gym, he heard someone calling his name. He looked up and saw Brian Schiff, who had worked at NBC Sports–Philly so long that the joke in the newsroom, according to his dad, was that Shifty—as everyone called him—had interviewed Ben Franklin shortly after his discovery that lightning produced electricity.

  “The Eagles were off that day,” Shifty would say in response. “Ben was a good talker.”

  Shifty was walking in his direction, hand out. “Great game, Jeff, congrats,” he said. “How about talking to us for a minute?”

  “But not about the game, right?” Jeff said.

  Shifty smiled. “I’d rather talk about the game and your shot, you know that. But…”

  “I know,” Jeff said putting a hand up. “It’s okay.”

  Shifty was producing; the person on camera was Kelli Johnson, who was very tall and very pretty. His dad had told Jeff she had come to Philadelphia from San Francisco recently.

  “As soon as we finish with this kid, we’ll get you in and out of here,” Shifty said.

  Jeff looked around. Another camera crew from Channel 3 was talking to Coach Crist, and several people with tape recorders stood in a circle around Danny.

  The kid talking to Kelli Johnson was Arlow. They had apparently just started a moment earlier, so Jeff and Shifty stood off to the side.

  Kelli Johnson was midquestion. “So, you don’t support the girls’ team decision to stand up to their coach, then?” she said.

  “Not even a little bit. I played with Andi Carillo during soccer season. She was a good player, but like a lot of girls, she’s a whiner—no offense. That’s what this is about.”

  Kelli Johnson didn’t ask another question, didn’t even bother to thank Arlow. She looked at Jeff and said, “Please tell me you’re Tom Michaels’s son.”

  Jeff smiled. “That’s me.”
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  Arlow shot Kelli Johnson a disgusted look as he walked away. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “I’m the bad guy for telling the truth. Go ahead, Michaels, tell everyone how wonderful your girlfriend is.”

  He stalked away.

  Jeff shrugged and said to his retreating back, “Happy to.”

  33

  Brian Schiff formally introduced Jeff to Kelli Johnson. Jeff was tempted to ask if he could stand on a box for the interview. In high heels, she was easily six feet tall. She seemed to read his mind.

  “Don’t worry, Jeff, we’ll only be on camera together for a few seconds—if at all,” she said. “I’ll ask the first question and then it’ll be just you on a one-shot. We might not even show me asking the question.”

  Jeff knew what a one-shot was—one person on camera—after years of hearing his dad talk in TV lingo.

  “Thanks, Ms. Johnson,” he said.

  “Kelli,” she said.

  She was, Jeff decided, as nice as she was tall.

  Not surprisingly, the first question was about his role in Fran Dunphy becoming the coach of the girls’ team. He had decided to just tell the truth. He walked through his dad’s friendship with Coach Dunphy, the class, the dinner, and his idea.

  “So, you just thought of it on the spot?” Kelli Johnson said.

  “It was almost like I was thinking out loud,” Jeff said. “I said it almost the second I thought it. I never thought it could actually happen.”

  “Why do you think Coach Dunphy agreed to do this?” she asked.

  Jeff was ready for that one. “He’s spent his whole life trying to do two things: help his players grow as people and, of course, win games. This was a chance to help out some kids who really needed him.”