“Listen, if you don’t take this shit seriously, you are going to get killed tomorrow,” Keller said. “I mean that. They will run you out of the gym.”
Keller needed to know.
In the six months leading up to Bang With the Big Boys, the Inland Stars had defeated every team they faced, all but a few by whopping margins. They won events all over Southern California and cruised to the title of the Nike Invitational in Portland once again. Pe’Shon appeared to be the strong guard the Inland Stars needed. With Terran and Xavier added to Demetrius, the team had three players five foot ten or taller, when most teams were lucky to have one. In Keller’s opinion, there was not a more talented team in the nation, and Demetrius was the best sixth-grader in the country. Still, doubt lingered in the back of his mind. He had believed his team was unbeatable before the 2002 Nationals, and Hoosier Hoops embarrassed him. He had thought Demetrius would dominate the Hoops’ big men, but the opposite occurred. Was there a weakness he didn’t see? Was there a flaw that could be exploited that would once again leave him and the boys short of their goal? He could wait until July and the 2003 Nationals in Newport News, Virginia, to find out, but patience was not his strength. He needed know if he was making progress toward his dream.
John Finn needed to know too.
If Bang With the Big Boys was Keller’s moment of reckoning, for John it offered the chance to answer an important question: Was Keller doing more harm than good? In the months leading up to the tournament, John and Keller had feuded regularly. Since Justin and Pe’Shon joined the team, Jordan’s playing time had been reduced, and that was the foundation for their disputes. On several occasions before the team left for Baltimore, John raised the issue with Keller in contentious talks that ended with each man taking a hard line: John believed Keller was being unfair to his son by favoring the new kids. Keller believed John was inflating his son’s ability. He also said John pushed Jordan too hard, to the point that Keller predicted, “One day, Jordan is going to quit basketball just to get back at his dad.”
Certainly, Keller favored new players, and he should have rewarded Jordan, Rome, and Andrew for their loyalty. Without question, John was the team’s most demanding father. He came across as the consummate Little League dad living vicariously through his son, and his history bore that out. Growing up in Ohio, he had been a good enough offensive lineman to earn a football scholarship to Northwestern, but his first love was basketball, and he regretted not chasing a college career in that sport.
In an episode that illustrated John’s obsession with his son’s basketball development, John watched as Jordan played several uneventful minutes to start one of the earlier games in Maryland. When Jordan walked off the floor and sat on the bench, John said from across the court, “Jordan, drink some water.” When his son didn’t immediately find a water bottle, John raised his voice. “JORDAN, drink some water.” At six foot four, John was an imposing man. He had a thick mat of dark hair and a goatee that made him look the villain in an action film. But his most intimidating feature was his voice. It was as if he had a megaphone built into his throat. Even a simple instruction to drink some water could come across as a booming directive from above.
John continued to demand that his son drink water, and Jordan continued to sit there unmoved. John assumed Jordan must not have access to water; it couldn’t be that he was disobeying his command. John sent his youngest son, Tanner, to the bench with a bottle. Jordan took it from him but then set it on the floor under his seat without taking a sip. John spun around, looking at the other parents in disbelief. At this point, every person in the gym wondered: Will Jordan take a drink? Rare is it when a twelve-year-old takes such a public stand against his father. And, anyway, their contest of wills was far more interesting than the game. John paced back and forth along the far sideline of the court. If he suddenly charged the team’s bench and forced water down Jordan’s throat, no one would have been surprised. Instead, he took a few steps toward the bench and found a decibel level unavailable to most humans.
“JORDAN, YOU NEED TO DRINK SOME WATER!”
There was a period of silence that lasted maybe five seconds, but it felt longer. An entire gymful of people awaited Jordan’s move. Rome, who sat three seats down the bench, leaned forward and looked at Jordan, and that triggered something. Without taking his eyes off the game, Jordan reached down and leisurely picked up the plastic bottle from beneath his chair. He held it in his lap for another several seconds and then put it to his mouth and drank barely enough water to fill a keyhole. John returned to where the other parents were seated and, in an exasperated tone, stated, “I don’t want him getting dehydrated.” All the parents nodded; a few even sipped from their water bottles just to be safe.
Clearly, John was fanatical, but his obsession meant he was constantly scrutinizing Keller’s actions and their effect on Jordan. If Keller yelled at Jordan for missing a shot or chastised him for a turnover, Jordan often became less assertive, slipping into the background of the game. A great player’s belief in his abilities never wavers. John knew this from his time playing college football. Demetrius and Pe’Shon—they had that attitude. No matter what Keller said or an opposing fan yelled, their mind-set remained the same: I’m going to score. Jordan had that instinct once, John believed, but it dulled as he spent more time around Keller.
Driving to the gym on Saturday, John raised several questions—but not because he wanted answers. Putting his thoughts out in the open was not easy for him. He was jittery and unnerved, and he shifted in his seat as if he couldn’t get comfortable. “Do you think Joe is a good coach?” he asked me. “Do you think Joe cares about the kids the way a coach should?” He talked about the coaches he had growing up. Some of them were bastards, but he didn’t question their understanding of the game, whether it was football or basketball. “You know, when we first joined the team, I thought Joe was a pretty good coach. He didn’t focus on the fundamentals enough, I see that now, but he worked hard on making the boys better. But I think he has regressed. He’s never gotten better than the first day we joined the team.”
As the team’s cavalcade of rented minivans pulled into the rotunda of The Boys’ Latin School of Maryland, and the players hurried down a tree-lined path to the gym, John lagged behind, walking slowly with his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his sweat suit. “I’ll catch up in a minute,” he said. He walked over to a perch overlooking a football field, a brooding look in his eyes, questions swirling in his head.
Moments before the start of the game against Team Maryland, Demetrius called his teammates to the free-throw line on the Inland Stars’ end of the court. He put his arms out wide, as if he were showing off his wingspan, and Rome slid under his left arm and put his right arm around Demetrius’s shoulder. The other boys followed suit, wrapping their arms around one another until they formed a tight circle. As a group, they leaned forward and the circle tightened, like a flower closing its petals. They began swaying back and forth and Demetrius started a chant, a simple “Oh … Oh … Oh.” With each word the volume increased, as did the speed of the chant. Nothing during Keller’s short pregame speech hinted that the game was different from others, but this was something they had never done before. Chad Wilson and the rest of the starting five for Team Maryland stood near midcourt, waiting for the game to begin, but like everyone else they were stunned into silence by this tight group dressed in black, chanting and swaying. Later, Demetrius would admit to improvising it on the spot, but the only hint of this came at the end. The chanting went on so long, it became apparent that the boys didn’t know how to finish. The referee finally came over and tapped Demetrius on the back. When he looked up, the rest of the boys dropped their arms and the chanting stopped. Demetrius clapped his hands twice, walked to the center of the court, and stuck his hand out to Aristide Murdock, Team Maryland’s center. It wasn’t a cordial greeting; they were like two fighters touching gloves.
Demetrius wiped the bottom of both shoes an
d looked around at his teammates. Terran was to his right, Rome to his left. Andrew was behind him, and Pe’Shon stood behind Andrew, near the Inland Stars’ free-throw line. Demetrius nodded at Pe’Shon. If he won the tip, he was going to send it all the way back to him. Murdock was as tall as Demetrius, and it was preposterous to think Demetrius would jump so much higher than Murdock that he would be able to get his whole hand on the ball and send it ten feet backward to Pe’Shon. Yet when the referee tossed the ball skyward, he did exactly that. Pe’Shon quickly pressed the ball upcourt and pulled up for a 14-foot jump shot that he knocked down for the game’s first basket. Keller thrust a fist in the air, and for a brief moment it appeared as if the Inland Stars were going to win with ease.
But the defending national champions were well coached, and on offense they patiently swung the ball around the perimeter as Murdock and another forward, Javorn Farrell, fought Demetrius and Terran for position inside. Farrell was tireless, and when he got the ball he unleashed a series of post moves rarely mastered by a player so young, spinning and drop-stepping his way to a layup. Wilson scored on a drive and made a free throw, then another guard, Kendall Marshall, drove past Andrew to put Team Maryland ahead 7–2. Team Maryland’s half-court trap prevented the Inland Stars from getting easy baskets, and they never got into a flow. Keller spent most of the opening quarter frantically searching for a solution, and, as usual, he resorted to aimless substituting. He pulled Andrew and put in Justin. He pulled Rome and put in Jordan. When Jordan missed a layup, he yanked him (after a mere forty seconds on the court) and inserted Darius.
After Team Maryland’s initial flurry of baskets, the first quarter settled into a sloppy rhythm. It was ugly basketball, with missed shots and turnovers galore, but it was more a testament to how evenly matched the teams were than poor execution. They battled to a draw on almost every possession.
Just before halftime, Demetrius caught the ball on the right block and backed in against Murdock. He leaned into him with his left shoulder and, when he felt Murdock was overplaying that side, he spun right and flipped in a shot over his right hand. He repeated the move a possession later, and Murdock was completely fooled. He simply backed away in frustration as Demetrius gave the Inland Stars the lead, 14–12, going into halftime.
Keller led the team toward an anteroom that separated the gym from a hallway and blasted open the steel door with his right arm and held it open. “Get the fuck in there and sit down!” he shouted. One by one the players walked past him, their eyes downcast as Keller scowled at them. Volleyball nets and poles were stacked on one side of the tiny room, and the boys tripped over them as they tried to find open space. A few leaned against the wall and others sat on the nets. They left an opening in the middle of the room, into which Keller stepped.
“Jesus Christ! What the hell is happening?” he yelled. “You’re letting these guys beat you to the ball! You’re letting them beat you on the glass! What the hell is wrong with you guys? Jesus Christ!”
Keller paced in the small space, taking two steps forward, turning, then taking two steps back, as if he were caged. His gray golf shirt was dotted with sweat, and he was breathing heavier than any of the boys.
“This is the biggest game of the year. This is it. Team Maryland. Team fucking Maryland, and you come out and play like that. Jesus Christ!”
Demetrius squatted down, leaned back against the concrete wall, and closed his eyes. He didn’t need to see Keller. He was not diagramming plays on a grease board. There was no talk of strategy. The entirety of Keller’s message during the five-minute speech was: Stop fucking up. Demetrius and the others had heard it before. As Keller finished, Demetrius opened his eyes and stood up and put his hand on his coach’s shoulder. “Coach, we got this. We got this.”
The measure of a great player often comes after halftime, when the opposing coach has adjusted his defense. Team Maryland’s coach had decided during the break that he would no longer let Demetrius go one-on-one versus Murdock. On the Inland Stars’ first offensive possession, Murdock was still guarding Demetrius, but another Team Maryland player cheated off Rome or Justin or Terran—whoever was the closest—whenever Pe’Shon looked to get Demetrius the ball. The plan was for two players to deny Demetrius the ball and, if he did get it, to double-team him. The Team Maryland coaches didn’t know that Demetrius was also the Inland Stars’ best passer and more than willing to play facilitator for his teammates. He immediately recognized what Team Maryland was doing, and he moved two steps farther from the basket, creating more space between him and the defender rotating over to double him and more room for whichever of his teammates was left open. In a 9–2 run to start the second half, Demetrius didn’t score a single point, but he figured in every score. He twice dropped the ball to Terran for easy layups, and when Justin’s defender came at Demetrius, he snapped a crosscourt pass that found Justin open for a 3-pointer. Finally, he set a screen for Pe’Shon that opened a lane toward the basket.
As the fourth quarter started, the Inland Stars led 25–20. On the sidelines, Keller looked as if he’d been in a fight. His gray shirt was now completely soaked and untucked in the front, as he kept using it to wipe sweat off his face. With about four minutes left, after a Demetrius 8-footer extended the Inland Stars’ lead to 7, a Team Maryland guard hit a 3-pointer from the left side. It was an incredible shot. Andrew had a hand in his face, and the guard was drifting slightly to the left when he released the ball. On the ensuing possession, Demetrius missed a shot inside. Team Maryland raced down and a smallish guard hit a driving layup before the Inland Stars could get set on defense. The insurmountable 7-point lead was down to 2, with just over three minutes remaining.
Pe’Shon was fouled on the next possession and converted one of two free throws to get the lead back to 3, but then Team Maryland scored to pull within 1 with 1:28 left. After a time-out, the Inland Stars inbounded the ball. Pe’Shon broke the trapping defense and settled the team into its offense. He dribbled high on the right side, killing time but with an eye on Demetrius down low. Demetrius was trying to free himself from Murdock, but when he managed to seal him off to receive the pass, another Team Maryland player slid over and got in front of him, forming a defensive sandwich that even Demetrius couldn’t overcome. Pe’Shon reacted to this the way any good point guard would. He faked as if he were going to get the ball in to Demetrius and, when the second defender committed, he threw a skip pass across the court to Rome.
Standing at the 3-point line on the left side, Rome caught the ball and had as open a look at the basket as any player had all game. He could have held the ball and let more time run off the clock, but that went against everything he’d been taught over the last two years. In Keller’s offense, if you were presented with an opportunity that good, you took the shot. Rome rose up and released a beautiful, high-arcing shot. Had it gone in, Keller would have been talking about Rome the hero for months, but it missed badly, gracing only the front of the rim and falling to Farrell. He quickly sent an outlet pass to Wilson, who caught it at midcourt and raced past Pe’Shon for a layup.
Keller should have called a time-out and settled his team. There were twenty seconds left and the Inland Stars trailed by only a single point, 29–28. There was plenty of time for a final shot. But he was so distressed over Rome’s miss and Farrell’s go-ahead layup that he turned away from the court. He didn’t see Andrew throw an errant inbounds pass to Pe’Shon, which slipped off his fingers and went out of bounds.
Keller spun around at the sound of the whistle. “DAMMMMITT!” he screamed, and he thrust his hands to the side of his head, pulling at his hair.
Team Maryland’s coach called time-out, and the Inland Stars walked with their heads down to the sideline. Rome was last to reach the bench, and Keller jumped in front of him before he could sit down. “Jesus Christ, Rome! Where is your head? Where is your head? Damn, Rome. What the hell were you thinking?” Rome stood in front of him, head bowed, and didn’t say a word. Keller’s rant end
ed only when the referee’s whistle called the teams back onto the court. As Rome turned, Keller pushed him in the back.
The game was over; that was what Keller thought. Why else would he spend an entire time-out berating poor Rome? But Pe’Shon saw it differently. He knew Team Maryland would look to get the ball to Wilson, and he believed they would try a tactic they had used all game. Wilson was so strong that, if he stood next to Pe’Shon and used his body to shield him off, he made it almost impossible for Pe’Shon to get in front of a well-thrown pass. In effect, he boxed Pe’Shon out of a space and then the ball was passed into that space, where only Wilson could get it. As Murdock took the ball from the referee, he immediately looked toward Wilson, who had his butt against Pe’Shon, blocking him from the space back toward Team Maryland’s goal. If Murdock threw the ball high enough and far enough into that space, only Wilson could get it. But as Murdock tossed the ball, Pe’Shon used his right hand to grab Wilson’s jersey. He chose that hand because it was opposite from where the referee stood. When Wilson jumped toward the ball, he barely got off the ground, thanks to Pe’Shon’s hold. Pe’Shon then pushed off Wilson and jumped, managing to tip the ball back to the middle of the court, where he quickly snared it and called a time-out.
The plan Keller devised during the time-out was for Pe’Shon to get the ball to Demetrius on the right side; it was the one play that had worked consistently all night. After Rome inbounded the ball, Pe’Shon dribbled to the right of the top of the key and looked toward Demetrius. Two Team Maryland players defended Demetrius; one stood in front of him, and Murdock was on his back. A third player inched closer, ready to triple-team him if necessary. Demetrius tried to get Pe’Shon to just toss the ball in the air and let him go up and get it, but Pe’Shon wisely aborted the plan and drove to his left. He bumped into Wilson and managed to get a step on him, but as he reached the free-throw line, Rome’s defender moved into the lane and cut off his path. There were ten seconds left, and Pe’Shon had only one option: He drew Rome’s defender farther inside and then bounced a pass back out to the wing, where Rome stood unguarded.
Play Their Hearts Out Page 12
