3:15pm
Ascot v Scornly
(Crt 1)
4:45pm
Wetherhood v Sandhurst
(Crt 2)
4:45pm
GIRLS-Firsts
Scornly v Sandhurst
(Crt 3)
1:00pm
Wetherhood v Ascot
(Crt 4)
1:00pm
Ascot v Sandhurst
(Crt 3)
2:30pm
Wetherhood v Scornly
(Crt 4)
2:30pm
Ascot v Scornly
(Crt 3)
4:00pm
Wetherhood v Sandhurst
(Crt 4)
4:00pm
GIRLS-Seconds
Scornly v Sandhurst
(Crt 3)
1:45pm
Wetherhood v Ascot
(Crt 4)
1:45pm
Ascot v Sandhurst
(Crt 3)
3:15pm
Wetherhood v Scornly
(Crt 4)
3:15pm
Ascot v Scornly
(Crt 3)
4:45pm
Wetherhood v Sandhurst
(Crt 4)
4:45pm
‘I knew it. Look,’ I said to Bubba, as we made our way across to Court One. ‘We’re playing Wetherhood last again. That’ll be the cruncher, I reckon.’
We started warming up. Mrs Cartwright hadn’t turned up yet. Fisk was looking confident, especially as Rat also hadn’t appeared. The crowd grew as we worked on drills and lay-ups. There were groups of kids with flags and banners. There was even a cheer squad of girls in green and blue, supporting Ascot.
‘Look who’s just arrived together,’ Bubba said to me.
Mrs Cartwright and Rat were walking across to us. She called us all in.
‘Mr Bronsen will be taking the seconds,’ she explained.
Bubba and the rest of his team moved off with Mr Bronsen. Mr T looked as if he was staying with us.
‘Okay,’ said Mrs Cartwright. ‘Scornly first. You should beat them easily, so I’ll be mixing up the team. Here’s my starting five. Are you listening? Fisk, Stokes, Belugo, Green, and you – little feller – what’s your name?’
‘Rat.’
‘Your real name, boy!’ she snapped.
‘Daryl Ratzasis,’ Rat said in a flat voice.
‘Right, you’ll do. Now get out there!’ That was it. No tactics. No plays. No positions for a zone defence. Not even an offensive plan.
I looked over at Mr T. He shrugged. ‘C’mon, guys. Look out for each other!’
Mrs Cartwright gave him a spiteful look.
Eight teams stood on the courts, waiting for the sound of the starting buzzer. In less than five hours we would know whether we had achieved the seemingly impossible: winning the quad trophy set, as Mr T called it.
Mr T was sitting one row behind me. As the game began, I leaned back and asked him who was scoring for the Legend of Basketball. I was hoping it might be a team effort.
‘The teacher in charge of basketball, Mitch.’
‘No one else?’ I asked.
He shook his head. I turned back to the game, keen to see Rat in action. For the first few minutes, the game was just a bundle of errors as both sides got used to the fact that the game had started. But Rat soon began to impose himself. After ten minutes he was dominating. He had taken control of the team and was handing out instructions to everyone, although Fisk was ignoring him.
Rat’s skills were sensational. He carried the ball down the court, his eyes up, looking for options, his free arm either keeping the Scornly kids out of his way or directing our team. When there wasn’t a pass on, he took a shot himself. And usually he nailed it.
I looked across to Mrs Cartwright. I thought I would see a face full of wonder at this magician in action. But she was looking away and talking on her phone.
I looked up at the scoreboard. There were only seven minutes left of the first half, and Mrs Cartwright still didn’t look as if she was interested in making a sub. Scornly had made three or four already.
Finally, with about two minutes left, she called for subs. I replaced Rat, and Alex came on for Walt.
‘Great going, Rat,’ I called, as we slapped each other’s hands.
‘Watch their big kid. Try and keep him out of the key.’
‘Okay.’
The two minutes flew by. We scored another five points and at half-time we held a thirteen-point lead.
‘Good,’ was all Mrs Cartwright had to say about the first half. ‘Just do the same in the second half, do you hear me?’
The game rolled on much the same as before. Fisk was playing well, but had given away a few fouls. Everyone was contributing, but Rat was a total standout. We ended up winning by 21 points. I spent about half the time on court in the second half, and hit a three-pointer with just a few seconds left of the game. The score was 33 to 12.
I didn’t bother listening to Mrs Cartwright’s post-match speech. I don’t think I would have missed anything, anyway. There were plenty of other games I wanted to find out about.
Jack was sitting on a bench with a few of his teammates. I looked at the scoreboard of Court Two. Ascot had been beaten easily by Wetherhood, 17 to 28.
‘Jack, hi!’ I called.
He turned around and grinned. ‘How did you go?’ he asked.
‘Okay. Pretty good win, really. How’s things?’
‘Good, especially now that the Wetherhood game is out of the way. The Wetherhood team seemed pretty angry about something. Then again, that’s the way they play, isn’t it?’ he said.
‘I think I know why they’re angry. They’ve lost their best player. A kid called Rat. He came over to our school.’
‘What’s he like? We’ve been hearing rumours about this ace basketballer you’ve got.’
I thought for a moment.
‘He’s okay, actually. He’s sort of shy, in a weird way. But, boy can he play. Wait till you see him! Hey, how did you go the other night, with that growly teacher?’
‘Hmm. I told him I was chasing you all out of the dormitories.’
‘Did he buy it?’ I said.
‘Nope. I got a hundred lines and a Friday night detention.’
‘Oh, really? Sorry about that,’ I said.
‘No worries. At least I nailed all my weekend homework.’
I watched the seconds for a while, told Jack I’d catch up with him again, then walked over to the far courts where the girls’ competition was on. Their draw was the same as ours, and our firsts team had beaten Scornly, too. Miss Lan had all the girls in a huddle, so I went back to find Bubba.
I found him talking with Bryce.
‘Hey, Brycey. Good to see you,’ I called. He was looking hassled.
‘Mitch, we’ve got problems. Major problems. Mrs Cartwright is coaching our team to make sure we don’t win. Especially against Wetherhood,’ said Bryce.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘It all makes sense,’ he said. ‘Listen. She’s offered nothing in the way of coaching or anything. I mean, has she helped you today?’
‘Not a bit, Bryce. But I don’t think we really need it, especially since we’ve got Rat. He–’
‘She won’t play him!’
‘Bryce, how do you know all this?’ Bubba asked.
‘You remember how I was telling you about those notes and photos and stuff in the tunnel? Check this out!’
Bryce pulled out a photo from a pile of notes and other things he had in a folder. The photo showed a big group of Wetherhood kids. I recognised a few of them.
‘Hey, there’s Rat!’ Bubba said, pointing to a little figure in the front row. Rat was holding a basketball.
‘Yeah, but look at the teachers, or parents or whoever they are,’ Bryce said.
‘No way. It’s Mrs Cartwright!’ Bubba exclaimed.
‘And the other one is the guy with the gold tooth who refereed the soccer,’ I burst out, glan
cing round to see if anyone had heard me. Bryce turned the photo over. There were signatures, probably from all the kids in the picture, and beneath them a sentence: ‘The Wetherhoods are the Basketball Legends. NOTHING will stand in our way!’
‘And now that they’ve lost the Rat, I think the Wetherhoods are worried they might not win the basketball trophy, which they’ve had almost non-stop since the competition started.’
‘They should be worried,’ I said. ‘What’s their school like?’
‘Okay,’ said Bryce. ‘I checked out their front office. All the basketball trophies are there. I doubt the teachers would know about the Hoods’ underground hideout. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. We’ve got to come up with a way of stopping them. Or her.’
Bubba was looking hard at the signatures. ‘There’s no Mrs Cartwright here. The only signatures that look like adults’ are these ones here, and here.’ Bubba was pointing. ‘It looks like Norris, or–’
‘Morris!’ I yelled.
‘What?’ Bubba asked.
‘That’s what Rat called Mrs Cartwright the other day, remember?’
‘And the other signature is Morris, too. Maybe they’re married,’ Bubba chuckled.
Bryce grabbed the photo. ‘I’ve got to think,’ he said.
‘Well, come and think, and watch us at the same time,’ I told him.
Mrs Cartwright was checking up on the scores when we got back. Kids were running over to her, giving her updated scores from the other games. She called us in to tell us the starting five against Ascot. This time I was in, but Rat wasn’t. Neither was Fisk. Our two best players were starting on the bench.
I looked up at the sea of teachers, parents and kids supporting Sandhurst, willing someone to come down and challenge the coach’s selection. But no one did. They probably thought she was rotating us to keep the best players fresh for the big game against Wetherhood.
For the whole game against Ascot, Rat was only allowed to play about a quarter of each half. Unlike the first game, Mrs Cartwright made substitutions practically every minute. We never settled into any rhythm. But neither did we let the Ascot players settle into one. Jack was one of their best players, at one stage hitting seven unanswered points, including a huge, swishing three-pointer from out near the sideline. Even so, we still ended up winning 24 – 19.
At the end of the game, Mrs Cartwright made us stay together and watch the seconds’ game. Although we never got too far behind, the Ascot seconds team kept their noses in front throughout, winning by nine points. I sipped on a drink bottle and looked around for Bryce. I couldn’t see him anywhere. Dad gave me a wave, and I smiled back.
I’d sensed after the first round of matches that we’d been going okay. We’d won all our games, and the Hoods had only won three of theirs. But in Round 2, the Hoods smashed Scornly in all four games, while we’d only managed the one win. The girls’ teams had tied both their games meaning the Wetherhoods would have raced into the lead. It would all come down to the last round against them.
‘Well, one more to go, Grady.’ Fisk was looking smug. ‘That little Rat kid must be carrying an injury or something. He’s not getting much game time. I thought he looked pretty weak, actually. No guts. No stamina.’
‘Looks like you’re odds-on for the Legend, hey Travis?’ I said.
‘Yep, it’s looking a bit that way, isn’t it?’ he chuckled, giving me a squirt from his water bottle. ‘Not even a Bryce Flavel around to save the day,’ he joked. ‘You’re in too deep, Grady. I’m the Legend this year, mate.’ He turned away, laughing.
Was he even thinking about beating the Wetherhoods and getting the fourth trophy? For Travis, it was nearly always about the individual.
We started the game against Wetherhood with our best five. The Hoods players were tall, lean and mean. They managed to hassle us without drawing out too many fouls. That was until Totem charged poor Rat square on with a massive full-frontal attack that sent Rat skidding across the floor on his backside and into the back wall.
The crowd erupted. The referee got Totem on a charging foul, but he should have been sent off. It was blatant.
Mrs Cartwright took Rat off, even though he bounced back up, shrugging off the knock. But she made a big thing of it, and soon Rat was sitting on the bench, icepacks all over him.
So, that was Wetherhood’s plan. To knock Rat out of the game, preferably unconscious. And, of course, it didn’t matter that he wasn’t injured. Our ‘coach’ would make sure that he at least looked injured so she could keep him on the bench.
For the last few minutes of the half, Wetherhood edged away from us. At half-time, the score was 19 – 14 in their favour.
‘We’re in real strife,’ Mrs Cartwright said to us. ‘Little Daryl here won’t be playing–’
‘I’m fine. I’m okay,’ he said, jumping off the bench.
‘Sit down!’ snapped Mrs Cartwright. ‘Travis, you’re in foul trouble. You’re starting on the bench, too.’
Fisk looked at her, aghast.
‘I’ve only had two fouls!’ he said.
Mrs Cartwright leaned closer to him. ‘You speak to me like that, and you won’t play again today, do you hear?’
Fisk’s mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out.
We were five points behind, and our two best players were off and possibly not coming back on.
‘Right. Good luck,’ Mrs Cartwright said. We looked at each other.
‘C’mon, guys!’ I shouted. ‘We can do this! Steady with the ball. Hold it up until the pass is on, and don’t shoot unless you really think you can nail the shot!’
Chaz and the others nodded and we walked back on for the second half, ready for anything.
Wetherhood scored the first four points of the half and were out to a nine-point lead.
23 – 14.
The crowd noise was huge. People shouted and screamed. I didn’t realise until later that a lot of the shouting was coming from the Sandhurst supporters, who were yelling for Rat and Fisk to return.
Suddenly, over all the noise, came another voice trying to break through. Finally, the crowd quietened enough for everyone to hear the message.
‘Mrs Morris, please report immediately to the front office. This is an urgent call for Mrs Morris to report to the front office. Thank you.’
I looked over at Mrs Cartwright. She seemed totally confused. No one else looked at her, except the Wetherhood players. The referee held the ball. The stadium remained quiet as people contemplated the awful news that might be waiting for Mrs Morris – whoever she was. Slowly, Mrs Cartwright moved off down the court toward the office.
One of the refs spoke to her. Mr T jumped down and bounded onto the court.
‘The boys need a coach. I’ll take over until she gets back,’ he called to the referee.
‘Okay. Let’s get on with it!’ said the ref.
I intercepted a pass, but knocked it out over the sidelines. Mr T called for a time-out. We raced in, excited.
‘Okay, Rat, you’re on,’ he said. ‘You too, Travis. Walt, take a spell, and Alex, I’m saving you, too, okay? Now, get in close.’
It was great having a real coach again. My heart was suddenly pumping and it felt good.
‘Okay, Travis, take every rebound that’s on. Rat, you’re the playmaker. I want you to call the shots out there. Mitch,’ Mr T looked at me. ‘You’ve got a sweet spot for those three-pointers out on the edge. Look for space, okay? Chaz, help him get that space in offence by keeping Wetherhood away. Jamie, I want you to man up on their number seven. You’ve got no foul trouble. Stay close and frustrate him, offence and defence.’
We each had our instructions, and as the noise from the crowd started to build we huddled in close, threw our hands in together, and yelled out ‘Sandhurst’. Mr T did, too. For the first time I felt pumped and fired up and ready to do something big.
I looked over at Fisk. He’d been swept up in Mr T’s enthusiasm. He looked sharp and his mouth was set in a grim line.
He nodded at me, then shouted encouragement to us all. He wanted to win as much as any of us, and I think for a moment he may have even forgotten about the Legends series.
We held our own for the next five minutes. Fisk worked hard on the boards, taking great defensive rebounds. But we weren’t scoring. The Hoods manned up and hassled close. From a fast break from one of the rebounds, Rat worked the ball up through the centre of the court. I raced on and found some space out near the side, right on the three-point line. I took the pass from him, worked in a bit closer and took the jump shot just as a Wetherhood player darted in front and slapped my arm. The ball swished through the ring, and I was called up to take an extra shot from the free-throw line. My arm stung a bit.
I took the ball from the ref, took one hard look at the ring, bounced the ball a few times and let go. The ball slapped into the backboard and fell through the ring. I looked across at the bench. Mr T and the subs were on their feet, fists in the air, shouting and screaming. So was the crowd.
23 – 17
Suddenly the level of sound increased. I swung round. Rat had pulled off an amazing intercept from the Wetherhood throw-in and looped a neat round-arm shot toward our goals for another two points. The five-point gain had us right back in the game.
23 – 19
We all worked back to keep the Wetherhoods out for the next play. Rat played high, following and hassling, looking for the steal. But the Hoods played carefully, watching their passes and keeping possession. There were just over four minutes left.
‘They’re running down the clock,’ Chaz called. But it was too early for that.
A tall kid with a half-shaved head took a shot from inside the key. The ball rimmed around the edge and fell away to the right. Fisk jumped and tapped it over his head.
Rat was onto it in a flash, but the moment he had it he got steamrolled by a Hood. It was a solid knock. Rat went for his second major slide of the game, his elbows burning on the wood.
‘Yeah!’ came a call from the Wetherhood bench. The Wetherhood coach was on his feet, thumping his fist into his other hand. I looked over at our bench. There was still no sign of Mrs Cartwright. Rat hadn’t moved. He was staring at the ceiling, tears in his eyes.
On the Buzzer Page 5
