The Sixth Man

by John Feinstein

  “Okay, this is how it’s going to work,” he said when practice was over. “There are a bunch of reporters outside, and Max and I are going to talk to them now. But I want the rest of you to keep your minds on tomorrow’s game. So go home, get your homework done, and get some rest. If you’re approached by a reporter, just say, ‘Coach doesn’t want us to talk until after tomorrow’s game.’ You’re free to say anything you like tomorrow, but until then, I want you focused on Haverford Station. We beat them pretty easily the first time around, but they’ve improved, and playing at their place will be different. Remember, we need to be ready to go by four-thirty tomorrow.”

  Alex and Jonas did as they were told, bolting through the lobby and out a side door before anyone could stop them. Even as they breezed in the direction of the exit, Alex could see that the lobby was packed with cameras and media.

  “That looks worse than the press conference when Matt confessed to the steroids,” Jonas said as the cold evening wind hit them in the face.

  “Yeah, but this isn’t the end of the story; it’s just the beginning.”

  He was grateful to see his mother waiting for him in her usual spot in the parking lot. This was one night when he was glad to not be riding his bike.

  “I’m guessing all those TV trucks are about Max,” she said as he climbed into the car. Alex saw one that said Comcast–Philadelphia. That was no surprise. The one next to it brought him up a little short.

  “CNN is here?” he said.

  “I know,” his mother said as she put the car into gear. “I also saw trucks from MSNBC and Fox News.”

  “Oh boy,” Alex said.

  He tried to think of something to add to that comment. Nothing came to mind.

  While his mom was making dinner, Alex turned on Comcast–Philadelphia to watch their six o’clock sports update show. The lead was Max Bellotti. Michael Barkann, normally the host of Daily News Live, was the reporter on scene at the school.

  “Max Bellotti, the leading scorer in the South Philadelphia Athletic Conference, met with the media after his Chester Heights team practiced this afternoon to discuss the story he cowrote in Wednesday’s student newspaper. The first two words of the story—‘I’m Gay’—explain why Chester Heights was overrun this evening with local and national media.”

  While Barkann was talking, the on-camera shot went from him to the TV trucks to the packed lobby. Then, almost abruptly, Max was standing at a podium, talking.

  “This is something I’ve thought about doing for a while, even when I was still living and playing in Detroit,” he was saying. “I’m grateful to live in a time when gay athletes can be honest about who they are and not be made into an outcast for it.”

  Alex heard a reporter ask, “How did your teammates react to the news?”

  Max smiled. “The ones I’ve talked to are absolutely fine with it,” he said—an honest answer, since Alex was certain Max hadn’t talked to Wakefield or Early after practice. “But there hasn’t been much talk, really. We’re pretty focused on basketball.”

  Someone else asked if he was worried about hearing taunts when the team played on the road.

  “We got taunted pretty good Tuesday night at Chester because we played lousy,” he said, shaking his head. “I feel worse about that than anything anyone might say about me personally. I don’t think it will be a big deal.”

  Max faded from view, and Barkann was back on camera. “None of Bellotti’s teammates were available to talk this evening, but I did get a chance to speak with Coach Evan Archer.”

  Just like that, Coach Archer was on camera with a Comcast microphone in front of him.

  “I’m really proud of Max,” Coach Archer said. “He knew there was going to be a lot of attention focused on him when he decided to do this, and he’s prepared to deal with it. I know that someday soon this sort of thing won’t be newsworthy anymore. But for now, we’ll take it as it comes.”

  Alex heard Barkann’s voice off camera: “How concerned are you about how this will affect your team? You were seven and oh in conference play before you lost at Chester Tuesday. Do you think your guys were affected because they knew this was coming?”

  Coach Archer smiled. “No—most of the team didn’t know. Max told me Tuesday morning, and he and I decided to wait until after the game for him to tell his teammates. Max wanted to be sure the news wouldn’t affect Tuesday’s game. What affected us was Chester—they’re a strong team, and they beat us fair and square. Going forward, we’ll win or lose based on our ability to improve—nothing more, nothing less. Our last two practices have been very good.”

  Alex wasn’t sure about that last line. The rest made sense.

  Barkann was back on camera again wrapping up. “Time will tell how the rest of this season will play out for Chester Heights, which has been one of the surprise teams in the Philadelphia area ever since Bellotti transferred here. The Lions play tomorrow night at Haverford Station.”

  He threw it back to the anchors from there. Alex turned and saw his mom standing in the doorway.

  “What did you think?” he asked.

  “I think Evan looks great on camera,” she said. “Especially when he smiles.”

  She turned and walked back into the kitchen.

  Very helpful, Alex thought.

  He clicked off the TV set.

  Haverford Station was probably the perfect place for Chester Heights to go on the road after Max’s press conference. The Red Wave was 1–7 in conference play, and it looked like there were more media members than fans in the gym. Apparently the media wanted to see how Max and his teammates would play with the spotlight on them.

  The answer was just fine. Haverford Station started the game in a zone. On the game’s first possession, Zane Wakefield—who had not quit the team to protest the presence of a gay teammate—found himself wide open for a three-point shot in the corner. Without hesitating, he took the shot and, much to everyone’s surprise, made it. Sitting on the bench, Alex caught himself grinning. He leaned over to Pete Taylor and said, “Maybe Zane is inspired by Max’s courage in coming out.”

  He thought it was funny. Taylor did not. “Shut up, Myers,” he said. “Lay off Zane.”

  Alex was tempted to say that Zane should lay off everyone else, but he resisted. At least now he knew where Taylor stood.

  Despite Coach Archer’s warnings about Haverford Station having improved since they last played them, the Red Wave looked pretty helpless from the start. Coach Archer let Wakefield play the entire first quarter—which didn’t thrill Alex. He understood, though: with the Lions leading 18–9, he could quiet some of the carping from the bench players by giving Wakefield and Tony Early more minutes than normal.

  Max had missed his first two shots of the game, and Alex had heard a couple of predictable taunts from the crowd. But when he came off a Steve Holder screen and drilled a three late in the quarter, Alex heard a huge cheer go up from a contingent in the far corner of the gym. One person held up a sign that said, WE’RE GLAD THAT MAX IS PART OF GLAAD.

  Interesting. Max clearly had a new group of fans.

  Alex played the second quarter and was content to set up Holder, Jonas, and Max most of the time, building to a 41–22 halftime lead. Coach Archer started both Wakefield and Early in the second half, and they played the entire third quarter.

  “What do you think he’s doing?” Jonas asked Alex as they watched from the bench.

  “Trying to make them happy,” Alex said quietly.

  “Why?”

  “So they won’t rip Max when they talk to the media after the game.”

  That was Alex’s theory, anyway. Jonas nodded.

  The final was 76–54, with Coach Archer finishing the game with Wakefield, Early, Taylor, Larry Ceplair, and Arnold Bogus on the floor. Wakefield finished with sixteen points, which had to be a career high for him. Max ended up with ten points, by far his lowest output since arriving. Some people would make a big deal of that, but he simply didn’t nee
d to score more. Alex, who only played twelve minutes all night, had just four points—but eleven assists. Steve Holder had been unstoppable, scoring twenty-nine.

  “Okay, fellas, good job,” Coach Archer said afterward. “You made it clear right away who the better team was, and that helped us a lot. That’s what you need to do on the road.” He paused. “Especially tonight.”

  Another pause.

  “Now, you all know that was the easy part of the night. The place is swarming with media, and they’ve been told that all of you are available to answer questions about Max tonight. After this, it will be basketball only.”

  He paused, and Alex saw his eyes wander in the direction of Wakefield and Early, who had been celebrating as if the team had just won the state championship.

  “I’m not going to tell any of you what to say. And you don’t have to talk to the media at all if you don’t want to. But if you do, please remember that we’re a team. A good team. A team that has a great chance to stun everyone by winning the conference championship. Think about that before you speak.”

  He nodded at Holder, who came to the middle of the room. “Bryn Mawr next Tuesday,” Holder said. “We know how good they are.” He held his arm up in the air, and they all moved in to surround him, arms up. “On three,” Holder said. “Beat the Techies!”

  They repeated after him and turned back to their lockers. But they couldn’t focus on the next game just yet….

  The TV lights were almost blinding when Alex and Jonas walked back onto the gym floor. There were reporters and cameras everywhere. There was a riser set up, Alex assumed for Max and Coach Archer.

  Alex heard several people calling his name and turned in the direction of a squadron of reporters and cameras. The questions came quickly.

  “Alex, tonight was easy, but how do you think the team will do going forward now that one of your teammates has come out and admitted to being gay?”

  He looked at the questioner, who was holding a microphone that said FOX NEWS on it.

  Alex took a deep breath. “First of all, I don’t think of being gay as something you ‘admit to,’ ” he said. “It’s just something that you are. As for the team, I think we’re playing well, and we’re all looking forward to the rest of the season. To us, Max is no different now than he was before the story came out on Wednesday.”

  “Then how do you explain his performance tonight?” another microphone-wielding person asked.

  “What was the final score?” Alex said, then tried to soften that with a smile. “He didn’t need to do any more than he did. Steve Holder was unstoppable inside tonight, so we all got him the ball.”

  In his peripheral vision, Alex saw a tall blond woman coming at him. She hadn’t been there for the first couple of questions. Now, before anyone else could ask a follow-up, she stuck her microphone, which said ESPN, in his face and said, “Alex, one of your teammates just told us that you and Jonas Ellington both knew about Bellotti’s sexuality long before Wednesday. That true?”

  Alex glanced to his left to see where the woman had come from. Not surprisingly, Wakefield was standing there talking.

  He shrugged. “If you read Max’s story in the paper, you’d know that. Max has only been here about a month, so I don’t know that I’d say we knew ‘long before’ Wednesday. But yes, Jonas and I knew.”

  “Why did you stay quiet?” It was the guy from Fox News again.

  That question made Alex angry. “Because it was Max’s story to tell whenever he chose to tell it.”

  “Why did he tell you and Ellington?” It was the ESPN blonde again.

  “You’d have to ask him that. I guess because he trusted us.”

  “Do you wish he had waited until the end of the season to make this announcement?”

  The question came from someone in the back who didn’t have a microphone. Alex peered through the lights to see the face. He recognized who it was: Stevie Thomas, the kid reporter who worked for the Philadelphia Daily News. It was the one question he honestly didn’t know the answer to.

  “It’s easy to say yes,” he said, “because if Max had waited, I wouldn’t be talking to any of you right now.” That drew a laugh. “But I’m not Max. It had to be his decision, and I understand why he made it.”

  “Why did he make it?” someone else he couldn’t see asked.

  “You should really ask him,” Alex said. “But my sense from talking to him is he felt he’d be happier after he came out.”

  Alex heard a commotion behind him and saw Coach Archer and Max walking toward the podium. The lights in front of him went out and the microphones disappeared. Other players were just as quickly abandoned, leaving them scattered alone across the court.

  One reporter stayed and came up to say hello.

  “I don’t know if you remember me,” he said, putting out his hand.

  “Stevie Thomas,” Alex said. “You helped Christine out in November when I was being framed. Thank you.”

  Thomas nodded. “You handled yourself great just now.”

  “Thank you, again.”

  “I do have one more question, if that’s okay.”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you think you’ll ever get through a season here without a media circus?”

  “There’s still baseball,” Alex said.

  They both laughed—which, after the last few days, felt awfully good.

  Alex watched the various TV reports on Friday night and into Saturday. They were all pretty much the same—predictable questions and predictable answers. Max was cool and smart and so was Coach Archer.

  “Anyone who sees an issue here has a problem,” Coach Archer said. “We don’t have a problem. Max is comfortable with who he is, and so are his teammates.”

  Alex’s only uncomfortable moment came when the Fox News report—which his mom had advised him not to watch because it was bound to upset him—ended with Alex saying on camera that he thought the reason Max had chosen to come out was because he would be happier being out.

  Transitioning from that quote, the Fox reporter came on camera and said, “Mr. Myers’s naïveté is understandable—he’s only a freshman. But if he and his Chester Heights teammates think that sharing a locker room with a gay teammate isn’t going to be an issue, then Mr. Myers is in for quite a shock these next few weeks.”

  “EVERY TEAM ON EARTH SHARES A LOCKER ROOM WITH GAY TEAMMATES, YOU MORON!” Alex shouted at the TV.

  His mom had been right—he never should have turned on Fox.

  In spite of that, and the stupid online headlines, and some of the ludicrous comments and tweets Alex read, things did calm down the following week. The only comments he heard in the hallways on Monday were from kids saying they had seen him on TV. The only bad moment came when he turned a corner and bumped smack into Zane Wakefield and Tony Early—never a pleasant experience under the best of circumstances.

  “Hey, Myers,” Wakefield said. “Saw you on Fox the other night. Boy, did they nail you!”

  “Actually, I think they got it wrong,” Early said. “You aren’t naïve—you’re flat-out stupid!”

  Alex just looked at them and shook his head. “I’m stupid? You guys own a mirror?”

  He kept walking without waiting for a response. He really wanted to punch Wakefield, but he knew it was a bad idea—especially in a crowded hallway.

  Things were almost back to normal by lunch, where the only comments anyone made walking by the table were things like, “Nice win Friday.”

  “I think the worst might be over,” Christine said hopefully as they were getting ready to leave.

  “Have you been reading the Internet?” asked Max, who had been cheerful but quiet through most of lunch. “Things may be okay here—which helps—but there are some truly vicious, bigoted people out there.”

  “Cowards,” Matt said. “They’ll spew that stuff online, where they’re anonymous, but they won’t dare say anything like that to your face.”

  “Your lips,” Max said,
“to God’s ears.”

  God must have been listening, because there were very few issues over the next couple weeks.

  When the Lions came onto the court prior to the Bryn Mawr game, Alex was pleasantly surprised to see that the Max Pack was still out in force. Except now it also contained some boys. There were now two BELLOTTI IS A HOTTIE signs—one being waved by a guy and the other being waved by none other than Hope Alexander.

  Wow, Alex thought, maybe there’s more to Hope than I thought.

  Alex’s other surprise came when Mark Posnock, the Bryn Mawr point guard who had given him so much trouble a few weeks earlier, hobbled up to him on crutches.

  “What happened to you?” Alex said. He knew Posnock had played in the previous Friday’s game, because he’d watched the game tape.

  “Fluke,” Posnock said. “Someone came down right on my ankle going for a rebound. Tore a tendon. I’m done for the year.”

  “That sucks” was all Alex could think to say.

  Posnock nodded. “So how you guys dealing with all this Bellotti stuff?”

  “I think we’re okay,” Alex said. “Worst is probably over. Least we hope so.”

  Posnock raised an eyebrow, indicating surprise. “Look, you didn’t hear this from me, but my dad knows your boy Wakefield’s dad,” he said. “He says this is not over.”

  Alex had heard Wakefield’s “my dad is on the school board” threat in the locker room but hadn’t thought much about it. “What can he do?” he asked Posnock.

  “Don’t know, but I’d be on the alert. My dad says Wakefield’s old man is…well, not the nicest guy ever.”

  That might explain a lot about Wakefield, Alex thought. He and Posnock shook hands. “You know where you’re going to school next year?” Alex asked.

  Posnock smiled. “I got offered by a bunch of schools, you know, midlevel D1s like Lafayette, Holy Cross, William and Mary, and some others. My grades are pretty good. Now, I guess, we’ll have to see. Good luck tonight.”

  As it turned out, Alex and the Lions didn’t need that much luck. Bryn Mawr wasn’t the same team without its point guard. Plus, Chester Heights was a better team than it had been a month ago. The most-improved player was Jonas: he’d learned to take advantage of the openings created for him by the defense’s need to key on Max. Jonas was a good open shooter, but that wasn’t his best skill. He had a great first step to the basket, much the same way he had a great first step as a receiver. If you gave him even the smallest of openings, he was by you in a heartbeat. He scored twenty-four against Bryn Mawr, most on drives to the basket.