Long Shot for Paul

by Matt Christopher

  That weekend, Glenn and Paul, with Judy watching them from the porch steps, practiced at home. Glenn tried to show Paul how to dribble. Paul’s big difficulty was trying to dribble the ball and move it along at the same time. It wasn’t easy. They also practiced passing to each other. Glenn knew he needed much improvement on passing himself, if he expected to play on the first team.

  Then they used a system similar to the one the Sabers used. Glenn would shoot at the basket, run in, catch the rebound, and pass it to Paul. Paul would do the same thing. They were going well for a while.

  Then Glenn, in his excitement, threw the ball hard to Paul, shouting, “Come on, Paul! Let’s go!” The ball shot through Paul’s hand and hit him on the face. “Ow!” he cried. A second later Glenn saw blood spurt from Paul’s nose.

  Paul yelled with pain, but mostly with fear, thought Glenn. He clutched his nose, saw the blood drip on it, and yelled some more.

  “I’m sorry, Paul!” Glenn cried. “I’m sorry!”

  He pulled off his sweatshirt and rushed to Paul’s side. At the same time Judy came bounding off the steps.

  “Oh, Glenn! Why weren’t you more careful?” She had a wad of paper towels, which she pressed against Paul’s nose. “Let’s go inside, Paul. It’ll be easier to take care of it in the bathroom.”

  “It hurts!” yelled Paul. “It hurts!”

  Of all the things to happen, thought Glenn. After this Paul might get frightened whenever a pass was thrown hard at him and he’d never be able to catch it. Judy’s handling him like a baby didn’t help matters, either. She couldn’t be around every time some accident happened to Paul, could she?

  “Just a minute, Judy,” he said, jumping between her and the porch steps. “Let’s not take Paul inside. Do it right here. It’s only a nosebleed. Didn’t you ever have a nosebleed?”

  “Yes, but I’ve never got it banged to make it bleed,” she blurted. “Get out of the way.”

  She started to press by him, but he stepped in front of her. “We can’t treat Paul like a baby, Judy. If he plays basketball he’s going to get banged on the nose a dozen times, just like I have. You have to expect those things.”

  She stared at him. Then her eyes flashed as they always did when she got angry. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go get some ice to keep it from swelling, will you? Expect me to do everything?”

  Glenn laughed, went inside, and a moment later came out with the ice. Mom had asked him what it was for, naturally. He told her, adding that it was nothing serious so that she wouldn’t worry.

  The bleeding stopped and Paul began playing again as if nothing had happened. Once Glenn caught Judy’s eye, and smiled. Sitting with her hands gripped around her knees, she tipped her head smartly and smiled back. He would never forget this moment. It was one of the rare occasions when he had won his way over his sister.

  Tuesday rolled around. During his study periods in school Glenn thought about the game against the Gators and whether Coach Munson would have Paul suit up. So far Paul had been wearing his own shorts at the practice sessions; the team was still shy one uniform, and Coach Munson hadn’t said whether he would order a uniform for Paul or not.

  At five-thirty, game time, the team suited up — all except Paul, who stood silently by in the locker room.

  “Sorry I don’t have a uniform for you, Paul,” said the coach. “But, as I told you before, we only have ten.”

  “That’s okay,” said Paul.

  But it wasn’t okay, thought Glenn, sitting close by lacing his sneakers. By the sad, discouraged look on Paul’s face he knew it wasn’t. “Isn’t he ever going to play with us, then, Coach?” he asked.

  “Well, he could if one of the boys didn’t show up for some reason,” the coach replied.

  “Don’t worry about anybody not showing up,” Andy Searles remarked, a broad grin on his face.

  Glenn glared at him, looked again at Coach Munson. “We can take turns, can’t we? I wear my uniform during the first half, and Paul wear it the second half?”

  The coach smiled. “No, I don’t think so, Glenn.”

  “How about letting him wear my uniform part of the time, Coach?” a small, husky voice said. “I don’t get in the games much anyway. I didn’t last year.”

  Glenn looked around at blond-haired, blue-eyed Benjy Myles. Benjy lived only four doors away from them, but he never came over to play anymore, not since that time almost a year ago when his mother had come after him to take him home.

  “Don’t you go over there to play with that boy again,” Glenn had heard her say as she pulled Benjy up the sidewalk with her. “Not again. Do you understand?”

  Glenn had been sitting in the shade of the large green bush, watching Benjy and Paul playing together with Paul’s trucks. She hadn’t seen him or she probably would not have said such a thing.

  “You sure it’s all right with you, Benjy?” the coach asked.

  “Of course, I’m sure,” said Benjy. “Paul is a good friend of mine. He only lives four doors away from me. Don’t you, Paul?”

  “That’s right,” said Paul, and smiled.

  Benjy smiled too. He really liked Paul. You could see that by the happy expression on his face and in his eyes. But what if his mother heard about it? What would she say?

  “Coach,” Glenn said, “I — I’d rather Paul and I changed off.” He thought of an excuse at the last moment. “My uniform would fit Paul better. Benjy’s is too small.”

  4

  The coach looked from little Benjy to Paul, who was nearly a head taller. “Glenn’s right, Benjy. Your uniform might be rather snug for Paul.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Look, we haven’t got more time to discuss this now. Paul, I think it’s best that you sit this game out, since we don’t have a uniform for you. There are a lot of games ahead of us. I’ll just have to order you a uniform. Come on. Let’s get upstairs.”

  Paul’s face dropped a mile. Glenn met his eyes and shared Paul’s disappointment. Everything seemed to crop up to keep Paul from playing.

  Both teams had a brief warm-up period, taking random shots at their baskets. The referee then blew his whistle. The five starters for each team took their positions on the court. The Gators, wearing shiny green uniforms trimmed with white, looked taller than the Sabers. And stronger.

  Glenn sat on the bench, Paul beside him. He felt good, even if Paul didn’t. The coach had promised to get Paul a uniform.

  With Andy Searles and Don Marshang at the forward positions, Frog Robbins and Stevie Keester at guard, and lanky Jim Tilton at center, the game was ready to begin.

  The whistle shrilled as the referee tossed the ball up between the centers. Frog took the tap, dribbled to the side, and passed to Don. Don dribbled toward the basket, stopped in the keyhole, found a guard blocking his way, and passed to Jim. Jim broke fast for the basket, went up. Smack! The Gators’ center had tried to block the layup and struck Jim’s wrist. The whistle shrilled. Two shots.

  Jim made the first, missed the second. The Gators caught the rebound off the boards and passed it down-court. They bounced the ball, passed it through the air, tried to work it closer to the basket. Then, from a corner, a Gator took a set shot. A clean hit!

  Stevie tossed the ball from out-of-bounds to Don. Don dribbled up to the center line where he paused, then passed to Andy. Andy broke fast, then held up as a guard practically sprouted in front of him. He spun on his pivot foot, bounced a pass to Frog, and Frog took it and passed to Jim. Jim drove for the basket, went up, and laid it in.

  Cheers exploded from the Sabers fans, especially from the men warming the Sabers bench. Paul was yelling, too. Glenn smiled. Paul was really enjoying the game even though he wasn’t playing.

  Abe Elliot and Chet Bruner went in for Frog and Stevie, and right off the bat Chet sank one from the foul line. The blond Gator forward plunked in another from the corner and their tall center made a hook shot. Both teams sank baskets and played evenly for the first four minutes. The Gators were one po
int ahead when Glenn went in with two minutes left in the first quarter.

  He was nervous at first and nearly missed a hard pass Don Marshang shot to him. He dribbled to the side, stopped when a guard loomed in front of him. Then he heaved a pass to Jim, who was standing in the clear down in the corner. Jim caught it, jumped and turned in the same movement, and shot. In!

  The Sabers went ahead, 13 to 12, but couldn’t hold on to the lead. When the quarter ended they trailed, 15 to 13.

  In the second quarter Glenn hurled a pass to Andy. A fast Gator forward intercepted it, dribbled all the way down-court, and sank it for two points. The Sabers hit for more baskets but could not overcome the Gators, who seemed to match every basket with one of their own. The quarter was three minutes old when Glenn caught a pass from Jim and was fouled. One shot.

  He stood at the free-throw line and hoped desperately that he would make it. The Gators led by two points. To decrease that lead by one would not help much, but it would mean a lot to him. Paul would like it.

  He caught the toss from the referee, bounced the ball a couple of times, looked at the basket, and shot. The ball struck the backboard, bounced back against the rim, then rolled off the side. Something like a heavy ball hit the pit of his stomach. What lousy luck.

  Jim and the Gators’ center scrambled for the rebound. Both got it, struggled for it, and the whistle blew for a jump ball.

  Seconds later Stevie sank one from ten feet away. The Gators evened it up. Both teams played tight ball till the horn sounded, ending the first half.

  Once in the third quarter the Sabers managed to catch up with the Gators. And before the quarter ended Andy sank a foul shot to put the Sabers ahead. The fans grew more excited as the minutes wore on. At times the Gators seemed to outplay the Sabers. They grabbed the rebounds and got the ball hurriedly down into the Sabers zone. But the Sabers defense, all grouped in a close area under the basket, kept the Gators from coming in for an easy shot. With only a few minutes to go, the Gators were playing cautiously. They weren’t taking crazy shots as they were before. They wanted to make sure each shot counted. The score was in their favor, 44–42.

  “Get that ball!” Coach Munson shouted from the bench. “Get that ball!”

  Then the blond boy took a set from the corner. The ball arched through the air, sank through the hoop with scarcely a whisper. 46–42!

  Don called for a time out. Coach Munson sent in Glenn, took out Stevie. The look Don gave Glenn as he trotted in was all but friendly.

  Glenn was in half a minute when he caught a pass from Andy near the basket, took a jump shot — and made it! The fans roared. Even Don slapped him on the back, which surprised Glenn. As he ran toward the other end of the court he took a quick glance at Paul. Paul was clapping like crazy.

  The seconds skipped by quickly. Benjy, in for Andy, was fouled almost instantly. He was given two shots. He sank the first, missed the second. The Sabers crawled to within a point of tying the score, but could go no further. They were squeezed out, 49 to 48.

  5

  On Thursday, December 2, the Sabers tangled with the Cowboys. Last Tuesday the Cowboys had lost their opener to the Shawnees, so both the Sabers and the Cowboys were looking for their first win.

  Glenn received his first shock of the evening when Coach Munson called off his name as one of the starters. He was taking Frog’s place at left guard.

  Don Marshang was hot almost from the instant the ball was tossed up between the centers. He plunked in a jump shot from the keyhole and a few seconds later stole the ball from a Cowboy, dribbled it all the way up-court, and sank a layup. The red glass knobs on the scoreboard kept changing on the Sabers’ side, while nothing showed on the Cowboys’ side. It was 10 to 0 when the Cowboys had the ball and their coach signaled their captain to call for time out.

  Both teams went to their respective benches. While the coach of the Cowboys began telling his charges what their trouble was, the coach of the Sabers looked at his team with a happy gleam in his eyes.

  “You guys are popping them in like you know what you’re doing,” he said proudly. “Why didn’t you play like that in the first game?”

  “We didn’t play the Cowboys the first game,” Stevie answered soberly.

  “Oh. A comedian. Okay. But make sure you don’t get spurred.”

  Everyone laughed. They sure felt good. Glenn wiped his face with a towel. He looked at Paul sitting on the bench next to Benjy. Seeing the two together made him think of that incident a year ago when Benjy’s mother had come to take Benjy home. Here on the basketball court was the first time that the two boys had been together since then.

  “Glenn — Stevie, take a rest,” advised the coach. “Frog — Benjy, report.”

  A broad smile crossed Paul’s face. “Thataboy, Benjy! Sink a couple for me!”

  Good thing he doesn’t get discouraged sitting on the bench, thought Glenn. Maybe watching the game and getting excited about it made him forget that he wasn’t playing.

  Time was up. The Cowboys took the ball from out-of-bounds, passed to their front court. Their tall center bolted toward the basket, caught a pass, leaped up with it. His easy shot against the boards went in for the Cowboys’ first field goal.

  Benjy tried a jump shot from a corner, was fouled when a short, redheaded kid bumped into him.

  “Two shots!” yelled the referee, and signaled the offender’s number to the scorekeeper.

  “Thataway, Beni!” Glenn shouted. “Sink ’em both, kid!”

  Paul clapped and shouted, too. He was all for little Benjy Myles.

  Benjy stepped to the free-throw line, accepted the ball from the referee, and measured the basket with a long, steady look. He didn’t hold the ball up in front of his chest as many foul shooters did. He held it low. Carefully he tossed it up. The ball arched sharply — dropped in!

  “Nice shot, Benjy!” cried Paul, clapping as hard as he could.

  Benjy took his second shot. He made that too! The fans cheered and whistled. Especially Paul. Glenn looked at the faces in the crowd, wondering if Benjy’s parents were among them. He didn’t see them, and was sure they weren’t. Benjy’s father was a salesman and wasn’t home half the time. And Benjy’s mother never went to sporting events, not in winter nor in summer. Anyway, Glenn had never seen her at them.

  The Cowboys had a lucky streak and sank three baskets. Then Don took a long shot from the center line just before the first quarter buzzer sounded, and made it.

  The Cowboys had better luck the second quarter. Their two scrappy forwards, who were brothers, began dropping in baskets from the corners, and it seemed that the Sabers were unable to do a thing about it. When the half ended the Cowboys had gotten to within one point of tying the score. It was 20–19.

  In the third quarter Glenn tried to stop a player from shooting a layup and struck the player’s hand instead of the ball. It was Glenn’s second foul of the game. This time it meant more than it did the first time. It gave the Cowboys a chance to creep ahead.

  Disappointed, Glenn walked toward the center line, holding up one hand to identify himself to the scorekeeper, and waited for the Cowboy to take his two shots.

  Both went in and the Cowboys were ahead, 21–20.

  “Come on, Glenn!” Don said, tapping him on the hip. “Let’s get ’em back!”

  No one was more anxious to get those points back than Glenn. He guarded his man like a hawk, shifting with him as if he were the man’s shadow. The Cowboys were near the Sabers basket, trying desperately to put in another one.

  A pass shot like a comet to Glenn’s right side. He intercepted it, and dribbled it toward the center line where two Cowboys tried to take it from him. He saw Jim swing around behind him, and pushed the ball between his legs to the tall center. Jim scooped it up and dribbled it all the way up-court. The fans cheered and screamed as Jim laid it up.

  Glenn felt better. Jim got the cheers, but it was he, Glenn, who had passed him the ball. He didn’t let up. He continued
to guard his man closely, hoping that he might be able to intercept another pass. But the Cowboys seemed to play more cautiously now. They were making more sure of their passes.

  The referee’s whistle shrilled. “Traveling!” he cried, indicating the violation by rotating his hands. The ball went to the Sabers.

  Glenn passed it from out-of-bounds to Andy, then ran down the sideline. Andy passed it back to him. He tried to take a shot, but his guard sprang like a cat in front of him. Glenn saw Don waving on the opposite side and pegged the ball to him. The instant he let it go he knew the throw was wild. It sailed far over Don’s head and into the bleachers where one of the fans caught it.

  That was his big trouble — throwing passes. The horn honked and Dan Levine, a tall blond boy, came in and replaced him.

  “Shooting for the moon, Glenn?” Coach Munson’s grin wasn’t too pleasant. “Don’t throw to a man a mile away from you. Wait’ll your passes are more accurate.”

  Glenn nodded. He knew that was his trouble, but he usually didn’t think about it in time.

  The third quarter ended with the Sabers leading by a thin margin, 36–35. The coach sent in two guys to replace Jim and Don, and for a moment the spot on Glenn’s left side was vacant. Paul came and sat beside him.

  “Sure wish I was playing,” he muttered softly.

  “Don’t worry,” said Glenn. “Coach Munson will get you a uniform. Maybe he’ll have it by the next game.” He smiled. “It’s a lot of fun, isn’t it?”

  “I think I could do as good as some of them,” Paul said.

  Glenn laughed. “Well, it looks easy. But it isn’t. You’ll see. The thing is, you can’t let stuff bother you. If you miss shots, you can’t get sick over it. Or if you throw a bad pass like I did, you just try to do better the next time. You’ll understand after you play awhile.”

  “If I ever play,” Paul said, discouraged.

  “Don’t worry. You will,” Glenn assured him.

  It was nip and tuck all the way to the very last minute when the Sabers really got hot and dumped in three baskets in rapid order. They won 48 to 41, sending the Cowboys home with their second loss in a row.