State
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Their sophomore guard Sally Petersen had scored 22 points against us in our first meeting, 18 coming in the second half, and Connie was bent on stopping her. It was our best game all year. It seemed everything we did worked, and we played with an intensity level even our coach had not seen from us before. We led 44–27 at halftime, and avoiding the inevitable third-quarter letdown that often afflicted us after a big first half, we came out in the third quarter with even more energy, scoring 30 points en route to an 86–58 blowout. Sally Petersen finished with four points.
Coach Earl delivered his usual postgame remarks with notes on things we needed to work on—there weren’t many in a 28-point win—and then added what was clearly his new post-victory catchphrase. “Gang,” he shouted, “it’s great to be a winner!”
It was funny and, OK, maybe even sweet, and we all laughed.
With another home game against Maine East the following week, it occurred to us that for an 8–0 team, we were still falling far too short in attendance. Once again, we took to the campaign trail, counting on our scrimmage buddies as well as our teachers to spread the word. Peggy’s homeroom teacher, Mr. Fitzpatrick, did his part by not marking his students tardy if they could produce a ticket stub from one of our games. Whether it worked or not was hard to tell, but we were still a little bitter about our unsupportive student body.
I was also still contending with my own bitterness over my decreased role. For two seasons I was a varsity starter and a significant presence on our team, and suddenly, it seemed, I was invisible. I continued to work hard in practice, still convinced that I could somehow prove myself to Coach Earl. But there was never any carryover from effort or performance in practice to playing time in games, and it was really starting to get to me.
At home, my mom listened sympathetically to me complain, and my father vowed to say something to Coach Earl, something we all knew he would never do and I would never let happen.
So frustrated was I that I actually screwed up the courage to go ask the great Billy Schnurr for advice. It seemed like a good idea until I was standing in front of him with no script to work off of. “Hi, Mr. Schnurr,” I opened cleverly. “I was just wondering, I mean, if you think, if you’ve noticed, you know, I haven’t been playing much and is there anything you think I should be working on?”
I was expecting a little sympathy, possibly even some outrage on his behalf that Earl was not playing me more. But as I looked up at him, I suddenly had the sinking feeling he might not throw open his arms and give me a hug. “This is a great team,” he said. “Hang in there and enjoy the journey. It should be one heck of a ride.”
This was not exactly what I wanted to hear.
Next, I tried to talk to Connie about it, but she seemed disinterested, urging me to focus on our goals, to suck it up for the team. “It’s all about the team,” she said. “It’s not about any one of us anymore but working hard and sacrificing for the good of the group.”
“I feel like that’s what I have been doing, and he’s not noticing,” I said, realizing I wasn’t getting anywhere with someone I considered to be one of my closest friends. I felt betrayed. It was hard not to resent Connie’s growing friendship with Becky, who hung on Connie’s every word like an eager puppy. Becky considered it one of the great moments of her life the first time Connie called her to come to the community center and practice with her, and she was blossoming under Connie’s guidance. This only made me more jealous of Becky and angry at Connie.
But I wasn’t the only one who was quietly seething. Karen thought she had finally arrived as a starter the first three games of the season but had also seen both her playing time and Earl’s interest in her game diminish. Independently of each other, we both tried talking to our coach about our respective plights. “I’ve been playing you less to give your ankle time to rest,” he told me when I approached him.
Yeah, right.
Karen’s conversation on the gym balcony was a little more contentious, ending with Karen storming off and Earl calling after her, “You’re the one who wanted to have a conversation. You’re not going to hurt my feelings any.”
So far, not exactly a touchy-feely season.
My last stab at finding empathy came with a late-night phone call to Champaign, which also did not go the way I had hoped. “Are you kidding, Miss?” Shirley lectured me. “Do you know how much I would give if I could still be on the team? Do you realize how lucky you are that you have another chance at state? Stop complaining and enjoy it while it lasts.”
I stared at the phone for a long time after hanging up, debating whether to throw it across the room or cue up my old Carpenters album and listen to “Rainy Days and Mondays.”
It was time to get new friends who understood me, I thought. Or maybe, possibly, it was time to stop feeling sorry for myself. I still adored basketball, loved practice, and respected my teammates. And so I continued to do what I had been doing, playing hard in practice and sitting on the edge of my seat during games, ready to go in. Even when I knew I wouldn’t.
As a sign of my revitalized attitude, I decided there was no better time to write new lyrics to another sitcom theme song, this one from Laverne & Shirley:
We’re gonna do it
We’re going all the way this year
We’re feeling great, we have nothing to fear
We’re gonna make our dreams come true
Doin’ it our way.
Straight ahead, no looking back
We see our peak, come on, let’s pack
We’re gonna end up in Champaign
Doin’ it our way.
We’ve got it all it seems
Never heard the word impossible
This time, there’s no stopping us
We’re gonna do it.
Using our skill and self-esteem
We are a classy team
We’re gonna make our dreams come true
And we’ll do it our way, yes, our way,
Make all our dreams come true
And we’ll do it our way, yes, our way,
Make all our dreams come true,
That’s what we’ll do.
It was only February 1, practically an entire season left, and Maine East was next up. After juggling the wing position among Karen, Tina, and Judy, Coach Earl had finally settled on Tina as his starter. We beat Maine East 73–42, but our performance was far below par. Aside from our usual stellar defense, we contributed to what was the sloppiest game of the season to that point, replete with turnovers and poor shooting on both sides.
The worst part, though, was that Peggy went down in the second quarter with a badly sprained ankle that initially looked to be a season-ending injury. Her showing up in a walking cast the next day did nothing to improve our outlook.
After a victory against Maine West, in which we overcame an embarrassingly uninspired first quarter to outscore our opponent 50–18 in the second half and improve our overall record to 13–0, a Maine West player told a reporter, “Well, at least we only lost to them by 40 points.”
That victory, however, was better remembered for what happened afterward. Coach Earl, who by now had grown somewhat accustomed to waiting at least a half hour longer for us to shower and dress following games than any boys’ team he had ever coached, was especially tested on this night. For whatever reason, it took us even longer than usual, so long that the Maine West coach—the same man who earlier had offended Coach Earl with his patronizing attitude toward coaching girls—turned out the lights in the gym and left him sitting in the dark, waiting for us.
Our coach was not in the best mood after that and was even more annoyed when we pulled into the Niles West parking lot only to find the door to the school locked. Because the bus could not be maneuvered over grass to the next closest entrance, Coach Earl and the bus driver jumped out in the dark and ran off to find an open door. Especially giddy after the big win and bored by the five-minute wait, we wondered if Coach Earl would notice if the bus was not in the
exact same spot when he returned.
Judy was first behind the wheel, driving it a few feet, followed by Pam, who moved it a few feet more, and finally Holly, who lurched it forward again. Some of us had the maturity to not participate in this dangerous and childish stunt, those like Peg and I, who chose instead to egg on the culprits while acting as lookouts. Meanwhile, Lynn Carlsen decided she was in grave danger and bailed out the rear exit, setting off a buzzer in the process.
Somehow, we all managed to get off and get into the school without Coach Earl noticing what had happened. But the next morning, a plan was hatched by Peggy and me to once again ensnare the most gullible among us—Holly—in a practical joke.
It was actually quite easy to pull off as Holly did not feel well that morning and was not in school that day. We firmed up the scheme during the day, and after practice Peggy called Holly and told her that Earl had found out that three players had driven the bus and that Judy and Pam had already confessed. “He wants the third person to come forward,” Peggy said with dead seriousness. “Otherwise, he said we are all going to be held responsible. You may not be allowed to take driver’s ed next year, but I think he knows it’s you, Holl, and if you confess, you might get off lightly.”
The key to the joke’s execution was that Coach Earl, by now familiar with our warped sense of humor and willing to be an amazingly good sport, was in on the gag and waiting when Holly came in trembling the next day, ready to spill her guts. “You know,” he bellowed at her in mock anger, “we can keep you out of driver’s ed until you’re 18.”
Holly heard the giggling shortly after shedding her first tear, as we all came spilling out behind the bleachers. It was both a real bonding moment with our coach and a perfectly executed plan. Now if only the rest of the season went that well.
CHAPTER 20
Perfect Shmerfect
THE CAPTION UNDER THE PHOTO of Connie driving to the basket was a typo, of course.
A forgetful copy editor was supposed to insert an actual number. But instead, after the sentence “Niles West guard Connie Erickson has done it all this season,” were the words “The 5-6 guard has compiled a zillion points, rebounds, assists and steals.”
Connie couldn’t win for losing. If she refused to do interviews, which she tried to do at first this season, it looked like false modesty. If she talked, there she was in the headlines where she had never intended to be. Or in a caption scoring “a zillion” points.
Sitting on the bleachers before class with the paper on her lap, Peggy rolled her eyes. She had become accustomed to seeing her name in stories that read: “Connie Erickson put on a spectacular display for the Indians, finishing with 10 points, eight assists and six steals, while Barb Atsaves was deadly accurate from the floor with 14 points. Peggy Japely chipped in with 22.”
Local writers like Susan Sternberg and Jim Braun were having a field day without Arlene Mulder there to shield her players from them. Suddenly, Connie was showing up as the subject of feature stories, though always reluctantly and, without exception, always crediting her teammates. Peggy, meanwhile, was a late bloomer, a player no one had really heard of before her senior season. And indeed, we had been playing well as a team during Peggy’s absence with the ankle injury.
Maybe the only good thing about her being sidelined was that it forced others to pick up the slack. Peggy had been averaging 17.5 points per game at that point, and Holly had her best game of the season in a victory against Glenbrook South, finishing with 19. Judy, who had been starting in Peggy’s place, also stepped up, scoring 17 in our victory over Waukegan East.
But we missed Peggy’s height, her rebounding, and her defensive presence, and we knew we would not get very far in the postseason without her. She normally guarded the other team’s best big girl, and against Glenbrook South, that would have been Colleen Monckton, who scored 27 points, including 10 in the fourth quarter alone.
Peggy was happy we did well while she was out and never outwardly sulked on the bench, just as Karen and I were happy we kept winning despite our own personal frustrations. But as Connie and, lately, Barb started getting more attention, Peg felt left out.
She was not the only one.
Connie’s brother Chris, who had always felt a little like the black sheep of their large family, now had the added burden of having his twin sister on the brink of stardom. Chris was on the varsity football and basketball teams and was a fine athlete in his own right. But through no fault of his own, his time at Niles West also coincided with a down period in boys’ team sports while the girls’ programs were still new and exciting and, in the case of every team Connie was a part of, wildly successful.
The natural jealousy between twins had increased to the point where Chris, who seemed to be growing more and more withdrawn, would not even acknowledge Connie if they saw each other in the hallway, and it bothered her a lot. She never shared her feelings about Chris with any of us. She was still going out with Bob, so she had him to talk to, but mostly she was intensely focused on basketball as we all were.
It was weird how jealousy was affecting our team this year when it had never reared its head before. But we kept it under control, for this season was also destined to be the most special of all, and somehow every one of us was starting to feel it. Or at least I was.
When the Spectrum, our high school yearbook, asked the seniors three months before graduation to write down all of our accomplishments from our four years at Niles West for the senior survey section, I had the audacity to add one more regional and sectional championship to the tally as well as “One State Triumph?!”
Peggy glanced over my shoulder with an arched eyebrow as I added the “?!” in as a disclaimer, but then we had every reason to be confident as we headed into the final stretch of the regular season and the Libertyville tournament. We were psyched up, as we always were for tournaments, but especially so for this one as it offered the chance to exact a little payback on Hersey. We always loved tournaments, but this time we felt there was no team on our schedule capable of beating us. We were in the top bracket, slated to meet Hersey again in the championship if everything went according to plan.
After a three-week absence, Peggy was back for our first-round game against Wheeling but didn’t start and played sparingly, scoring eight points in a ridiculously easy 77–33 victory. Next up was Maine South, against whom we now had a five-game winning streak, dating back two seasons. Experience should have told us that, aside from our last meeting, most of our games against Maine South were competitive and that the Hawks had enough talent to give any team a run. But with one eye on Hersey, we got sucked into one of the oldest sports pitfalls around—looking ahead.
After we jumped out to a comfortable 24–15 first-quarter lead, Maine South clamped down in a man-to-man defense that limited us to five points in a physical second quarter that left us with a three-point lead at the half. The margin was the same through three quarters, when we led 43–40. But we played scared in the second half, playing not to lose instead of our usual aggressive style, and it cost us in the end.
Connie, Barb, and Peggy fouled out, and Judy had four fouls as Maine South made 29-of-40 free throws while we were 14-of-18 from the line. Still, Becky was poised to be the hero of the game when she hit two free throws with nine seconds left in regulation to put us up by two at 52–50. But with one second remaining, Kathy Spychala, a 5-7 junior reserve for Maine South whom none of us had ever heard of and who was triple-teamed where the center court line meets the sideline in our 1-3-1 halfcourt zone trap, heaved up a prayer only to see it swish through, sending the game into overtime and the Maine South cheering section into delirium. Maine South took advantage of its instant momentum as we scored just one basket in the overtime period and lost our first game of the season 58–54.
As we shuffled wordlessly toward our locker room, Coach Earl unleashed his frustration on the referees for the lopsided free throw totals, walking away just short of being sorry for something he said. W
e took no comfort in his defense of us, nor did we take much interest in what he was saying. We were awash in self-pity and self-doubt, and for the next hour or so anyway, we played it for all it was worth.
In stage whispers, Peg and I had been critical on the bench about what was happening, second-guessing Earl’s coaching being the main topic of conversation, and clearly we had not been very subtle. Becky had silently dubbed us “Snip and Snot” and wondered why she, a freshman, was seemingly more mature than a couple of seniors.
On the bus ride to lunch before we had to return for the third-place consolation game, Coach Earl stood up and gave us an it’s-not-the-end-of-the-world speech that we sort of appreciated but pretty much ignored. “Come on, gang,” he intoned. “It’s one game. One game. Now you get back up, dust yourself off, and go back out there.”
In a row by herself, Connie sat sobbing in frustration, distraught that our perfect season would be marred by the likes of Maine South.
Coach Earl walked down the aisle and stood in front of her. “Trust me,” he told her, “you are not going to remember this when you’re giving birth to your first child.”
It was sort of an odd thing to say and an even odder thing for a teenager to hear, and Connie laughed through her tears at the absurdity and awkwardness of it, lightening the mood.
If we were going to prove that we were a high-caliber team, there was no better way than to show how we rebounded from a dramatic loss. And fortunately for us, we had only a few hours to deal with the sickly taste of defeat. Still, a short team meeting felt necessary, and in the locker room before playing Libertyville in the consolation game, the seniors took the floor, delivering the message that we had come too far to let the season derail at this point.
“Whatever petty differences we may have, whatever personal gripes, now is the time to put them aside,” Connie began.
“Remember what we’re here for, what our goal is,” Judy all but shouted at her usual football coach volume.