Homecourt Advantage

by Rita Ewing

  “Congratulations!” Casey said, mustering up as much enthusiasm as possible under the circumstances.

  “I got to call my aunt Thelma and tell her,” Trina said, picking up the phone again and quickly punching in the numbers.

  Casey smiled. Trina was right; Casey did have to stop riding the fence. Her relationship could not bear the strain of it much longer.

  After three years of holding a silent grudge against Brent, was she finally ready to remove the scab over her heart?

  Chapter 49

  “Damn, Coach, what are you trying to do, kill us? Rick gasped as Coach headed off the court.

  That’s exactly what he’s trying to do, Brent thought, watching all of his teammates heaving. The excruciating practice was unheard-of for a game day, doubly so considering it was the morning of the last game in the championship series. Tonight was it.

  Coach walked quickly toward the locker-room area. Most of the other guys were still panting. The Flyers and Lakers were tied at three games apiece and the title was on the line. It was all or nothing, but the way Coach just had them playing, Brent felt as if he might not have enough energy to last through the actual game tonight.

  Coach had had the team racing through unnecessary drills and playing one scrimmage after the next. None of the guys had been prepared for such an intense practice, and many had not even bothered to tape their ankles to protect against injuries. Brent hadassumed they would just be shooting around, which was the team’s normal practice routine for game days. He should have known better after everything that had been going on. It defied logic for Coach to have them practicing so hard the day of the final game. No matter how Brent looked at it, Coach’s actions did not add up.

  Now Brent had a good idea of what was really going on and he was determined to get to the bottom of it before tonight’s game. Shaking his head, he still couldn’t get Steve’s words out of his mind. It was so hard to believe—impossible to believe. But as Brent replayed the reel of the last few weeks with Coach and Jake, as much as he hated to admit it to himself, Kelly had probably been telling the truth to Steve. There was too much at stake to delay confronting Coach.

  Paul slowly dribbled the ball over to Brent with a look of exhaustion on his face. He began to shake his head in disgust. “We gotta make Coach talk to us, Brent. He still hasn’t given Steve the game plays and he obviously has no intention of doing it.”

  “I know. He’s still not gonna put Steve back in the lineup.”

  “And what the hell was he trying to prove with this marathon practice? We’re all gonna be dead tonight. There was no reason for us to practice that hard—unless it’s really true, but it’s … it’s so …”

  “I know, I know. This has gone too far. I wish we had lit into his ass before practice,” Brent said, throwing down his towel and storming off the court.

  He was fuming as he made his way through the tunnel to Coach’s office. This might be his only opportunity to ever win a championship, and he wasn’t going to let anyone jeopardize it, especially his own coach.

  Paul caught up with Brent. “What if he won’t talk to us?”

  “He’s gonna have to. I’m not giving him a choice,” Brent said, opening the door to Coach’s office without knocking. Brent took a deep breath and looked over his shoulder at Paul. “You ready?”

  Paul nodded his head and followed Brent into the office. Brent and Paul walked right up to Coach’s desk and sat down, waiting for him to turn around. Coach appeared to be inspecting the aerial-view painting of the Mecca Arena hanging behind his desk.

  Coach cleared his throat but remained standing with his back turned. “Since when don’t we knock before entering my office?”

  “Ever since you stopped acting like our head coach,” Brent quickly shot back.

  “I see.” Coach turned around toward Brent and Paul.

  “That’s all you have to say?” Paul asked.

  “Why would I have anything else to say to either of you about anything I do?” Coach smugly began as he took a seat behind his desk. “I’ve already explained my reasons for the new rotations, which was more than I was obligated to do in the first place. If you think—”

  Brent interrupted, “We’re not only talking about that. Why do you have us practicing this hard the day of the final game? You know that doesn’t make any sense. Most of the guys are gonna be too exhausted to play tonight.”

  “Look, I don’t have to answer to either of you. But let me remind you of something for the record. I’ve never followed anyone’s coaching rules except my own, and if I happen to decide on a new tactic on the morning of the NBA championship, that’s my prerogative. That’s what I get paid to do. I’m the coach, and you two get paid to play by my rules.”

  “You got me pegged wrong, Coach,” Paul began as he sat forward, meeting Coach head-on. “I get paid to win, and if I’m not mistaken, that’s supposed to be your objective too.”

  “Winning has always been my objective in this game. One look at my coaching record and anyone can see that. How do you think we made it to the finals in the first place?”

  “We didn’t make it this far with what we’re doing now, that’s for damn sure. With Steve and Collin on the bench, we’re lucky to still be alive in this series,” said Brent angrily.

  “Steve and Collin put themselves in their predicaments, not me.”

  “Whatever predicament you may think they put themselves in is irrelevant now because it’s affecting the whole team,” Brent said.

  “Well, they should have thought about that before they acted. Shouldn’t they?”

  “Come on, Coach, we all know that’s bullshit. The charges against Steve have been dropped. They were bogus from the beginning. Youshould know that, of all people. You have no objective reason not to play him tonight,” Brent insisted.

  “Well, the damage has been done now. Everyone thinks that Steve beat the woman anyway and that he just paid her off to be quiet,” Coach said matter-of-factly.

  It was astounding to Brent that a man he had respected so much as a coach could transform before his eyes.

  “You’re not making any sense,” Paul said. “Kelly didn’t simply drop the charges against Steve for money. She admitted to the press that she had lied about the whole thing. Come on, Coach, I know you’ve got to realize how preposterous you sound. There’s no reason in the world why Steve should not be back in the lineup. Or is there? He’s been exonerated and he shouldn’t have been taken out in the first place.” Paul threw his hands up in the air.

  “Look, the two of you have no place questioning me. I already told you how hard Commissioner McDeavitt and the sponsors are coming down on me trying to protect the image and integrity of the league. It’s out of my jurisdiction.”

  Brent looked skeptically at Coach and wondered if he even realized how much he had contradicted himself just in this short conversation and the previous one in the sauna. It was obvious that Coach was lying, but as Brent thought about it, he realized two could play at this game.

  “So it’s out of your hands, huh?” Brent asked.

  “Out of my hands,” Coach said, wiping his hands together in the air.

  “Hmmm. So what’s the reason behind you benching Collin, then?” Brent said.

  Coach began to shuffle the papers in front of him. “Same reason.”

  “You can’t not play a guy because he’s gay,” Paul blurted.

  Brent looked at Paul to quiet him. Coach needed to be strung along just enough to hang himself.

  “Pressures from the powers that be? Commissioner McDeavitt and sponsors again?” Brent pressed.

  “Precisely,” Coach said, placing the papers on top of his desk in the drawer. “So I think that should cover it. Now, if the two of you will excuse me, please.”

  “You know, Coach, I find it a little strange that not five minutes ago, you were damn self-righteous about how much control you have as the coach of this team. Wouldn’t it stand to reason that you could play exact
ly who you chose to play if that were the case?”

  “I … My control is of this team … not of the whole NBA. I can’t do anything to contradict the NBA’s overriding standards.”

  “Those standards and rules have been met as far as Steve and Collin are concerned. And anyway, I thought you followed your own coaching tactics. Why such deference all of a sudden?”

  “It’s not all of a sudden. Like I said, I told you guys this when they handed me the orders.”

  “Coach? You’re taking orders from Commissioner McDeavitt? Brent, have you ever known Coach to take orders from the commissioner?” Paul said, turning toward Brent.

  “Never. I didn’t know he took orders, not even from Hal,” Brent responded sarcastically. “Coach, please tell me something. How stupid do we look to you? Just tell me that. Your whole story is so full of holes you’re getting us wet with your slop.”

  “What story? I’m just following orders. Now, why don’t you get out of here and rest up for the game. You’re wasting my time.”

  “I’m disappointed in you, Coach. You never follow orders,” Paul said as if on cue.

  Brent sat staring at Coach, trying to figure out his best angle of attack. Paul had already planted the seed. “Especially since you never got any orders in the first place. At least not from who you say you got them from. Isn’t that right?” Brent said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Coach said.

  “Don’t you?” Brent began as he rose from his seat and began walking around to Coach’s side of the desk. “You see, Coach, I’ve been making some calls of my own … talking to people … to companies … specifically to Flyers sponsors, and I even had some business partners conduct a little due diligence on the whole team’s behalf. I also had a few calls put in to good old Commissioner McDeavitt. And you know what I found out? You’ve been feeding us a crock of shit. Guess what. The commissioner doesn’t have a problem with a gay player; he just wants the most competitive series possible. In fact, the commissioneris a little gun-shy of being targeted by gay activists. The last thing he wants is for the NBA to be labeled as homophobic. They’d break all kinds of equal protection laws by not allowing Collin to play.”

  Coach’s face was turning whiter by the second. Brent could see Paul’s look of surprise, but he didn’t want to lose the momentum of his story.

  “And you know what else I found out? Not one sponsor planned on pulling their advertisements after the story in the Post about Collin. In fact, according to a friend of mine at NBC, the ratings for the finals skyrocketed to an all-time high after that piece ran.” Brent leaned against the desk inches from where Coach was sitting.

  “I … I didn’t … I said it was the powers that be … not the …” Coach stammered.

  “Save it. You’ve obviously got your own agenda,” Brent said.

  “Yeah, and the powers that be are somebody else or—” Paul chimed in.

  “Some other corporate entity,” Brent interrupted.

  “You guys are talking nonsense.”

  “Are we? I don’t think so. How bout you, Brent?”

  “I know we’re not. In fact, we’re right on the money. Aren’t we … Coach? I know we are. And you know what sealed it for me?” Brent began, but caught himself. He had assured Steve he wouldn’t use Kelly’s name in this. Steve was afraid for her safety if it came out that she was the leak. Apparently Hightower’s henchman had contacted a number of people associated with the Flyers. Steve didn’t want it coming back on Kelly, even though it would probably serve her right.

  “What sealed it for me was when I received a phone call confirming everything about your—how should I put it—'subversive activities’ maybe. You’ve been trying to make us lose. It’s only been by sheer will and a little luck that we won the three we’ve won so far in this series. You sabotaged us. I know you, Coach; well, at least I thought I did. Even if I hadn’t gotten confirmation of my hunch, I know what the team winning means … meant to you. But now I know something else means a hell of a lot more to you.”

  Coach shifted uncomfortably in his wing chair on wheels as he attempted to roll away from Brent.

  “How could you sell us out like this, Coach? Why’d you do this?” Paul asked.

  “Nobody would be sold out, fellas,” Coach started. “It could be a win-win situation for all of us. Moving to Albany is a small sacrifice in exchange for all of the other benefits.”

  Brent felt as if he had just entered the twilight zone with a dagger stuck in his back. Actually hearing Coach admit that he had been maneuvering against the team the whole time was more hurtful than he imagined.

  “Come on, you guys. Don’t you realize what it would mean for Hightower Enterprises to own the team?” Coach said, a stiff smile on his face as he looked back and forth between Brent and Paul. “The Flyers as a ball club would blow all the other NBA organizations to shreds. The private MGM Grand-caliber airplane would just be the small potatoes in this package. It would mean contract extensions for both of you, more lucrative than you could ever imagine, a brand-new state-of-the-art arena, and first class of everything.”

  The hurt was quickly turning to rage. Son of a bitch, Brent thought, and then looked at Paul, who shook his head.

  “And would you finally get to be the highest-paid coach in the NBA?” Paul asked.

  Coach hesitated.

  “Well, would you?” Brent began. “ ‘Cause we need to know that.”

  “That’s not all this is about, but … but … that would be one of the benefits,” Coach said, very quietly. And then with a little more spark, “You gotta listen to this, guys. The Hightower boys make great deals. They even promised me an ownership interest in the team. What do you guess they’d do for you?”

  Brent stood up, feeling fury and weariness simultaneously wash over him. “The almighty dollar,” he said, shaking his head. “The almighty dollar. So that’s what this is all about to you, huh? You disgust me, Mitchell.”

  “It’s not only about the money. I want control of my team—deserve control. I don’t need management meddling in how I run my boys. It’s my show. Or at least that’s how it’s gonna be, and as far as money is concerned, you guys fight over your contracts all the timewhen you already have more cash than God. Don’t try and act like you can’t understand my position. And this could mean even more money for both of you … if …”

  “If what?” Paul contemptuously said.

  “If the Flyers lose tonight.”

  “Wasn’t that your plan already? For us to lose so Hal would be forced to sell the team.” Brent towered above Coach.

  “Yeah … but do you know what would be in it for you two if you made certain that happened?” Coach said softly.

  Paul pushed back his chair, knocking it over in the process. “Other than being owned by a racist bastard?”

  “And coached by a moneygrubbing, sell-out, control-freak bastard? I’ll fucking pass.”

  Brent looked at Coach, and the sight disgusted him. Pointing his trembling finger in Coach’s face, he said, “You’re finished, Mitchell. You’ll never work in the NBA again. After winning the championship tonight, I’m making that my number one priority.”

  “What do you mean I’m finished? You’ll never be able to prove anything, Brent, either of you!” Coach said, rising and brushing past Brent.

  “Well, we’ll just have to see what Hal has to say about it. And don’t even think about showing your face at the game tonight. You’re constructively relieved of your duties, effective immediately,” Brent said.

  “What do you mean? Are you crazy? Hal will never believe you two dumb black jocks. You two boys are going to regret this! I’ll be a coach forever, making and breaking careers like yours. You can’t play in my league! Just get the hell out of my office!” Coach shouted as Brent and Paul left the room. An ugly yellow cloud of epithets and threats followed them down the corridor.

  Brent wiped the sweat off his brow and exhaled as he and Paul headed
to their next stop. Pressing the up button on the elevator, Brent looked at Paul, his partner in crime. Now he only hoped Hal wasn’t a part of this nightmare.

  Chapter 50

  “Shaq elbowed him! Are you blind or something, Ref?” Trina screamed as Rick visibly cringed on the court after a hard brush with Shaquille O’Neal.

  Casey, Remy, and Lorraine had watched an excited Trina jump up and down in her seat throughout the entire game. Casey was worried that Trina was going to hurt the baby in the process.

  “Don’t do it, Rick! Don’t give him the satisfaction!” Trina hollered as Rick charged toward Shaquille and took a swing, narrowly missing his face by inches.

  The crowd in the Mecca rose as one; Brent and Paul physically restrained Rick from striking Shaquille. Unfortunately for Rick, Shaq shoved him so hard that he lost his balance and landed bottom first on the court floor. Paul and Brent, although gripping Rick’s arms, could not stop the force of impact as Rick fell to the ground with a dazed expression on his face.

  Casey and Remy reflexively ducked to the side as a plastic beer cup flew between their heads. The fans were crazed with outrage. Before Casey realized what was happening, Trina started to run out onto the court.

  Casey jumped up, Lorraine joined her, and together they blocked Trina’s path. “Trina! What do you think you’re doing?”

  Trina did not respond and continued trying to push by Casey and Lorraine.

  “Trina, calm down now. You think you’re bad enough to jump Shaquille?” Lorraine said in an attempt at humor.

  Trina, breathing heavily, stared out onto the court, shooting daggers with her eyes.

  “Just sit down and relax. You’re going to get the baby stressed out,” coaxed Lorraine.

  Trina remained standing as the referee handed down his judgment.

  With a wave of the hand, Rick and Shaquille were both ejected with only two minutes remaining in the game, and the Flyers were down 90–94. The crowd roared with fury at Rick being ejected except for the small sound of a few jubilant Laker fans. It had been his first solid effort against Shaquille in the entire series. Steve Tucker, the usual starter, had returned to the lineup tonight, along with Collin DuMott, but Steve was obviously having a difficult time getting his rhythm back. Rick had taken up the slack and had been able to limit Shaquille to only thirteen points.