Travel Team

by Mike Lupica

  Nobody scored from there to the end of the quarter. When they ran off the court after the horn, Danny said to Ty, “Okay, dude, you’re back.”

  “I still can’t shoot.”

  “They’ll start to fall.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know the way I know we’re gonna win this game,” Danny said.

  He stopped Ty, turned him around so he was facing where Richie Walker and Mr. Ross were sitting, Richie pointing toward the Vikings’ basket and talking a mile a minute, Mr. Ross nodding his head.

  “If that’s possible,” Danny said, “anything’s possible.”

  “Good point, point guard,” Ty said.

  The good news was that they were still only down a basket at halftime.

  The bad news—double dose of it—was this:

  Teddy (the Moron) Moran had accidentally figured out that Danny was hurting.

  Ty, despite scoring ten points in the second quarter and looking like his old self, had picked up three fouls along the way.

  He had three fouls and so did Bren.

  So did Colby.

  Danny was going to take Ty out of the game after his second foul, but Ty told him not to worry, he could make it to halftime without picking up his third, there being only ninety seconds left, if they went into a straight zone. But the next time the Warriors had the ball, Ty made a move to the basket against Da-Rod, and Teddy Moran came over to help out. Ty didn’t see Teddy coming, and barely brushed him as he spun into his move against Da-Rod, but Teddy threw out his arms and flopped backward as if he’d been sideswiped by a truck.

  Tony the ref gave him the call.

  Offensive foul on Ty.

  Third foul. Ten seconds left in the half.

  The Vikings gave the ball right back when Andy Mayne got called for stepping over the line when he was trying to inbound the ball. So the Warriors would get the last shot of the half. The Vikings put a half-baked press on them, Teddy covering Danny. While they were waiting for Tony to hand the ball to Colby, Teddy slapped Danny on the back. Smiling again, like they were practically best buds.

  But Teddy had caught him on the spot back there that hurt the most, the exact place where he’d landed last night. Danny couldn’t help himself, he yelled out in pain, even getting the attention of Tony the ref, who turned around to see what the problem was.

  Danny waved him off.

  Like they were just kidding.

  “What have we here?” Teddy Moran said quietly.

  Then clipped Danny again for good measure, right before Danny broke away so Colby could pass him the ball.

  They went out into the hall for halftime the way they had at the Kirkland game, Danny’s first as coach. Richie Walker always said that when you had a good routine going, stay with it. So they all had Fruit Punch red Gatorade again. His mom brought the oranges.

  There was even more excitement crackling around them now, one half in the books, than there had been before the game.

  Because of this:

  Because they’d showed they could play with the Vikings.

  Danny hadn’t dominated Andy Mayne when Andy had been guarding him, not by a long shot. But Andy, despite having the size on Danny, and the strength, had only scored one basket. Danny, on the other hand, had at least six assists, probably more than that.

  It was right before halftime when Daryll Senior had decided to switch Teddy Moran over on Danny for a couple of minutes, which had to mean only one thing—he was worried that trying to stay in front of Danny was wearing Andy out.

  In the hallway, Danny said, “Everybody on this team is a coach now. Anybody has anything to say, speak up now. On account of, now’s the time.”

  Ty said, “I should sit at the start of the third.”

  Danny said, “Maybe the whole third, if we can just hang in there.”

  “Keep it close,” Bren Darcy said, “and then bring the big dog back.”

  “Bad dog,” Will said.

  Then the guys started with woof woof woof all over again, so loud Danny knew the people inside the gym could hear them. Maybe the Vikings, too.

  Tess looked at them, shaking her head, this disappointed look on her face. “Boys,” she said.

  Danny stood up.

  “Here’s the deal, okay? I saw the Vikings play Piping Rock. Piping Rock may have gotten the top seed, but they aren’t better than these guys.”

  “Your point being?” Will said.

  “If we beat these guys, we’re going to win this tournament,” Danny said. “No question.”

  Ty pointed to the front of his jersey.

  “We’re number one,” he said.

  After warm-ups, Ty took the chair closest to where Tess was sitting at the scorer’s table. With Robert O’Brien in Ty’s place, Danny moved Will to a forward position in the triangle, asking both him and Oliver Towne—asking them as nicely as possible—to somehow prevent Da-Rod from turning into Tim Duncan while Ty was out of the game.

  There was another delay before the start of the quarter while the refs checked the clock again. Ali Walker came back from the ladies’ room and waved Danny over when she saw which players were on the court.

  “Question,” she said.

  “Shoot.”

  “We did all this to get Ty to play for us, and now he’s not going to play for us?” she said. “Discuss.”

  “It’s like this whole deal, Mom,” Danny said. “Don’t worry about how things are at the start. Just at the finish.”

  “Check,” she said. “Now gimme five.”

  He did.

  “Hey,” Tess said from behind him.

  For the first time since he’d known her, she looked nervous. Scared, almost. Looked extremely un-Tess-like.

  “You okay?” he said.

  “You didn’t tell me sports were this hard,” Tess said.

  “Are you kidding?” he said. “We’re just getting to the good parts.”

  Said the one-armed boy to the tall girl.

  Halfway through the quarter, the Vikings had stretched their lead to ten points. Not good. Danny called his first time-out of the half at 28–18, thought hard about bringing Ty back right there, decided to stick to his guns. Telling himself that fourteen points was the cutoff point, if the lead got that big, Ty was coming back in.

  He explained all that when they got to the huddle. When he finished, he looked over at Ty and said, “I’m right. Right?”

  “Your call,” Ty said.

  Danny said, “When you come back in—for good—I want you to play full out. We just need somebody to get hot until then.”

  Will Stoddard and Colby Danes somehow got hot at the exact same time.

  It’s a terrible thing, Will had always said, for a guy to be hot and not know it. He meant, to not be getting any shots at all. Daryll Mullins had been shutting him down the whole day in the Vikings’ man-to-man, but suddenly Will got open for two jumpers. Then another. The Vikings tried to double-team him a couple of times after that, and when they did, Will swung the ball to Danny like a champ, and he made two passes to Colby.

  Great passes to Colby, if he did say so himself.

  One was a bounce pass that went right through Teddy Moran’s fat legs, because that was the only way to make it. The other one was a no-looker to her in the corner.

  Both Andy Mayne and Teddy kept trying to overplay him, make him go left, because they’d figured out that was the side bothering him. But he made the passes to Colby after going to his left. Then Will and Colby were both hot, and all the Vikings started paying more attention to them, trying to shut them down until Ty came back.

  Missing the point, the way people did all the time about basketball.

  He’d always known that everything started with the pass, because that’s how everything had started with his dad.

  A good pass never cared how big you were.

  Or how much your stinking shoulder hurt.

  It came down to this:

  Vikings 37, Warriors 33.


  Three minutes left.

  Ty had come back in at the start of the fourth quarter and as soon as he did, Danny set him up for three straight baskets. On the last one he drew Da-Rod over, floated the ball over him like he was putting a kite up in the air, knowing it probably looked like an air ball to everybody watching.

  Danny didn’t care. He knew that Ty knew it was a pass.

  Ty had read Danny’s eyes all the way, caught the ball when it came down over Da-Rod Rodriguez, faked Daryll Junior to the moon, put it up and in.

  Now they had to find a way to make up those four points in three minutes.

  The Warriors hadn’t been in the lead since Danny’s first basket had made it 2–0. Bren had fouled out by now, and so had Colby. Will was sucking so much wind Danny could hear him breathing every time there was a stop in play.

  The whole game, Danny had been telling himself—and the Warriors—they’d find a way to win.

  Now he wasn’t so sure.

  No matter what they did, they couldn’t catch up.

  Ty scored off a steal from Teddy Moran, who stood and cried to the ref he’d been fouled instead of chasing after Ty, who got a bunny layup.

  They were only down a basket. But Jack Harty muscled his way in and scored for the Vikings. Will answered by throwing up a prayer from the corner after he got double-teamed, then acting as if he knew he had it all along.

  He ran by Danny, still wheezing a little, and said, “I still got it.”

  Danny called his second-to-last time-out with a minute and thirty showing on the clock. He wasn’t even trying to hide how much his arm hurt by then; when he came running over to the sideline he must have looked like he was carrying some kind of imaginary load on his left shoulder.

  He was also tired enough to take a nap.

  He told everybody to get a drink. Then they all stood around him. Nobody spoke. All he could hear now was everybody’s breathing in what was suddenly a fairly quiet gym at St. Pat’s.

  Vikings 39, Warriors 37.

  Tess handed Danny a Gatorade. Gave him a quick squeeze on his good shoulder. Smiled one of her best smiles at him, just because she seemed to have an endless supply of those.

  Ali Walker said, “Just exactly how bad is that shoulder you failed to mention to your sainted mother before the game?”

  “I just need to rub some dirt on it, is all.”

  Tess said, “Rub some dirt on it?”

  “Baseball expression,” he said. He was too tired to smile. “I know, I know, one sport at a time.”

  To the Warriors he said, “Just don’t let them get another score.” He pointed to the scoreboard and said, “Forty points wins the game.”

  Then he told them, no screwing around, what they were going to run.

  When they broke the huddle, Danny passed by Teddy Moran, heard Teddy say, “You’re going down, little man.”

  Danny stopped.

  “Ask you a question, Teddy?” Danny said.

  “What, squirt?”

  “You ever, like, run out of saliva?”

  The Vikings were still in a man-to-man, and Danny and Ty ran a perfect pick-and-roll. Or so it looked until Jack Harty came racing over and jumped in front of Ty, blocking his path to the basket.

  Ty didn’t hesitate, gave the ball right back to Danny.

  Now he was the one with a clear path to the basket.

  Until Teddy Moran grabbed him from behind with two arms before Danny could even bring the ball up, knocking Danny down like it was a football tackle, falling on top of him, planting Danny’s left shoulder into the floor.

  Ty got to him first as Danny rolled from side to side on the ground, Ty probably remembering the fall he’d taken in the scrimmage. Then he pulled Danny carefully up into a sitting position.

  “Deep breaths,” Ty said.

  Danny finally managed to get his breathing under control, saw his mom start to run out on the court as he did, froze her where she was with a shake of the head, even though his shoulder now felt like Teddy Moran had set fire to it.

  Tony the ref had already thrown Teddy out of the game for his flagrant foul. Danny could see Teddy’s dad and Teddy yelling at Tony from behind the Vikings’ bench. Tony turned and told them that the next thing he was going to do was throw them both out of the gym.

  That finally shut up the whole Moran family.

  A flagrant foul in their league meant two shots for Danny, and also meant the Warriors got to keep the ball. Tony asked if Danny could shoot his free throws. If not, Danny knew, there was this dumb rule that the Vikings were allowed to pick a shooter off the Warriors’ bench. Which would mean one of the O’Brien twins.

  NC.

  No chance.

  “I’m good to go,” Danny said.

  He stood up, got what he thought might be the loudest cheer he’d ever gotten, took the ball from Tony, went through his little four-bounce routine. Made the first free throw. Missed the second.

  Vikings 39, Warriors 38.

  Still Warriors’ ball.

  Jack Harty was waving his arms in front of Oliver Towne when he tried to inbound the ball to Ty. Oliver forgot you couldn’t run the baseline after a made free throw the way you could after a made basket. As soon as he took two steps away from Jack, Tony the ref called him for traveling.

  Vikings’ ball.

  They called their last time-out, came out of it, tried to run out the clock. But when they finally swung the ball to Da-Rod in the corner, Danny and Ty ran at him at the same time, trapping him. In desperation, he tried to bounce the ball off Danny’s leg. Danny jumped out of the way. Da-Rod threw it out of bounds instead.

  Warriors’ ball.

  One minute left.

  Danny called his last time-out.

  Instead of going back to his bench, he walked all the way across the court to where his dad was.

  When he got there, he crouched down in front of him.

  “Got a play for me, Coach?” he said.

  Richie Walker looked at Mr. Ross, then back at Danny.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Mine.”

  33

  HIS DAD STARTED TO DESCRIBE IT TO HIM. DANNY CUT HIM OFF, SAYING HE didn’t need anybody to draw him a picture on this one.

  “I’ve known this play my whole life,” he said.

  “They’ll be looking for you to pass,” Richie said.

  “Yeah,” Danny said. “Won’t they?”

  Then he ran back across the court, feeling fresh all of a sudden, and told the Warriors he had a play he thought just might beat the Vikings.

  Ty and Michael Harden were on opposite sidelines, just inside the mid-court line. Will and Oliver Towne went to the corners. Danny had the ball at mid-court.

  He could hear Daryll Senior yelling at the Vikings to watch Ty.

  “He’s gonna give it to Ty,” Daryll Senior said.

  Danny kept it instead.

  He dribbled toward the free throw line, straight down the middle of the court; when Andy Mayne and Daryll Junior double-teamed him, Danny wheeled around at top speed and dribbled right back outside.

  Forty seconds left.

  Now he dribbled to his left, toward Ty, just as Ty ran toward him. Da-Rod, still covering Ty, seemed sure Danny was about to pass it to him. Except Danny didn’t pass, just put the ball through his legs, spun around again, came back to the middle.

  Thirty.

  He looked over at Michael Harden. Behind Michael, he could see his mom and Tess, standing there, holding hands, like statues. Danny wondered if his mom knew what she was watching: Watching him dribbling out the clock the way his dad had.

  The only difference was, Richie Walker’s team had been ahead by a point at the end of the big game, not one behind.

  With ten seconds left, Will and Oliver ran out of the corners the way they were supposed to. Ty ran down to where Will had been, in the left corner. Daryll Senior yelled at Daryll Junior to stay where he was, forget his man, guard the basket like he was the back guy in a zone.<
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  Danny made his move down the middle.

  When he got inside the free throw line, Daryll Junior stepped up to double-team him along with Andy Mayne.

  Danny Walker went left hand, right hand, then back again, the ball as low to the ground as dust, splitting the two of them with a perfect double crossover.

  Like in the driveway.

  He was wide open, but only for an instant.

  On account of, here came Da-Rod.

  Now Danny passed.

  He passed with a left hand that suddenly didn’t hurt one single bit, made a perfect bounce pass to Ty Ross without even looking, knowing exactly where Ty would be, just as if he were one of the folding chairs in the driveway. Then Danny turned his head to see Ty make the catch.

  And the layup that beat the stinking Vikings.

  Everything seemed to happen at fast-forward speed after that, like somebody in the crowd had a remote in his hands.

  He saw his dad standing and pumping his arms over his head, crutches forgotten on the floor next to him, looking as happy as Danny had ever seen him.

  Then his mom was over there with his dad, an arm around his shoulder, his mom acting like his crutch.

  Tess Hewitt came running for Danny then, started to put her arms around him, then pulled back, remembering his shoulder.

  “Is a hug allowed?”

  He said, yeah, it was allowed, and she ducked her head and leaned down and hugged him and he hugged her back.

  When he pulled away from Tess, not sure where to go next, Ty Ross was standing in front of him, grinning this goofy-looking grin from ear to ear.

  “Nice pass,” he said.

  “Nice shot,” Danny said.

  The two of them shook hands the regular way.

  The old-school way.

  Then Ty kept holding on to Danny’s hand and somehow lifted him up in the air in the same motion. Then Will was there, and Bren, putting Danny up on their shoulders, carrying him around the court, the way the old Vikings had carried his dad once.

  Danny looked down on the day and thought:

  So this is what everything looks like from up here.