The Final Four

by Paul Volponi

  “He’s a journalism major, Ma,” answered Aaron, sitting a few seats away from Roko at the kitchen table. “The Red Bull’s always writing something in that book. He’s practicing to be a reporter one day.”

  “So Mr. Red Bull Reporter, let me ask you a question,” said Aaron’s mother, setting down another platter of crawfish. “I know you’re from Europe. How do you like that southern-style food they serve in Troy, Alabama?”

  “I won’t lie. It took my stomach some getting used to. But I’ve got a taste for grits now,” answered Roko. “And I like the way they deep-fry everything, even the Snickers bars.”

  “Deep-fried candy? Well, N’awlins cooking is a different animal,” she said. “It’ll get your motor running hot for sure, so be careful. It’s spicy enough to have you sweating before the big game.”

  “I’m feeling the heat already,” said Roko, using a hand to fan his open mouth. “I didn’t know there was hot pepper baked inside the biscuits, not until I ate three.”

  “That’s jalapeño bread. We’re full of warm little surprises down here,” she said. “See, we don’t have guests to our homes, just extended family. So if there’s anything you need, you come straight to me—your brother’s mother. You hear?”

  Roko nodded his head, copying down a few of her words before he shut his notebook.

  There wasn’t enough space or chairs in the kitchen for everyone. So people were eating in almost every room of the small house and out on the front porch, too. But when Coach Kennedy made a speech in the living room, everyone did their best to cram inside or into the doorways at either end.

  “When I banned cell phones and iPods from our trip to the Final Four, the idea was that it would bring us closer together. That we’d be talking and listening to each other a lot more, like a family,” said Kennedy. “Mrs. Boyce’s hospitality tonight has really reinforced that. Now we have a home and not just a hotel. I think she deserves a round of applause.”

  Near the end of the clapping and cheers, Aaron announced, “There’s one more family thing. It was Ma’s idea. Since Roko’s parents couldn’t make it from Croatia, my aunt and uncle agreed to take their place. Come on in!”

  The pair made their way into the living room wearing curly red wigs.

  “They’ll be the only black people at the game with bright red hair!” Aaron told Roko, over a wave of laughter. “They’re your new peeps!”

  “It’s like looking into a mirror,” Roko said with a huge smile across his face, before he hugged them both.

  And right now, as Roko gets into position on the court beside Malcolm McBride, he finds his surrogate family in the stands behind the Troy bench and gives them a big thumbs-up. But somehow, instead of making Roko feel better, it only makes him miss his real family even more.

  April 18 (Grade 9)

  Important note–this is a journal not a diary. A diary is for girls and their heartaches of love. I have no heart troubles yet because I do not have a girlfriend that is steady. This is my first time writing in a journal. I am starting in high school first year. My uncle Dražen said I have opinions worth something now. But not cash money. This journal is his idea.

  He is a writer for his job. He is a journalist at a newspaper here in Zagreb–capital city of Croatia. Uncle Dražen said I should write in English. For many more people can understand my words on future dates. I study English since grade 4. The vocabulary of mine is getting stronger and better every day. I see US movies like The Departed, Friday Night Lights, Kill Bill. I hear US music also. Songs by Slim Shady and Snoop Dogg. So I know how the English language sounds for real–street real. Not like the fake Harry Potter from the English of England. I call wizard Harry Potter fake because no magic words can change things. That is the lesson you learn in Croatia past schooltime–wishes and words mean nothing.

  How to start in my journal? Uncle Dražen said from the beginning of my memory to now. Okay. First thing I know from when I am very young is war. In some days before grade one I am playing alone outside my house. From nowhere there is siren and whistling sounds through the clouds and air to my ears. One shell explodes on a street close by. After that I am upside down flying, very scared, crying for my mother. But it is my mother that grabbed me. She is carrying me to the basement of my neighbor for safe shelter from shells. I sleep that night on the floor in basement with no bathroom.

  Now here is my good opinion worth something–yesterday, today, tomorrow is the same. It is like a quiet war. End of Croatia Independence War in 1995, my schoolbook states as fact. Big lie. Only true parts: No more warning sirens. No more shells. No more hiding in shelters in basements with neighbors. But war is still here in Croatia. Every day to night. War is left over. How? Much less tourists travel to here for vacation time to spend money. Few good jobs. Much drinking and drugs. War is poor people fighting for $$$. The factory job for my father? Open! Closed! Open! Closed! That is today.

  But there is good things in my life too. Uncle Dražen lives in our house now with me, my mother, my father. My uncle has no spouse or child yet so I am like his son. He teaches me to play basketball–shoot, dribble, pass, defense. Always more defense. Uncle Dražen beat me last time we play 15 to 12. Future I want to play for my high school team. I practice very much with my friends after school, homework, house chores. I am almost 6 feet in height. But more inches are needed. Uncle Dražen said size of the heart is more important than inches for basketball. Each Saturday we get up at 4 o’clock in morning to watch Kobe, LeBron, D-Wade play in NBA on satellite TV. But the very best is past Michael Jordan highlight dunks on YouTube. He is king of mad hops. I bow down to him. Even if he is retired and old. For now I can only touch the official 10 foot rim. My father said basketball is for child not man. He said enjoy while I still can, and he laugh at Uncle Dražen for spending so much time on sport. One day I will dunk. When I possess more inches and more heart. I will do this before I am a grown man with family to worry for.

  September 14 (Grade 10)

  My lifelong dream has become true. I made my high school basketball team. Two days past I went to the first tryout in our gymnasium. I was sweating an ocean of saltwater even before the tryout begins. There were 37 hopeful players to fill up just 13 spots for the roster. But 10 of those spots were taken up automatic by returning players from last year. That meant my chances were very poor. I missed the only two shots I took. Clank! Clank! All nerves and no shooting touch. But on defense I played against the senior all-star guard with more inches and muscles than me. I was not embarrassed by him and was able to keep him always within my arms reach.

  I did not sleep a wink later that night. Like I only knew an alphabet without the ZZZZZs. I made no journal entry so I would not have to read it forever if I got cut. Uncle Dražen could see I was uptight and did not push me for details. The next day at school I am on the list of players making the first cut–from 37 down to 20. At the second tryout my defense is even better. I also made three of three shots and know that God heard my praying and guided the most difficult one into the basket. Again I had little sleep. Only this time for excitement because I know I played well. Uncle Dražen could see it in my eyes. He patted me on the back and said, “It is beautiful to feel so alive for something.”

  This morning I walked up to the list with my eyes closed. Then I opened them with two sets of fingers crossed. Hooray! Props to me! My name is printed number 12 of 13 in the coach’s own writing. All day long school is a joy. Nothing can bring me down. At home my father shakes my hand warning that studying and chores must always come first. Uncle Dražen kisses my cheek saying he will sweep the yard every day in my place in exchange for tickets to my first professional game. When my uniform comes I will sleep in it. I will wear it under my street clothes. I have already told my mother that I will wash it myself by hand–never to let it out of my sight.

  November 15 (Grade 10)

  Today I made my first dunk on the official height rim during basketball practice at school. It was 10 feet of r
im vs. 6 foot 2 inches of me. No problem! The sound of the basket shaking was like beautiful music to my ears. It pumped me up more than any Jay-Z beat. And I smiled after dunking for a long time without stopping until my cheeks felt sore.

  When I returned home my father shook my hand and told me now I can concentrate on real life. So I waited for Uncle Dražen to arrive from his job. I dragged him to the hoops at the public park in the cold to show off. He took a picture of my new dunk skills on his cell phone and saved it to his wallpaper. We celebrated with high fives and caramel custard. He has not won against me in games of one-on-one for a while now. But I do not rub it into his face.

  December 1 (Grade 10)

  Yes!!! Now I will have money for dates. Uncle Dražen fixed me for Saturday work at his newspaper. My job is to load the big bundles of papers into the trucks for delivering. He said to me, “It is a job that a teenage boy can handle because your mind can be on 20 different things at one time and still do it right.”

  I need the money because girls such as Rosa, Teresa, and even hot-legs Valeria look at me now–and not just like a skinny scarecrow. They see me wear my team jacket and sweat suit everywhere. Those clothes are babe magnets to the highest degree, even more important than a car.

  January 13 (Grade 10)

  There was another gang attack in my school today. It happened in a classroom with the teacher present. I was not there. But others said four thugs from our own school ran into the room and beat Baldo M. until his head began to bleed. All because he bought a long knife from one of them and didn’t pay on time. Funnysad–it is more dangerous to have a weapon than not. That is why I do not carry one.

  The gangs leave me alone because I wear the same team jacket as others. Having teammates is protection. Even my father agrees this is a worthy point of playing basketball.

  February 5 (Grade 10)

  Today we lost the high school championship game of Zagreb by many points. Too many points for me to write down forever in ink. It was the big smackdown and blowout. We were punked to the max! There is sadness, sorrow, and shameful heads hanging down with all of my teammates and me. I wear #23 for Michael Jordan. But my talent is not up to his number. My heart is not strong enough to be a champion yet.

  All basketball season my playing time grew to more and more minutes, being on the court and off the bench. So I am at least happy for that. Uncle Dražen came to clap for me, and give advice like a second coach. He is also a second father in my life which means much more. He said there would be a story about the game in his newspaper. My first time in a newspaper and I will not want to read it because we lost by so much. Tough shits on me!!!

  February 16 (Grade 10)

  Uncle Dražen has two victories to celebrate today. One of his stories about criminal organizations in Croatia is on the front page again. He has the heart to tell the truth and point finger to Fat Tony Soprano mobsters and crime family of Zagreb. They rip off hardworking people, little by little to add up their loot. The headlines on front pages have my uncle’s name. I see it thousands of times on Saturdays before the papers leave by trucks.

  Uncle Dražen’s new job of editor is also an official victory now. It comes with a money raise but also another price tag. Letters and phone calls come to his office with violent threats for the truth he writes about. He told me basketball and writing is not for scared little mice. That when you lose the courage to say what you are thinking you will have nothing left. Uncle Dražen has the heart I want to grow inside of me. It is the champion’s heart. He is the Michael Jordan of newspaper writing.

  “Mental toughness is to physical as four is to one.”

  —Bobby Knight, who coached the University of Indiana to three National Championships and won more Division I basketball games than any other coach

  CHAPTER THREE

  CRISPIN RICE

  7:22 P.M. [CT]

  His muscles aching with fatigue, Crispin bends at the waist and lets his long arms drop, touching his fingertips to the floor. Even if he’d downed a gallon of Gatorade on the sideline, the dehydration from playing nearly all forty minutes of regulation time would still have him cramping up.

  But that’s Crispin’s role right now—to fight off the exhaustion and all of the pain, both physical and mental, that goes with it.

  Crispin is the Trojans’ only legitimate big man, their one answer to the Spartans’ superior size and strength. And he has felt the weight of that load all night long, practically carrying Michigan State’s Grizzly Bear Cousins on his back.

  There are five opposing pairs of players on the floor. Four of them have taken up positions around the circumference of the circle at center court, with Crispin and Grizzly in the middle of them all, preparing for the jump ball to begin overtime. So Crispin straightens himself from his deep stretch, staring up at Grizzly, who has two inches and more than thirty pounds on him.

  “Hey, don’t forget how we started out this game,” announces Grizzly to his teammates in green. “With a little something sweet for our girl.”

  Malcolm chimes in, “That’s right. I don’t care if it takes longer than we planned. We’re walking away with everything these guys have got. Their game, their pride, and their Hope.”

  Then Grizzly, Malcolm, and Baby Bear each blow a kiss in the direction of Hope Daniels.

  It’s exactly how the trio of Spartans began the game.

  That’s when Crispin’s blood begins to boil.

  “After we win, you losers can kiss my ass,” says Crispin, whose face turns as red as his jersey. “You guys don’t know where the line is.”

  “This is war. There is no line,” snaps Malcolm. “We’re playing for keeps.”

  “There’s low class and there’s no class,” says Roko, from his position next to Malcolm. “I haven’t made up my mind which one you Spartans are.”

  “Definitely no class, especially Mr. One and Done over there,” says Aaron Boyce, jutting his chin towards Malcolm. “I hear he can’t find any class—on the court or in his school.”

  The ref blows his whistle, putting an end to all of the talk.

  Then he tosses the ball up between both centers, higher than either one can reach.

  Though Crispin can’t out-jump Grizzly, that sudden jolt of anger has his adrenaline really pumping. He times his leap for the ball perfectly, tapping it over to Roko.

  The Trojans advance the basketball from left to right.

  Aaron gets open along the baseline for a jumper, and Roko instantly zips him a pass. Crispin is battling hard for position beneath the basket. Arms are flailing all around him, and the back of his hand scrapes across Grizzly’s sharp stubble.

  Both teams are determined to score the first basket of overtime. It shows the will to win, putting the other squad in an immediate hole.

  Aaron’s release is smooth as silk.

  Crispin somehow wedges his body past Grizzly’s as his eyes follow the shot out of Aaron’s hand. The ball goes halfway down into the basket before it rattles back out, with Crispin reeling in the rebound at the front of the rim.

  And he suddenly feels the confidence of a shot that he can’t miss.

  Stuffing the ball home with a resounding “Umph,” Crispin gives the Trojans a 66–64 lead. Then he glares back at Grizzly, pushing his lips together.

  On the way down court, Crispin slaps hands with his teammates, making eye contact with Hope for the first time since the game began more than two hours ago. It is a passing glance with which neither seems comfortable.

  From that morning’s national newspaper:

  HOPE OF TROY HAS

  TROJANS STREAKING

  NEW ORLEANS, La. — Move over, Helen of Troy. The face that supposedly launched a thousand ships during the Trojan War has some spirited modern-day competition in Troy University cheerleader Hope Daniels, aka “Hope of Troy.”

  Back in early February, Hope was busy cheering her heart out for the home team, the Troy University Trojans, who trailed by 2 points in the final few se
conds. Hope’s beau, senior center Crispin Rice, blew her a kiss as he stepped onto the court. An instant later, Rice hit a 40-foot desperation 3-point basket at the buzzer to give Troy a dramatic victory. Instead of celebrating with his teammates, Rice raced towards the sidelines. He got down on one knee and proposed to Hope. She accepted. The replay of the game-winning basket/marriage proposal was seen on practically every sports highlight show in the country and has so far recorded more than one million hits on YouTube.

  “It was a magical moment for me and Crispin,” said Hope, a senior majoring in business management. “This irresistible force just swept us up. It’s been an incredible ride, and we’ve gotten to share it with so many people.”

  Since Hope accepted Crispin’s proposal, Troy hasn’t lost a single basketball game. Heading into tonight’s semifinal matchup at the Final Four with Michigan State, it has been nine consecutive wins and counting. Two more victories and the Trojans will claim an improbable National Championship.

  After Troy’s first-round upset over Wisconsin, their first NCAA Tournament win ever, the national media began calling Daniels “Hope of Troy.”

  Helen of Troy, a daughter of Zeus and the most beautiful woman in the world, was a Spartan queen stolen away by Paris, a Trojan prince. The Spartans went to battle for her return, beginning the Trojan War detailed in Homer’s epic poems, the Iliad and the Odyssey. Now that the Michigan State Spartans are playing the Trojans of Troy, the comparison of Hope to Helen has garnered even more attention.

  “She certainly inspires me,” said Crispin Rice, a health and human services major, who at 6 feet 10 inches tall towers over his 5-foot-7-inch fiancée. “I want to play my best for her, every time.”