by Phil Wohl
A smile a beautiful as a rose. Eyes as captivating as tropical waters. Hair flowing like a waterfall. A love as weightless as a warm ocean breeze. She holds the key to my happiness. No other can discover the treasures buried deep within my heart. I can only hope she will soon rescue me from my lonely thoughts. Waiting only prolongs the pain.
Hormones have a way of kicking emotions up a notch. Pete decided to give a copy to Erica and wrote on the outside of the envelope, “Thanks for helping me to finish my story.” He then signed his name and slid the letter under the door. He didn’t know why he was doing it, but there was no turning back now.
The newspaper’s Associate Editor and resident gossip-monger, Rachel Connelly, opened the door to Erica’s office after school and kicked the letter under the desk. Never at a loss for curiosity, Rachel reached down and picked up the envelope. She looked at the note on the outside of the envelope and a surge of excitement rippled through her body. Before she could read the letter, Erica walked up behind her and said half-kidding, “Are you snooping through my mail again?”
“No, I just found this on the floor. Somebody must have slid it under the door,” Rachel replied in an indignant tone.
“Pete? Who’s Pete?” Rachel sarcastically questioned. “The only Pete I know is Pete Berman, and it couldn’t be him. You two have nothing in common. He’s nice and quiet, and you are, well... you. Have fun with that. I have to go interview the women in the cafeteria about their opposition to the school board’s new policy against facial hair.”
Erica waited until Rachel turned the corner and then quickly ripped open the envelope. She unfolded the sheets of paper and began devouring each line of the story as if she hadn’t read in days. The short story was entitled True Love, and sent her on the emotional roller coaster ride of her life. His writing was not as good as hers, but was filled with such passion and conviction. Erica wished she could express her feelings that way. She never sought to explore her inner self, preferring to analyze all things factual.
The walk to the track following her NHS meeting was endless. Erica hoped she would catch Pete before he finished his training session. She passed by the weight room on her way out the door but saw no sign of Pete. Walking quickly, she reached the edge of the track but there was no one around. She started walking away when Pete noticed her from his seat in the stands.
“You see the guy cutting the grass? He used to be the starting quarterback of the football team. He’s a really nice guy... has a wife and two kids. Brings them to every home basketball game. Isn’t it strange how people wind up where they started?”
She turned around slowly. “You know what I think is strange? How is it that a guy who has a town in the palm of his hand can be so unhappy?”
Pete responded, “You read my story. You see, there is more to life than just books and sports.”
She walked up into the stands, leaned on a railing facing Pete and says, “Why me?”
“I don’t know. Why not you?”
“We have nothing in common.”
“My favorite color is purple.”
“Mine is pink,” Rachel countered.
“I like pizza and meatball heroes.”
“Too much red meat isn’t good for you.”
“I like you," Pete bluntly stated.
Rachel countered, “I guess we do have something in common. I like me, too.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Fellingwood team was much weaker this time around, with Gerry Williams being the only returning starter. The other four starters received athletic scholarships: two for basketball, one for lacrosse, and one for soccer. In contrast, West Valley graduated three of its five starters, but their current point guard had played the majority of the minutes off the bench. West Valley’s two leading scorers, Pete and Tom Sullivan, would again be back again to terrorize opponents.
West Valley’s first four games were against non-conference opponents. The first team to visit The Launching Pad was Bays Landing, one of the top teams in the county. Everyone was anxious to see what the team was made of right off the bat. Pete discovered a very worthy adversary during the game in Keith Reidy, a player with a nasty disposition and the height to match him. The two titans delighted the overflow crowd with their shot making. The fan support had begun where it left off the previous year. The game was tied with three minutes left, as both Pete and Keith had played tremendous games. Pete had 27 points and 14 rebounds, while Keith recorded 24 points and 11 rebounds. Either player was capable of unlocking the tie at 53. Then Pete head-faked Keith into the air and forced him into his fifth foul. Keith walked angrily to the bench while Pete strolled to the foul line. Eight points later, the game’s outcome was no longer in question. Pete had secured yet another home victory for the Rockets. However, the home winning streak would be in serious jeopardy the very next game against Helmsdale, the team that was the overwhelming favorite to win the county championship.
Pete saw each opponent the same way, whether they were white or black, or jumped ten or thirty inches off the ground. On offense, a head-fake or two came in handy, but all of the other rules were the same: give him the ball and he would find a way to score. Pete would always let his mind wander while Coach Andrews taped his ankles before each game. This day took him back to a Spring League game versus Helmsdale some eight months prior to this encounter. He hadn’t forgotten the first possession of the game when Tom Sullivan dribbled up the court. Pete was the leading scorer in the league, averaging about 25 points a game. The defending Helmsdale player put an elbow in Pete’s ribs and said, “You’re not getting off tonight.” Pete was usually a docile bull, keeping his thoughts to himself, but became incensed when opposing players talked trash to him. Like a red flag had been waved in his direction, Pete’s eyes became inflamed as he uttered, “Just wait ‘till I get the ball.”
Tom seeing Pete fighting hard for position quickly lobbed the ball into him in the left low post. Pete spun toward the baseline, ball-faked his man in the air, absorbed the contact and put the ball in the basket. End of conversation.The problem was that only Pete and Tom showed up to play that night. They scored 55 out of the team’s 65 points, with Pete collecting a league-high 39 points. The other three West Valley starters looked totally intimidated, as the team lost 84-65. The outcome could possibly be altered with West Valley playing at home, and Pete knew his Spring League buddy would be back for another beating.
The coach of the Helmsdale Lions was Ross Parker, a slender 6’5” white man who was the master of the fast break offense and trapping defense. Coach Parker first caught an eyeful of Pete when he led a team of young Lions about decade earlier.
Pete was an eight year-old playing in a league with mostly nine and ten year-old kids. He had missed the age cut-off but was let into the league anyway at the urging of his father, who used a bunch of legal terms to disorient the league's organizer. The Berman’s weren’t even living in the town in which the league was located, which was another entry requirement that was waived. The team needed a point guard and since Pete could dribble and shoot, it was more than enough to win the starting job.
Pete learned at an early age that he had no choice but to produce. Expectations followed him like a shadow on a clear autumn day. The shadow would be his friend as long as his team scored more than the opponent. He made his teammates better and started to instinctively understand where he was supposed to be positioned on the court.
It was a late winter night. A collection of the finest nine year-old’s in the league were to meet at a local public school to test their skills against the top young players of a nearby league. At the time, it didn’t faze Pete that he would be playing against black players for the first time. After all, many of his favorite NBA players were black.
It was obvious to Coach Parker from the opening tap that Pete would be the center of attention that night. Parker was a teacher at a loca
l elementary school, who volunteered his time to coach basketball. Although Pete was considered to be of average height in this league, among these nine year-old’s he stood out. Many of the players on his team showed their immaturity by being intimidated by playing in someone else’s gym, against players the color of which they had only seen on television. Pete didn’t see color, only the ball and the basket. He didn’t have time to think about his surroundings while he focused on the quick-paced game.
His team was down one with 10 seconds left in the game. Pete’s dad didn’t even diagram a play. He told everyone to hold their ground and get ready for a pass or a rebound, although he knew that neither would happen that night. Opposing Coach Parker told two of his best defensive players to blanket Pete, hoping they would force him into a bad shot or influence him to pass the ball.
Once Pete got the ball, he weaved through defenders like a snake curling slowly down a tree, slithering ever-so calmly until the target was within striking distance. The shot went up with the two defenders draped on Pete’s back and arms. The momentum of the full court dash caused him to make contact with the final defender after the ball went through the hoop. The brief eruption of victory was quelled by the referees whistle. The pinstriper immediately called a charging foul on Pete, his fifth of the game. The home crowd cheered as if they actually earned the victory, but Pete knew that wasn’t the case. At any early age he realized how precious home court advantage would always be, a lesson made more pronounced by playing in the friendly confines of The Launching Pad.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ross Parker kept a distant eye on Pete’s development ever since that night, and was in attendance when Pete excelled at the Elite 60 camp.
He knew that one man alone could not stop Pete, because he would figure out a way to break down the defense. He also realized that Pete and Tom Sullivan scored most of the team’s points, so he designed a moving triangle-and-two defense with a twist - the adjustment being that two players would guard Pete, one person would guard Tom, and the other two defenders would stand parallel to each other, positioned on the foul line and under the basket. In essence, Coach Parker was daring the other three West Valley players to beat him.
Since Helmsdale was limited to only afternoon games following a brawl during a night home game a few years prior, Parker made it a habit of driving down the road at night to become one of the notable faces in the crowd at The Launching Pad. He wasn’t so much scouting, as he said, “You can’t beat this place for atmosphere. This crowd really gets these boys going.”
The mid-December, Saturday afternoon game crowd was tempered somewhat by the Christmas break. The gym was about half-full and many of the football players stayed home, undoubtedly nursing hangovers from a night of drinking anything they could get their hands on. The football players Saturday night drinking binge would not begin until about 7:00 p.m., so the basketball team had to survive on this day with just family members and hard-core supporters in the stands.
Pete was not fond of playing at 1:00 p.m. Since this was the only afternoon game on the team’s schedule, he would have to transform himself into a non-nocturnal being for a day. As Coach Andrews taped Pete’s ankles, he noticed that he was as dry as the desert, not a bead of sweat to be found. The janitors had turned down the heat in the building, which was a customary practice when the premises were vacated for more than a few days. Coach Andrews knew that dry or damp, his money player would never back down from a challenge. He just wasn’t so sure about the rest of the team.
Helmsdale’s top player, Glenn Jenkins, was one of the best guards in the state, controlling games with silky-smooth ball-handling and breathtaking drives to the hoop. He seized control of the game in the opening minute by going coast-to-coast and converting a reverse lay-up on his way to the hardwood. The West Valley fans acknowledged the degree of difficulty with a gasp followed by some polite applause.
Pete was holding his own against two of Helmsdale’s finest and managed to equal Jenkins’ eight points at the end of the first quarter. Aside from Tom Sullivan’s one field goal, the other three starters, Ron McNally, Stuart Plotkin and Adam Baum, were held without a point by only two players. They actually stopped themselves, not knowing what to do with so many open shots. In the huddle between the quarters, Coach Andrews screamed as he looked at Pete, “The last time I looked it up, this game was five against five. Teams are going to start putting three guys on Pete and two on Tom, for God’s sake!" He looked at the other players and said, "What the hell are you guys scared of? What, you never played against black guys before? If you guys don’t start stepping up and taking shots with confidence, you’ll be sitting here next to me!"
He regained some of his composure.
"They’re hanging all over Pete. Let’s throw him the ball and start drawing some fouls on these guys. We’re only down eight. Let’s take it two points at a time. O.K., pick your heads up and let’s get it in here. ONE, TWO, THREE, DEFENSE!”
Pass after pass was thrown into Pete as the fouls against Helmsdale began piling up. Coach Parker dressed 15 players and would use all 15 against Pete if it would slow him down. By halftime, four Helmsdale players had three fouls and two others had two. Pete went without a field goal in the second quarter but converted seven foul shots, missing only the back of a one-plus-one late in the half. He was exhausted and his team was down 15 points, 40-25. Tom Sullivan had six points and two other players scored two points each off the bench. Coach Andrews was never one to quit, but thought that last year’s team could have made this a game, not this younger, more hesitant team.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
West Valley went without a whimper in the second half, with the final deficit reaching 19 points, 71-52. Coach Parker cleared his bench a few times, not wanting to rub it in West Valley’s face. Pete played valiantly into the fourth quarter, fouling out four Helmsdale players. After 27 of the hardest-earned points of his life, Pete was replaced with four minutes left in the game. In an expression of sportsmanship, Coach Parker stepped into Pete’s path on his way to the bench, stuck out his long, endless right hand and then hugged him.
The crowd applauded both Pete and the warm gesture, not able to fully appreciate how much they both had accomplished since their first meeting ten years earlier. Before Pete broke the embrace, Ross whispered in his ear, “Great game. Meet me with your dad in the hallway after the game. There’s somebody I’d like you to meet.”
Pete strolled back to the bench and plunked his tired bones into an open seat knowing full-well that many nights two-on-five would not get it done, especially against the county’s best teams. He was too tired to wonder what awaited him in the hallway after the game, but did know that if the flamboyant Ross Parker was involved, the meeting would definitely not lack drama.
Following the final buzzer, Pete spent a few minutes shaking hands and kissing a group of people that inevitably included his mother, father, sister, Erica, Aunt Sarah, and other friends and family. Pete sweated like an open faucet, yet no one cared. To them it was just a little salty water, nothing their people hadn’t seen before.
Pete and his father walked into the hallway like two corporate executives about to enter a board room. Ross greeted both men with a warm smile and a hearty handshake, saying “Coach Berman, it’s good to see you again after all these years.” Like a politician in the middle of a campaign, Ross knew how to work a room, or a hallway as the case may be.
Standing next to Ross was point guard extraordinaire Glenn Jenkins, who also seemed to be on the campaign trail. Ross had taught him well. Pete thought to himself, “Okay, we all know each other.”
Parker then said, “There’s somebody I’d like you to meet. Pete and Lou, this is Larry Boswell, head coach of the East City College Bisons.”
Out of Parker's long shadow appeared the legendary Coach Boswell, who was the only coach in
the history of basketball to win both NBA and NCAA titles. He had coached the Bisons to an NCAA title over 15 years ago, and also won an NBA title 25 years prior.
They exchanged pleasantries until Boswell said, “I bet you two are wondering what I am doing here?"
Honestly, the thought hadn’t really crossed Pete’s mind, he was too excited to be logical.
“As you know, the East City College basketball program was shelved two years ago after my successor was thrown into jail following a point-shaving scandal. For the last three years, I have worked in the NBA’s front office as sort of a liaison to teach younger people the fine points of the game. However, this past summer I received a call from Bob Tomlinson, the Dean of East City College, who informed me that the trustees had voted to start up the basketball program again next season. The trustees had one condition for reinstatement, though: I had to coach the team.”
Boswell continued, “Once a coach, always a coach, I always say. At 65 years old, I feel that I have a few good years left in me before turning the job over Ross, who will serve as my head assistant coach in the interim. This is where Glenn and Pete come in to the picture. I asked Ross to give the names of the best players in the area, from which we will hopefully field our all-East City team next year. Your two names were on the top of the list, following your excellent junior years and outstanding play at the Elite 60 camp. You are the first people outside of the Bison family to hear of this. We will hold a press conference on Monday to announce what I have just told you. Since I am allowed to talk to you during the season, but you are not allowed to sign until after the season, we will keep in close contact with you two throughout the year. We would be willing to take care of all of your expenses and provide you both with tutors if necessary. Our school has a top-notch Fine Arts program. In fact, both of my daughters graduated from ECC. We feel you both play with the fighting spirit necessary to become Bisons.”
