Hoop Crazy (12 page)

“Me?” Mark exclaimed. “But I can't run.”

“We don't need you to run. Can you stand and shoot?”

“Yeah.”

“That's all we need. I'm going to put it in to Ned. You set up outside the three and he'll put it back to you.”

“But even if he scores he can't run enough to defend,” Kia said.

“Let's just get the basket first and worry about that later. Let's go.”

I walked out to the top of the court. Kia stayed on the sidelines as Ned set up low and Mark went way up high.

“New man!” called out one of their players, noticing the change we'd made.

I checked the ball. The instant I got it I lobbed a high ball to Ned. Just as in every game we'd played their whole team collapsed around him like a swarm of bees. He tossed the ball back out to Mark. He had all the time in the world. He took aim and shot the ball, an easy basket and — it hit the rim and bounced off ! Ned grabbed the rebound and in one motion put it back out to Mark. Mark shot. This time it dropped for two!

“Sub!” I yelled. “Mark out, Kia in!”

Mark limped off the court in one direction as Kia ran back on from the other sideline. I went up top and checked the ball. He passed it in to Kia's man who tried to drive past her. She reached out and smacked him hard on the arm.

“Foul!” the ref called out. “That's number seven. Take a shot.”

If he made the shot they'd win and we'd be out of the contest.

“Mark, you're in again,” I called out. “I'm out.”

As I went to the sideline I walked right past the player getting ready to take the shot.

“It all comes down to you. Don't choke,” I said. “‘Cause when you miss the shot we're going to win.”

I grabbed my water bottle and watched as he bounced the ball on the pavement … and then
bounced it again. He put the ball up … air ball! He didn't even hit the backboard!

“Take it outside!” the ref called out.

Kia was going to in-bounds the ball. Ned set up in his usual place while Mark took up a spot just outside the three-point line. This time he was being closely covered.

“Break!” Kia yelled.

Ned lumbered up toward her while Mark limped over to the side. It looked painful even to watch him move. She tossed in a high pass to Ned. His defender jumped high in the air but wasn't even close to getting it. Ned faked a shot and then put it out to Mark. He shot and missed. Ned grabbed the rebound.

“Put it up!” my father yelled.

Ned turned around and put up a shot — nothing but net! The game was tied at fifteen!

“Sub!” I screamed.

“You can't substitute with every possession!” the ref called out. “Keep playing.”

I was going to say something, but I knew he wasn't going to change his mind.

“Go to a zone!” I screamed.

Mark and Kia backed in toward the net. Ned looked confused.

“Just stay under the net!” I yelled at him and he nodded his head and retreated underneath the hoop.

The other team took the ball to the top. The ball was bounced into Kia who sent it back out to the player.

The whole game was now down to one shot. By playing a zone we were challenging them to take a shot from the outside — but what choice did we have? Mark couldn't run and Ned wasn't quick enough to cover anybody. If they sunk it, they won. If they missed, we'd have a chance to win it.

“Hands up!” Kia screamed and all three of them put their hands up. Ned was stretching up so far it looked like he could almost touch the rim.

They pushed the ball around, first to one man, then the other, and back to the first. They were all open for a shot but it was like they were all afraid to take it, like they'd rather somebody else was the hero … or the goat. Finally one of their players set, got the ball and got ready to shoot. Kia rushed out and jumped into the air … he faked the shot and drib-bled by her … it was just a little ten-footer now! He put the ball up and Ned reached out and smashed it away! It bounced right to Kia who dribbled a few feet out to the line and then threw it back in to Mark. He put up a little shot and it dropped! We'd won! We'd won!

Silently we watched as a woman at the score-keeping tent listed our score. Some of the other game scores weren't in yet, so we didn't know if we'd be moving on. There were two other teams that still had a chance to finish with the same record as us.

“What happens if we're tied?” Ned asked.

“They have rules to break ties. The first one is head-to-head competition.”

“What does that mean?” he asked.

“We beat team six. Even if they win their fifth game and finish with the same record as us, we'll be in and they'll be out.”

“So they can't beat us,” Ned said.

“They're not the team we're worried about,” Kia said. “We have to find out how team seven did.”

“That was the fourth team we played, right?” Ned asked.

“That was them. If they won their last game then we're out.”

“It can't be long,” Kia said. “Even if nobody reaches sixteen baskets the time must almost be up.”

“Unless they started late,” I said.

We stood off to the side and watched as people brought game sheets over to the scorekeeper's table. She looked at each score and then walked over and recorded each game on the big board.

“I don't see anybody from team seven,” Kia said.

“That's good.” The winning team was responsible for bringing the sheets over, so as long as we didn't see any of them that would mean that they'd lost and — I saw the four of them walking up. I couldn't wait any longer. I walked over to meet them.

“How did you guys do in your last game?” I asked.

“We did okay,” one of them said.

“Oh, so you won?” I asked, trying to hide my disappointment.

“No, we lost by three points, but we played okay.”

I had to fight the urge to yell out.

“So how did your team do?” one of them asked.

“We did okay too … we won.”

Somehow against all the odds we'd made it to the playoffs!

“Look at them eyeing Ned,” Kia said to me under her breath.

“It's almost like we're not even here.”

Just like before every game the other team spent most of their time staring at Ned in wonder. We made sure that he didn't take any shots during the warm-ups. The last thing in the world we wanted them to see was that he couldn't shoot. It was enough that he was gigantic and dressed like a ball player.

“Think they'll ask to see his ID?” Kia asked.

“Wouldn't you?” I asked in turn.

So far before every game Ned's age had been questioned and his mother pulled out his birth certificate. 112

“Captains, please!” the ref called out.

“You go, Ned,” I said.

“Me? I'm not the captain.”

“You are for this game. Go for the coin toss.”

Ned went out and joined the ref and the captain of the other team.

“They looked pretty good in the warm-ups,” Kia said.

“They did,” Mark agreed.

“They must be good. They finished first in their division.”

“Do you think we can take them?” Kia asked.

“What do you think?” I asked instead of answering.

“I think I'm really tired.”

“Me too.” I turned to Mark “You feeling like you can go out there a bit this game?”

“I can shoot … I can run a little.”

“If we win the coin toss you're in to start the —”

“It's their ball,” Ned said.

“Darn. Mark you're out. First possession you're back in. I'll get the ball back to you for a long shot.”

“How about we worry about their first possession first,” Kia said.

“Sounds right,” I agreed.

I took the ball up to the top of the court. I walked slowly. I needed to get some wind back in my lungs. Slowly I lobbed it out to their man to check the ball. He passed it back.

“Eight!” I yelled.

Ned was standing at the high post and slid down toward the net. He raised his arms and I tossed a ball out to him. It bounced off one hand and then the other and there was a scramble for the ball! It bounced up in the air and Kia grabbed it! She turned and passed out to me. I put up the ball and it sailed right into the net!

“That wasn't exactly the way we practiced that,” I said as I took up a position inside.

“It doesn't matter as long as it worked,” Kia said. “We're giving them a game.”

The ball popped loose and I scrambled after it … reaching … reaching … and bang! I smashed together with two of their players and went shooting through the air, landing on my side, the asphalt biting into my leg.

The ref blew his whistle and my father and Debbie rushed out onto the court.

“That doesn't look good,” my father said.

I looked down. The whole side of my left leg was scraped up.

“Referee's timeout … sixty seconds.”

My father helped me to my feet and I limped over to the sidelines.