Homecourt Advantage (27 page)

Michael looked up as he felt Collin slide into the seat next to him. “Okay, so what’s your take on my situation?” Michael asked the veteran.

Michael was actually glad that Collin had sat down next to him. He had a lot of respect for Collin and admired his maturity and composure. Collin tended to keep to himself, especially lately, and Michael was slowly beginning to understand why, free-agency blues or not. Collin DuMott was on an entirely different level from the rest of his teammates, with the possible exceptions of Paul and Brent.

“Funny, I was going to ask you the exact same thing,” Collin answered. Before Michael could respond, Collin continued. “Before you let your teammates tell you how to handle your affairs, you might want to ask yourself how you think
Michael
should manage
Michael’s
business. These guys don’t know your fiancée. Hell, they barely know you. Some of us have been playing together for years, but we all get so caught up in our careers and winning and making more money, it’s rare that we ever take the time out to really get to know one another.”

Michael slowly nodded his head.

“You let them convince you your lady is no different from any other woman and you’ll be just like the rest of them: spineless, selfish, egocentric jerks,” Collin continued.

Michael agreed with everything Collin was saying. Still, he was not sure how he was supposed to apply it to his situation with Dawn.

“So many guys are just so happy to be part of the league thatthey’ll do whatever it takes to fit in. That includes adopting the league’s stereotypes of women. That’s one of the reasons why so many of our relationships are fucked-up. Just because the majority of men in the league cheat doesn’t make it right. It just means that a lot of men are out there dogging their women. Nothing more, nothing less,” Collin said disgustedly.

Collin paused for a moment. It occurred to Michael that Collin sounded as if he may have been rehearsing these lines to himself. Michael wondered just who it was Collin was trying to convince, himself or Michael.

“I’m not saying that I’m any different from any other guy in the league,” Collin said. “There’ve been times when I jumped on someone else’s bandwagon myself. But there’s something to be said for knowing the difference between right and wrong and knowing what’s appropriate or inappropriate for your own relationship. Otherwise, you end up walking in other people’s footsteps. You’ve heard what’s good for the goose is not always good for the gander?”

Michael was beginning to understand what Collin was saying.

“You’ll wind up trying to convince people you love that you can do no wrong, saying to yourself, since everyone else is doing it, it must be right. In the long run, you’ll either end up in a relationship where your woman won’t respect you and she’ll be afraid to have any expectations of you. Or you’ll be in and out of meaningless relationships, hurting yourself and others over and over again,” Collin said.

This was all so heavy for Michael. It was like a huge dose of reality that he wasn’t ready to swallow. “What’s wrong with meaningless relationships?” he sardonically asked.

“Hey, if you think that would make you happy, then go for—”

“No, seriously, I hear what you’re sayin', man,” Michael interrupted, feeling as if his head were spinning. “But I don’t really know how to deal with this stuff. I mean I know I love Dawn and I want to marry her …; one day. But what if some of the things I’m hearing are true? Maybe I am too young to even be thinking about getting married. Maybe I do need to just sit back and enjoy the lifestyle with all its perks, and see what else is out there.”

Michael shook his head back and forth. “I don’t know, Collin. Imean shit, just about every guy on this team cheats. We all see it, everybody’s doing it. It’s accepted, it’s cool, and if you’re one of the few who’s not down with that, then they call you a fag or say you’re pussy-whipped at home or somethin'. Even you, Collin, they think you’re different ‘cause you’re so devoted to Remy—not that anyone could blame you. But it’s like when you’re in Rome, you do as the Romans do, and if you don’t, you just get dogged out.”

“Look, I know it’s hard,” Collin told him. “The pressure to do what’s right according to you or what’s right according to your boys; it’s a tough position. You’re young too. You’re probably not even sure exactly what it is you want out of life, much less one relationship. Take your time, man. You’re going to end up doing what you want to do anyway. Just make sure the decision’s yours.”

“Thanks, man,” Michael said as he lightly tapped Collin’s fist with his own. “For everything.”

Michael had said more than he should have, but he was getting tired of people telling him what he should do. Even if he was able to find a solution, it would not matter. In his mind, he was in a no-win situation. He wanted Dawn to still be his woman, but she would have to be patient and willing to give him time before he was ready for marriage, or faithfulness for that matter. Michael only wondered if Dawn would remain with him under those terms.

The crowd in the Mecca was on its feet as the referee
called a foul against Scottie Pippen, who had just slapped Steve Tucker’s wrist in an attempt to steal the ball while Steve tried to make a shot. Now Pippen was visibly furious as Steve approached the foul line to shoot his two free throws.

Steve could hear Pippen yelling, “That was bullshit, Tom, you know that call was bullshit! I ain’t touch him!”

The referee just ignored the star.

Steve’s adrenaline was pumping like crazy as he prepared to take the two shots. If he made the baskets, the Flyers would go to the NBA championship series. There were only four seconds left in the game, and the Flyers were one point ahead of the Bulls.

Steve bounced the ball up and down as the home crowd quieted so he could concentrate.

“Ain’t it about time for you guys to choke again?” Pippen taunted Steve just as he released his first shot.

As soon as the ball left his hands, he knew that the shot was good, and so did the fans as they erupted into wild cheers. Steve lifted up his hands to receive high fives from Brent and Collin while the referee waited to toss the ball back to Steve.

“Naw, man, we just trying to get one of what you have already,” Steve pointedly said, looking at Scottie with a mixture of respect and fierce competitiveness.

As Steve bounced the ball again, he looked out into the stands to see Stephanie’s reassuring smile. He was so grateful that she was a part of his life now and that the chapter with Kelly was finally behind him for good. As much as Steve longed to advance to the championship, even more, he wanted to make Stephanie proud of him. Saying a silent prayer, Steve released his second shot. The ball seemed to move in slow motion. As the leather sphere reached the rim, it rattled around and around for what seemed like an eternity before finally toppling inside the basket.

Everyone in the Mecca was on their feet as the Flyers quickly returned to defense. Since both teams were out of time-outs, the Bulls were immediately back on offense as Jason Williams threw a long pass downcourt to Pippen. The Flyers defense swarmed Scottie as if he were honey and they were bees. Realizing that there was no way he could get a shot off, Pippen attempted to throw the ball to a very wide-open Eddie Curry. Paul obviously read Scottie’s mind as he jumped in the line of the pass and practically stole the ball from Curry’s hands. Paul dashed down the court, making an easy layup just as the buzzer signaled the game was over and the Flyers had officially become the Eastern Conference champions.

Steve felt euphoric as he jumped up and down and ran up the court toward Paul where all of the other guys had begun to converge around him in celebration. Steve looked around to hug Coach, but Mitchell was nowhere in sight.

The media did not waste any time getting on the court as they began filming. Steve knew the New York media well enough to know what their angle would be on this defeat: the team that eliminated the Bulls.

Amidst more high fives than he could count, congratulatory slapson the back, and cameras shoved in his face, Steve headed off the court toward the locker room on a high he had never before experienced. He could not stop smiling thinking about going to the NBA finals and the fact that he had played a big part in getting the team this far. Just as Steve made it through the mouth of the tunnel, he began envisioning tomorrow’s headlines, heralding him as THE FLYER WHO SAVED THE DAY OR TUCKER DETHRONES THE BULLS.

Steve was having a difficult time reaching the locker-room door with all of the reporters swarming his path. They seemed to be as worked up as the players.

“Excuse me, Steve Tucker?” Someone grasped Steve’s arm.

Steve turned around to discover a police officer holding on to his arm. The cop was about a foot shorter than Steve.

“I’ll be all right Officer, the crowd’s a little excited about the win, that’s all. They’ll clear out in a few minutes,” Steve said as he tried to continue on his way.

When the officer failed to release his grip, Steve looked back and said more brusquely, “I said I’m fine.”

“Mr. Tucker, I’m afraid that my partner and I are going to have to detain you,” the short officer said, motioning for someone else to join him.

“Detain me? For what?” Steve asked.

“We have a warrant for your arrest.”

“For my arrest? Is this some kind of joke?” Steve said, looking around for the culprit who was responsible for this untimely prank.

“I’m afraid not.”

Steve began to laugh.

“Mr. Tucker, you’re going to have to come with us,” the second officer said as he approached his partner.

This had to be a joke, and a bad one at that.

“Okay, fellas, whoever sent you, tell them it’s bad timing, but they can catch me on another night. I’ve got a shower to take and interviews to give after that.” Steve turned to leave again, when the other officer grabbed his elbow.

“You can shower later. Now you’re going to Central Booking,” the short officer said.

“Joke’s over; now, let go of my arm,” Steve said as he noticed a crowd of reporters begin to converge around them.

“Mr. Tucker, are you all right?” one of the Mecca’s uniformed security guards asked as he moved into the center of the crowd to where Steve was standing with the two New York City police officers.

“Actually, I’m not. I’m being harassed by Barney Fife and his sidekick.”

“Mr. Tucker, I’m Officer Hernandez and this is Officer Smith.” The shorter officer pulled out his badge, and his partner followed suit. “Here’s a copy of the warrant for your arrest. Now, you can come quietly without making a scene, or you can give these bloodthirsty reporters something else to write about in tomorrow’s papers.”

Steve glanced around the room as bulbs began to flash and reporters started moving their mikes in on him and the police officers. Steve felt as if he were in the twilight zone.

“What are the grounds for my arrest?” Steve asked, realizing that they were serious.

“Assault and battery,” Officer Smith said.

“Now, let’s try and make this as painless as possible. I need you to place your hands behind your back,” Officer Hernandez said with a Smirk on his face.

“You mean you’re going to handcuff me, right here in front of all these reporters? I haven’t even done anything! This is crazy!” Steve said incredulously.

“It’s routine procedure. We can’t make special allowances, even for a Flyer. Even you guys have to come down to earth sometimes,” Officer Hernandez said.

The cops were loving every moment of bringing down a star—that was clear. Steve could not believe this was happening to him. There had to be some sort of mistake. Quickly, desperately, he searched the room for Coach or Jake, anyone to help.

“Well, can’t I at least change out of my uniform?” Steve asked as the photographers went into feeding-frenzy mode, getting shots of him in handcuffs.

Steve thanked God when he saw Brent approaching as the officers began to lead him away from the swarm of reporters.

“Hey! Hey! What’s going on here?” Brent said, running up. “Steve, what’s going on, man?”

“Brent, call Jake for me …; Get that damn mike out of my face,” Steve said as a reporter shoved a microphone up to his mouth. “Tell him to meet me down at the … Can you guys at least tell me what precinct you’re taking me to?” Steve asked the officers.

“Central Booking, like I told you,” Officer Smith answered curtly, as he continued to pull Steve toward the arena exit.

“Officers, why are you arresting Mr. Tucker?” a female reporter asked with pen in hand, anxious to scoop the other beat writers.

“Brent, tell Jake to meet me at Central Booking ASAP,” Steve pleaded.

“What’s going on, man?” Brent asked, ignoring the reporters as he followed the officers leading Steve away.

“Brent, with God as my witness, I have no idea what this is about.”

“All right, man. I’ll take care of this right away, and if I can’t reach Jake, I’ll think of something else, but we’ll get you out of there, man. Don’t worry. If I have to come down there myself, I will,” Brent shouted after Steve as he left the Mecca surrounded by officers and followed by a flock of journalists.

“Thanks, man,” Steve hollered over his shoulder as the door slammed behind him.

Steve had not shut his eyes the whole night. He’d been kept awake by nightmare visions of Kelly and the last night he was at the house in Englewood. She’d retaliated for the eviction.

He had never spent a night in a jail cell before, and he could not believe that he had just done so, thanks to that lying bitch Kelly. Steve berated himself as he paced back and forth waiting for the clerk to return his personal effects. He should have learned his lesson the first time she lied—once a liar, always a liar.

Kelly had filed a report that he had beaten her up a few hours before the game. Somehow she’d even found a witness to corroborate her lie. An officer arrived to remove him from the holding cell.

“Hey, star baller, you’ve been sprung—temporarily.” At thatmoment Steve was sure he’d never donate money to the PAL Association again.