Hoop Crazy (13 page)

“What's the score?” I asked.

“We're down twelve to eleven.”

“Maybe we should put Mark back in,” I suggested.

“No good,” Mark said. “They know I'm going to shoot.”

We'd put Mark in five times and each time the ball went out to him for a shot. The first three times it worked. The next two they were covering him, waiting for it. The last time they even stole the ball.

“You're in, but you're not going to shoot. Ned's going to fake the pass out to you.”

“And I'm going to send it to Kia, right?” Ned asked.

“No. You're going to shoot.”

“Me?”

“Put it up.”

“And if I miss?”

“You'll get the rebound and shoot again.”

“And if I miss again?”

“Everybody misses. Take the shot.”

I sat down while the three of them walked out onto the court.

“Look for the shooter!” one of their players called, pointing at Mark. A man went and practically stood
on top of him.

“Check,” Kia said as she passed the ball into their man. He put it right back out.

“Break!” Kia yelled.

Ned moved a few feet down to take up a spot down low, right next to the hoop. Mark tried to move, but his ankle wouldn't let him do anything more than hobble. Ned raised his arms and Kia lobbed in a pass. He grabbed the ball firmly in both hands. He turned and fired the ball up. It went straight into the net! The game was tied!

“Way to go!” I screamed.

Ned yelled and whooped and jumped up and down!

“Zone defense!” Kia called out.

Kia came to the top of the key and Mark hobbled into position in the middle. Ned was already under the hoop. This left the other team completely open all around the edge of the key — free to shoot, and they knew how to shoot. This wasn't going to work. As soon as they scored I'd sub back in and —

“Time!” the scorekeeper called out. “That's thirty minutes.”

Everybody stopped in their tracks. That didn't seem like thirty minutes.

“Two-minute break,” the ref said. “Who had first ball?”

“They did,” Kia said.

“Then your team starts with the ball.”

We walked off the court and gathered around my father and Ned's mother. I went to sit down, but the pavement was too hot. I squatted down instead.

“What happens now?” Ned asked.

“Sudden death. First team to score wins,” Kia explained.

“What play are we running?” Mark asked.

“I don't know … Kia?”

She shook her head. “Set up Mark for a shot?”

“That's no good,” Mark said. “They're covering me too close and I can't move to get free.”

“I understand. Ned, you throw in the ball.”

“Me?”

“Him?” Kia questioned.

“Him. Nobody will expect that.”

“Nobody including me,” Kia confirmed.

“Who do I throw it to?”

“Whoever's open. Let's go.”

“Good luck,” Mark offered.

We went out onto the court. The other team was already waiting. The ref handed me the ball — he was expecting me to throw it in too. I put it in Ned's hands.

“Don't worry,” I said.

“I'm not worried … I'm terrified.”

As Ned walked to the top of the court I could see the other team was surprised. They didn't know
what to do. The man who had been covering Ned didn't want to go out after him, but wanted to stay underneath the net.

“Remember to check the ball!” I called out.

Ned nodded his head and then handed the ball to the man who was covering him — the man who had been covering me. He was fast, really fast, and had been giving me troubles the whole game. He handed the ball back to Ned.

“Break!” Ned yelled.

Kia and I scrambled, crossing at the top of the key. My man, who was a lot taller than me, wasn't nearly as fast and I left him behind.

“Ned! Ned!” I yelled.

He threw the ball over top of his man. It flew up and over my head, just deflecting off my outstretched fingers. I spun around in time to see Kia grab the ball. She turned, fired and it dropped!

The other team didn't just look confident. They looked down right cocky. They warmed up a little, but mainly strutted around the court, looking at us, pointing and laughing. I'd played against people like this before — players who thought basketball was about attitude instead of actually playing. Unfortunately this team had more than just attitude. They'd won all five of the games in the opening round, and then blown away the opposition in the first round of the playoffs. When I saw the score — 16 to 3 — I thought it had been written down wrong. It wasn't. They'd killed the other team. Maybe they had a right to be confident.

One of them walked up to Ned and stuck a finger
in his face. “You're going down!”

“Going down where?” Ned asked.

The kid looked confused. “Down … um, down … like you're going to lose!”

“Maybe,” Ned said. “We might. We've already lost two games.”

“We're going to do you!”

“Do me what?”

“Beat you. What's with you?”

“Nothing much. What's with you?” Ned asked.

“Are you mouthing off to me?” he demanded.

“I am using my mouth … I don't know how else to talk,” Ned said.

“In your face!” the kid yelled

“What's in my face?” Ned asked.

“Me! I'm going to be in your face the whole game.”

“The only way you're going to be in his face is if you brought along a ladder,” Kia said, stepping in between the two of them.

“You're soon gonna wish you were smart enough to play on a girls' team,” the kid snapped.

“Back off !” the ref barked stepping in between the kid and Kia. “I'm not putting up with any of that stuff you four did in the opening rounds!” the ref said, waving a finger at the other team.

What sort of stuff had they done? The bad feeling I'd had in my gut got worse.

“We're here to play ball, nothing more. Now call
the coin toss for the first ball,” the ref said.

“We don't want the ball,” another one of their players said. “Let them have it. They need all the help they can get!”

“Gee, thanks,” Ned said, reaching out to shake hands with the guy.

He slapped away Ned's hand.

“Technical foul!” the ref bellowed.

“What?”

“Technical foul. They get a free shot and the ball back.”

“You can't do that!” yelled a man who stepped out of the crowd.

“I'm the ref, I can do what I want.”

“That's my son, and I'm their coach!”

“Now having met you, I can see where he gets his fine manners from. I'm the ref and you better get off my court now or I'll be adding a second technical foul. Do you know what that means?”

“No, what does it mean?” the man demanded.

“Forfeit of the game.”

“You can't do that!”

“Yes I
can
. Walk away while you
can
,” the ref said calmly.

“You can't threaten me!” the man yelled.

“I'm not threatening. This is a promise. Get off now or the team is disqualified.”

The man hesitated then walked off the court,
mumbling something I was sure I didn't want to hear.

“Take a shot to start,” the ref said, handing me the ball.

“Can anybody take it?” I asked.

“Anybody on the team.”

“Sub in,” I said, tossing Mark the ball as I walked past him.

He limped over to the line, took aim and sank the shot.

“Sub in,” I called out.

I reached out and gave Mark a low five as we passed. Boy, things would have been different if he'd been able to play — not to mention Jordan. There was no telling how far we could have gone. We could have taken these guys.

The ref took the ball and tossed it to me. I walked up to the top of the court.

“Check,” I said as I bounced the ball out to my man.

“Check this!” he said as he fired it back in to me, hard. If I hadn't got my hands up in time it would have hit me in the face.

“There's more where that came from, sucker!” he snarled.

I was thrown. What was with this guy? “Play ball!” the ref yelled. He sounded angry and I wasn't sure if it was with me.

“Buzz!” I called out.

That was a play for Kia to shoot after Ned set a screen to free her up.

Kia broke toward the top of the key as Ned moved down and took up position. Kia slid by Ned and her man crashed into him. I threw the ball to Kia. She turned and threw up a shot before the other man could get to her. The ball went up, well wide of the mark and hit the backboard. The ball dropped almost straight down. Ned leaped up and grabbed the ball and came down, knocking one of their players off to the side and landing heavily on the second as the two of them tumbled over backwards.

“Time!” the ref yelled. He reached down and tried to help one of their players to get up, but he refused his hand and scrambled to his feet.

“That guy nearly killed me!” he screamed. “The big doofus!”

“It was an accident!” I protested.

“You shut up!” a second member of their team yelled at me. He came right up into my face and pushed me and I tumbled over backwards and —

“That's it!” the ref yelled. “Disqualification for the red team!”

I picked myself up as my father and Ned's mother and lots of other people crowded onto the court. It seemed like everybody was yelling and screaming and angry.

“Leave it to the ref,” my father said as he grabbed
me by the hand. “All of you come over here.”

We moved off the court and to the side. We watched from a safe distance as a bunch of adults — that one kid's father and maybe some other parents — continued to yell and scream at the ref. He seemed to be holding his own in the yelling department.

“It was an accident,” Ned said. “I fall down a lot.”

“I noticed,” Mark said quietly.

“I'm so sorry about that and —”

“I'm just joking around, Ned,” Mark said.

“We all know you wouldn't try to deliberately hurt somebody,” my father said. “You just tripped.”

“Why don't they believe that?” Ned asked.

“Because they're jerks!” Kia yelled out.

They were too far away and there was too much yelling going on for them to possibly hear her comment. I was grateful for that.

“Don't worry about them,” I said. “There's always some people like that everywhere.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” I said. “Haven't you ever run into jerks like that before … people looking for a fight?”

“Not really.”

“Come on,” Kia said. “Not at school … oh, that's right you don't go to school.”

“How about in town?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“We don't go to town that often,” Debbie said. “And when we do we already know everybody.”

“You're friends with everybody in the whole town?” Kia questioned.

“Oh, no,” Debbie said. “There are some people I wouldn't even
want
to be friends with, but even people who don't even like each other still wouldn't act like that,” she said, pointing at the throng of people surrounding the ref.

A second ref had came over. He was accompanied by two men who were wearing shirts that said ‘Official.' They joined in the discussion. Soon I couldn't hear the words being yelled anymore, although the faces still looked angry. Maybe they were going to come to some sort of agreement and we could start playing again or — the adults stalked off the court, the four boys trailing after them. They were quickly swallowed up by the crowd and disappeared.

“I think that means we're not going to be shaking hands at the end of the game,” Kia said.