Blind Your Ponies (56 page)

“Men, despite what you might feel right now, this is not the Last Supper. We lost a crucial ball game. We lost with all of you giving everything you had, no one can do more. I’m proud of you.”

Sam’s voice cracked and he paused a moment. He glanced at their despairing faces.

“I know how much you’re hurting, how much we’re all hurting, but there is something to be done, together, by all of us. We lost control of our own destiny tonight, but maybe it never was in our hands. All we can ever do is give our best and see where it leads. You did that tonight, and let me tell you something while your heads are hanging. We scared the hell out of every team up here. They didn’t want to play us. The four teams in the other bracket were dancing because they didn’t have to face us.”

Sam took a drink of water and no one moved, no one blinked.

“Well, they’ve got us hanging by a thread, like a spider, and they’re going to try to smash us between their hands. I only want to say one thing to you
tonight because I know you, I know how far you’ve come and how much you’ve given, and I know how tough you are.”

Sam opened the note from Andrew. It read: “Twin Bridges 71, Alberton 46.” The curiosity around the table was nearly audible.

“Twin Bridges beat Alberton,” Sam said.

“Aaawwww.”

“Damn.”

“I knew they would.”

“This is what I want to say to you, this only. If you think you feel bad now, think how you’ll feel if we lose either game tomorrow and Seely-Swan beats Twin Bridges tomorrow night. Think how we’ll feel if the opportunity is there to challenge Twin Bridges and we’re not around to do it!”

They were silent, thinking, allowing his words to sink in.

“Seely-Swan has a great front line,” Rob said with some enthusiasm. “They could snuff Stone and Harkin.”

Tom nodded slowly and Pete lifted his head, casting his pleading eyes on Sam.

“Rob’s right. They’ll match up well with Twin Bridges,” Sam said, pushing his chair back from the table. “Men, it is very possible we will catch up to Twin Bridges on Monday night, but
only
if we win tomorrow. Should we go for it?”

“Yeeaaahhhh!”

“Should we let Twin Bridges know all day that we’re coming up their tailpipe, that if they so much as blink on Saturday night, we’ll put tire tracks on their butts come Monday?”

“Yeeaaahhhh!” they shouted louder.

“We’ll never quit!”

“Yeeaaahhhh!”

“We’ll never give in!”

“Yeeaaahhhh!”

“And each time he falls—” Diana shouted.

“—he will rise again!” they chorused with a rekindled fire.

“Okay!” Sam pulled his chair up to the table. “Let’s finish eating and then Miss Murphy has a surprise for us.”

Pete looked at all of them with fire in his eyes. “Pass the ravioli!” he said.

W
ITH THEIR SHOES
off and their stomachs full, they flopped on the two queen-size beds—which Diana had shoved together—or on the thick carpet and watched
It’s A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World,
a video Andrew had run down at the third place he tried. It was also part of Diana’s menu. Some sat on the bed with their backs against the headboard, Tom stretched out with an ice pack on his knee, some sprawled on their stomachs with their elbows propping up their heads, and some lounged on the floor in front of the beds. Diana wanted them close, touching, a big family having fun together. And they had fun.

Sam, sitting in a cushioned chair beside the beds, watched their faces as the movie progressed. Halfway through, where Sid Caesar and his movie wife were trying to blast their way out of a hardware store where they’d been locked in, all of them were laughing so hard they were falling off the bed. Near the end of the movie, where the dozen zany characters were being catapulted through fifth-story windows by a fire truck’s ladder that had gone berserk, they were all gripped in seizures of laughter, tears in their eyes.

When the movie was over, Sam smiled at Diana with a tinge of reverence. She had waved her magic wand and healed them. For over two hours they had forgotten all about their loss, they had laughed together until they were sore, and they’d never had a thought about basketball. It was almost midnight.

“Okay, men. Get a good night’s sleep,” Sam said, prying himself out of the chair. “I’ll wake you at seven. We want to eat a good breakfast and then loosen up. The game is at nine. We will win it.”

The kids stood around for a minute, hesitating to leave for their rooms, hesitating to leave the warmth of this fellowship. Dean started it, or Tom. The squeaky freshman looked up at the bull rider he admired.

“Good night, Tom.”

Tom appeared to be about to pat the kid on the head, but at the last moment, wrapped his arms around him and hugged him.

“Good night, Dean.”

That did it. Spontaneously, Tom turned and hugged Curtis. Dean turned and hugged Miss Murphy, and then the whole bunch went at it like repatriated prisoners of war coming off the plane. They hugged Olaf’s waist, Dean’s head, Carter stooped to hug Scott and Mary went up on tiptoe to
hug Peter Strong. They hugged each other with affection, with an honest, open compassion that touched them all and mended their broken hearts. The feeling of belonging was the glue. Sam had to clear his throat before daring to speak.

“One more thing. I know you’ll all want to know that Denise Cutter will be here for the morning game.”

They cheered and applauded.

“And my grandma will probably be here too,” Pete said.

They cheered again, and Sam had a knot in his chest. He clapped his hands. “All right, off to bed.”

They sauntered down the hall and into their rooms, but before they closed the door, Dean called shrilly, “Good night, Miss Murphy!”

“Good night, Dean!”

That did it.

“Good night, Carter!”

“Good night, Oaf!”

“Good night, Tom!”

“Good night, Mary!”

“Good night, Curtis!”

“Good night, Louella!”

Sam walked along the corridor, shutting doors, still hearing behind him, “Good night, Coach. Good night, Rob.”

Sam and Diana were alone in his room for a minute before she went to join her girls.

“How did you do that, getting Denise Cutter here before nine?” she asked.

“Andrew. He called the Cutters while we were eating, they said she could come, he drove back tonight.”

“If we go much further, I think we ought to designate him an assistant coach and have him sit on the bench,” Diana said.

“Good idea, and I know someone else that ought to sit there.”

“Who?”

“Grandma Chapman.”

“Good idea.”

She put her arms around him and held him tightly. She kissed him with
an intensity he hadn’t felt before. He wrapped his arms around her and they held on for a minute.

“Are you all right?” she said.

“Yes, now I am. You did it tonight. I would have never thought of that. I’d have been looking at gloomy basketball videos and planning strategy.”

“I got lucky,” she said. “Sleep well, we’re all still together.”

“For another day,” he whispered in her ear.

“For another day.”

By seven-fifteen the twelve of them were present around the table in their private dining room, eating a light breakfast and chattering. Sam nodded across the long table at Diana and then cleared his throat.

“Miss Murphy would like to say something.”

Their eyes shifted from Sam to Diana, who was seated in the middle of the table, between Curtis and Carter.

“How come we aren’t having ravioli for breakfast, Miss Murphy?” Tom asked.

“I didn’t want you massacring Ennis, just beating them. You’ll thank me when they sputter out of gas and you guys will be zipping up and down the court in overdrive. And that’s what I want to talk to you about. Some of you may recall seeing my video on the wild dogs of Africa.”

The Willow Creek seniors nodded.

“It documents how the wild dogs hunt. They run a herd of wildebeests until they spot a slower calf with its mother. Then they cut the pair out like cowboys and let the rest of the herd run off. Circling the cow and calf, they take turns dashing in and grabbing the calf by the neck or a leg. While the mother tries to fight them off by lowering her head and chasing a dog away, another springs in behind her and takes a stab at the calf.”

The team went on with their breakfast as she talked.

“This would be repeated over and over for five, six, seven minutes, wearing the cow out. Three or four wild dogs lunged and retreated, until the cow could hardly stand. Then, time after time, for its own survival, the cow gives up and runs off as the dogs drag down the calf and kill it.”

“I remember that,” Carter said. “You showed it to us last year.”

“Well, remember later on, where quite by accident they filmed the pack hunting one day, thinking it would be another routine killing. But this time
was different. Four wild dogs worked their game, darting in, grabbing at the calf, retreating from the charging cow, wearing her down. Over and over, one after the other, four against one. But this mother wouldn’t quit. On and on the struggle went, the dogs dashing in from all directions, the cow chasing them off.”

Sam noticed no one was eating.

“The naturalists doing the filming were astounded. For five minutes, ten, fifteen, the cow, though outflanked and outmanned, wouldn’t give in and leave her calf. The dogs were exhausted, their tongues hanging out, their bodies panting for breath. And still the cow stood, gasping, played out, mouth frothing, her head and horns down, waiting their next charge. It never came. To the amazement of the film crew, the dogs slunk off, giving up. The wildebeest mother watched them go for a minute and then turned and stumbled away with her calf.”

“I remember that,” Louella said. “I was really glad when the wild dogs didn’t get that calf.”

“We don’t know why that animal outlasted the wild dogs. Supposedly dumb and unfeeling, she would not relent to what seemed inevitable, went against her survival instincts, and found the heart to be more stiff -necked than the dogs themselves.”

Diana regarded each of the boys, slowly, deliberately.

“Now, you’re wondering what all this has to do with us? I’ve seen that quality in each of you, many times. Right now it seems like we’re surrounded and outmanned and there isn’t any hope. But there is one hope. That somewhere in your hearts, like in the wonderful wildebeest mother, you’ll find the strength and the stubborn, bullheaded courage that will never quit, a hard-nosed toughness that says no, that draws a line in the dirt and spits into its hands and says not one more inch. And when they run in their fresh and rested substitutes, darting and dashing, and you’ve had no rest, you only stiffen your necks further and lower your horns. If you call on that inner toughness today, no matter what Ennis throws at you, you’ll know you’ve done everything possible. That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

A heavy silence hung over the table for a moment. Sam was overwhelmed by this curious woman who seemed to keep surprising him with another
facet of her hidden self. He wanted to stand up and shout, but he realized this amazing biology teacher was trying to elicit a response from the team. Then Tom broke the spell.

“Mooooow!” he bellowed with a perfect imitation. “Let’s go stomp them dogs.”

“Yeeaaahhhh!” the table responded.

With laughter and renewed chatter, everyone finished up quickly and they broke camp for the arena.

T
HE WORLD LOVES
a winner. The Carroll College Sports Center seemed deserted compared to the night before, though both Ennis and Willow Creek had several hundred fans yawning and stretching in the stands. The boys were out on the floor shooting free throws and jump shots with balls that appeared to have insufficient air pressure. It appeared as though they were unloading nail kegs. They struggled against inert bodies, rubbery legs, and what felt like embalmed arms. Sam sensed something new about them, something he couldn’t put his finger on. It was the way they treated each other, not that they had ever been callous or cold, but it was as though they had discovered each other with a fresh insight, had come to respect one another in a new way, like those who have come through pain and disappointment together only to find the joy of their comradeship a much greater gift. Something magical had happened between them, something rare, an unbreakable bond to finish what they had started.

At the bench, Sam gave them last-minute instructions.

“If it’s there, run, when it’s not, walk the ball up, half-court offense. Work for lay ups until your shooting eyes get here from the motel. Olaf, keep changing, high post, low post. We give them one shot from the lobby and then we eat the ball.”

During the introductions, Pete scanned the bleachers for his grandmother. Sam glanced to see if she had somehow made it. Half the team was on the floor when the announcer called Pete’s number and name.

“Tell me if my grandma shows up will you, Coach?”

Sam nodded. Shouldn’t he forewarn the boy to cherish his grandma while he had the chance? Then it occurred to him that Pete already did. Number 22 high-fived those left at the bench and ran to midcourt to shake hands
with an opponent. But instead of then running to his teammates gathered under the west basket, Pete ran across the floor, up into the stands as though he were going home. All eyes in the arena followed him. The young athlete ran the bleacher stairs up to the balcony rail where he stopped in front of Denise Cutter. He looked into her face and gently tapped high fives on her hands that flopped limply in her lap. Then he raced down through the stands and out onto the court to his teammates. Sam watched Denise for a moment and the young girl lit up as if the sun had been born in her face. He glanced at Diana and neither of them could speak.

Saturday morning at tournaments is a torture chamber only the gutty survive. After giving everything they had physically and emotionally the night before, young athletes try to call up some energy and strength from deep within.

Ennis, in their green and white, had an experienced team that was not blessed with height. At first they attempted to press Willow Creek, and though they did succeed in causing several turnovers, the Broncs broke through for just as many easy layups. When the fast break wasn’t there, Willow Creek slowed the game down and moved the ball around the perimeter of the Mustangs’ scrambling zone. At times both teams appeared to be running in sand, passing a twelve-pound ham, and jumping in shoes of iron. At other times their quickness returned, their speed exploded, and their shooting eyes focused.