Full Court Press (13 page)

“Excuse me.” It was the Vista coach. “I just wanted to tell you how pleased I am to see your team here. I have to tell you that this was the
last
team I expected to meet in the finals, and I wanted to congratulate you and your team on having had such a wonderful season!” He smiled and offered his hand to Mr. Roberts.

Mr. Roberts didn't smile back or take his hand. “That's really a nice thought… but why don't you wait a while… like sixty minutes or so. You see, our season isn't over quite yet. Now if you'll excuse us, I have to get back to my pre-game talk.”

Mr. Roberts turned back around and faced us. The other coach looked shocked, and then annoyed. He quickly walked away.

The ref blew his whistle and the starters stood up to go on the court.

“Wait,” Mr. Roberts said. “Did you hear what their coach said? Not just the words, but the tone of his voice?”

Of course I'd heard him. We'd all heard him and knew what he meant.

“Now turn around and look at the expressions on the faces of their players,” Mr. Roberts said.

We all did what he asked. There were five players on the floor, waiting for the game to start, and the rest of them were sitting on the bench. Whether they were standing or sitting, they all had two things in common — the same bright, shiny uniforms on their backs, and the same self-satisfied, smug little smiles on their faces.

“They think this game is already over before it's even begun. The only thing they're worrying about is where they're going to put their trophies,” Mr. Roberts said.

I could just picture that. Them bringing home their trophies and showing the trophies to all their families and then putting the trophies on the dressers in their rooms, or on the front hall table, or —

“Coming here today, I was just happy to have made it this far,” Mr. Roberts said. “I figured that, win or lose, it really didn't matter. And to be honest, I didn't figure we had much chance to win anyway.” He paused. “Did anybody else think that way too?”

Slowly and reluctantly I raised my hand. I looked around and saw that everybody else was doing the same.

“Come on, coach, are you going to send
out a team?” the ref called out.

“Give us another few seconds!” Mr. Roberts yelled back.

“Hurry it up!”

Mr. Roberts turned back to us. “But now it's not enough… I'm not happy to just roll over and smile as we lose. I don't know if we're going to win. But what I do know is that I want to give them a game. I want to wipe those smiles off their faces… let them know they've been in a game. What do you think?”

“I'd like that,” Roy said. “A lot.”

“Yeah, lets show ‘em,” Marcus said.

Everybody nodded their heads and agreed. I felt a tingle go up my spine.

“Okay, everybody!” Mr. Roberts yelled. “Let's go and get ‘em!”

I ran onto the court along with the rest of the starters. The Clark parents and students screamed and yelled and jumped up and down as we charged out. I couldn't help but notice that the smirks on the starting five weren't there any more. The way we'd charged out onto the court seemed to have thrown them. That was good.

As Kingsley moved into the center to take
the tip-off, the rest of us took up positions, setting up against the players we'd be covering. I looked across to where Roy was setting up. He wasn't just beside his man, he was already pushing against him with his body. Way to go, Roy!

The ref tossed the ball into the air and Kingsley went up for it. Their man got higher and tipped the ball back. Another one of their player grabbed it over top of Kia. He quickly pitched the ball to a breaking man — my man! He took the pass and laid it up for the first two points of the game. Their parents let out a cheer.

“Come on, let's get going!” Roy barked.

The ball was thrown in and Marcus took it up the court. He'd hardly taken it over the half when he was attacked by a double team. He threw it over to Kia who quickly passed it to me. I saw Kingsley breaking and fed him a bounce pass. He drove for the net and the ball was stripped from his hands!

Before we could even think to tr y and set up any sort of press, their man passed it up to a man breaking ahead of everybody. He took the pass on the run and laid it up on the board. It bounced off the rim
and missed, but a man following the play grabbed the rebound and put it back up for a basket. Another wave of cheering rolled off the bleachers.

I looked up at the clock. It was four to nothing and less than thirty seconds had passed. At this rate they'd beat us by more than two hundred and forty points… to nothing. What good was having a full court press if we never scored and they never had to in-bound the ball?

Marcus took the ball and started up court. As he crossed center he was met by his man. And then a second man, the player who had been covering Kia, came over to double-team him. He tried to pass off, but the ball was partially deflected and bounced into the hands of the player who was covering me. I ran after him, but was helpless to stop him as he went down the cour t and deposited another basket. This was even worse than the last two games we'd played them. This time, for a few brief seconds before the tip-off, I'd actually dreamt that we had a chance.

“Time-out!” Mr. Roberts yelled out and the ref signaled play to stop.

We all started to drag ourselves back to the bench.

“Hurry it up!” Mr. Roberts bellowed, and we picked up the pace.

“This isn't going to happen like this. Here's what we're going to do. Kia will in-bound the ball to Kingsley who will bring the ball up. Marcus, go deep into the right corner. Nick, go with him, but not as deep. Marcus, I want you to scream for the ball, wave your arms, and Kingsley, you fake a throw to him. Nick, your man is cheating to Marcus so, when the throw is faked, he'll go over to help doubleteam. I want you to break for the net and the ball is really coming to you. Roy is going to set a pick for you. Roy, I don't want you to just slow down his man, I want him to think he's hit a brick wall. Got it?”

Roy smiled. “Got it, boss.”

“And everybody else?” he asked.

We all nodded and mumbled agreement.

“Good,” Mr. Roberts said. “And right after Nick makes the basket I want to see the press. I don't want them just covered, I want them smothered. Now do it!”

We hurried back out. My legs were light and I felt better. Not good but better. If somebody
else was being counted on to get this first basket, then I would have felt good.

Marcus set up right in the corner and I was just over from him, closer to the hoop. Roy was almost right in the paint. Kia threw in the ball and Kingsley took control and started to dribble. Marcus screamed for the ball and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Just like it was planned, Kingsley faked a baseball pass to Marcus and my man slid over to try to intercept. At that instant I broke for the net, just brushing by Roy. I heard a collision behind me, but couldn't turn around as the ball flew right into my hands! I drove the net and put the ball up and —
whack!
— I was hit from behind, falling to the court!

“Basket counts!” the ref yelled, and cheering filled my ears.

Kia reached down and grabbed my hand, pulling me up. Roy was standing practically on top of a player, the man who probably pushed me, and the guy was backing off.

“One shot,” the ref said, handing me the ball.

I had a chance for a three-point play… but if I didn't sink it then we couldn't set up the
press. Everybody set up for the free throw.

“Nice and easy,” Marcus said.

“Make him pay for being a jerk,” Roy said under his breath. He was staring at the player who seemed to be studying the floor.

I bounced the ball twice, picked it up, took a deep breath and bounced it again. The shot went up… straight in, nothing but net!

“Set up!” Roy screamed, before the ball had even hit the floor.

We scrambled to our positions as the ref handed their man the ball. He looked left and right as the other guard dodged and moved, trying to shake us. No matter which way he turned, one or both of us were all over him. He charged toward the thrower, hoping for a little flick pass and —

“Time violation!” the ref yelled. “You took too long to throw it in. Clark ball!”

The kid's jaw dropped to the floor as Roy stepped over the line and practically ripped the ball from his hands.

“Watch how it's done!” Roy snarled.

He passed the ball to the ref, who gave it back to him. Without a hint of hesitation he passed the ball to Kia, who took barely a
second to turn, square to the net and throw up the ball for a three-pointer. It dropped and the game was tied!

“Set up!” Roy screamed and we all responded again.

I couldn't help but look at the look on the face of the player getting ready to throw in the ball. There was no smile, no smirk, no look of self-satisfaction. He just looked scared.

* * *

“Time-out!” Mr. Roberts called, and the ref whistled the play to a stop and we all ran to the bench.

“We have them right where we want them,” he said.

I looked past him to the scoreboard. We were down by one point with twelve seconds left in the game.

“We have the ball. We have the last shot. The players who are on the court, are any of you feeling like you need to come out?”

Nobody said a word. There was no way I was going to volunteer to come out even if I had a broken leg. I was staying on. I'd been off
for a good stretch in the middle of the second half and I felt like I could still run and run and run. No problem.

“We have one chance for the final shot. I can just make a decision myself, but I want to know what you all think. Who should take the last shot?” Mr. Roberts asked.

There was dead silence. All I knew was that I was certain who I
didn't
want to take the shot — me. Anybody but me would be fine and —

“Kia,” Marcus said. “She's been hot, her man is playing off her and she's got a good shot.”

“Yeah, Kia,” Bojan agreed. Others nodded in along with that thought.

“You okay with that?” Mr. Roberts asked Kia.

“Sure, no problem,” she said.

She sounded confident, but that was just Kia. Even if it was the last thing in the world she wanted to do, she'd never let anybody know.

“Okay, we go for it. Nick, in-bounds it to Kingsley. Marcus, set up like the ball is going to go to you down low… that's what they'll expect. Roy, I want you to set a pick and Kia will get free and take the shot. Any questions?”

There were none.

“Break!”

I walked over to the ref and got the ball. I took a few seconds, waiting, letting everybody else take up their positions. Kingsley broke sharply toward our net, leaving his man behind. I bounced the ball to him and then jumped in, setting a screen for him if he needed it. He cut left and then back to the right, reaching half court. Marcus streaked into the corner, breaking free, his arms up, yelling for the ball! Every eye in the place was drawn to him… but not mine… I knew where the ball was really going. Kia broke. Her man didn't even notice her get free. She ran to the far side of the key, less than a dozen feet away from the net. Kingsley fed her the ball and one of their players desperately lunged toward her. She sent up the shot… it went over the outstretched finger tips of the player… going up and up and up… straight for the net… and…