Homecourt Advantage (41 page)

Coach shifted uncomfortably in his wing chair on wheels as he attempted to roll away from Brent.

“How could you sell us out like this, Coach? Why’d you do this?” Paul asked.

“Nobody would be sold out, fellas,” Coach started. “It could be a win-win situation for all of us. Moving to Albany is a small sacrifice in exchange for all of the other benefits.”

Brent felt as if he had just entered the twilight zone with a dagger stuck in his back. Actually hearing Coach admit that he had been maneuvering against the team the whole time was more hurtful than he imagined.

“Come on, you guys. Don’t you realize what it would mean for Hightower Enterprises to own the team?” Coach said, a stiff smile on his face as he looked back and forth between Brent and Paul. “The Flyers as a ball club would blow all the other NBA organizations to shreds. The private MGM Grand-caliber airplane would just be the small potatoes in this package. It would mean contract extensions for both of you, more lucrative than you could ever imagine, a brand-new state-of-the-art arena, and first class of everything.”

The hurt was quickly turning to rage. Son of a bitch, Brent thought, and then looked at Paul, who shook his head.

“And would you finally get to be the highest-paid coach in the NBA?” Paul asked.

Coach hesitated.

“Well, would you?” Brent began. “ ‘Cause we need to know that.”

“That’s not all this is about, but … but … that would be one of the benefits,” Coach said, very quietly. And then with a little more spark, “You gotta listen to this, guys. The Hightower boys make great deals. They even promised me an ownership interest in the team. What do you guess they’d do for you?”

Brent stood up, feeling fury and weariness simultaneously wash over him. “The almighty dollar,” he said, shaking his head. “The almighty dollar. So that’s what this is all about to you, huh? You disgust me, Mitchell.”

“It’s not only about the money. I want control of my team—deserve control. I don’t need management meddling in how I run my boys. It’s my show. Or at least that’s how it’s gonna be, and as far as money is concerned, you guys fight over your contracts all the timewhen you already have more cash than God. Don’t try and act like you can’t understand my position. And this could mean even more money for both of you … if …”

“If what?” Paul contemptuously said.

“If the Flyers lose tonight.”

“Wasn’t that your plan already? For us to lose so Hal would be forced to sell the team.” Brent towered above Coach.

“Yeah … but do you know what would be in it for you two if you made certain that happened?” Coach said softly.

Paul pushed back his chair, knocking it over in the process. “Other than being owned by a racist bastard?”

“And coached by a moneygrubbing, sell-out, control-freak bastard? I’ll fucking pass.”

Brent looked at Coach, and the sight disgusted him. Pointing his trembling finger in Coach’s face, he said, “You’re finished, Mitchell. You’ll never work in the NBA again. After winning the championship tonight, I’m making that my number one priority.”

“What do you mean I’m finished? You’ll never be able to prove anything, Brent, either of you!” Coach said, rising and brushing past Brent.

“Well, we’ll just have to see what Hal has to say about it. And don’t even think about showing your face at the game tonight. You’re constructively relieved of your duties, effective immediately,” Brent said.

“What do you mean? Are you crazy? Hal will never believe you two dumb black jocks. You two boys are going to regret this! I’ll be a coach forever, making and breaking careers like yours. You can’t play in my league! Just get the hell out of my office!” Coach shouted as Brent and Paul left the room. An ugly yellow cloud of epithets and threats followed them down the corridor.

Brent wiped the sweat off his brow and exhaled as he and Paul headed to their next stop. Pressing the up button on the elevator, Brent looked at Paul, his partner in crime. Now he only hoped Hal wasn’t a part of this nightmare.

“Shaq elbowed him! Are you blind or something,
Ref?” Trina screamed as Rick visibly cringed on the court after a hard brush with Shaquille O’Neal.

Casey, Remy, and Lorraine had watched an excited Trina jump up and down in her seat throughout the entire game. Casey was worried that Trina was going to hurt the baby in the process.

“Don’t do it, Rick! Don’t give him the satisfaction!” Trina hollered as Rick charged toward Shaquille and took a swing, narrowly missing his face by inches.

The crowd in the Mecca rose as one; Brent and Paul physically restrained Rick from striking Shaquille. Unfortunately for Rick, Shaq shoved him so hard that he lost his balance and landed bottom first on the court floor. Paul and Brent, although gripping Rick’s arms, could not stop the force of impact as Rick fell to the ground with a dazed expression on his face.

Casey and Remy reflexively ducked to the side as a plastic beer cup flew between their heads. The fans were crazed with outrage. Before Casey realized what was happening, Trina started to run out onto the court.

Casey jumped up, Lorraine joined her, and together they blocked Trina’s path. “Trina! What do you think you’re doing?”

Trina did not respond and continued trying to push by Casey and Lorraine.

“Trina, calm down now. You think you’re bad enough to jump Shaquille?” Lorraine said in an attempt at humor.

Trina, breathing heavily, stared out onto the court, shooting daggers with her eyes.

“Just sit down and relax. You’re going to get the baby stressed out,” coaxed Lorraine.

Trina remained standing as the referee handed down his judgment.

With a wave of the hand, Rick and Shaquille were both ejected with only two minutes remaining in the game, and the Flyers were down 90–94. The crowd roared with fury at Rick being ejected except for the small sound of a few jubilant Laker fans. It had been his first solid effort against Shaquille in the entire series. Steve Tucker, the usual starter, had returned to the lineup tonight, along with Collin DuMott, but Steve was obviously having a difficult time getting his rhythm back. Rick had taken up the slack and had been able to limit Shaquille to only thirteen points.

In a fit of anger, Trina kicked an empty popcorn box at one of the referees as Rick and Shaquille were reluctantly escorted off to their respective locker rooms, hollering back and forth at each other the entire time.

“Trina, the refs are going to eject you if you keep it up,” Casey said, noticing one of the referees eyeing them. They were sitting together in Casey’s seats just one row behind Star Row. Robert DeNiro turned around to high-five Trina as Jack Nicholson glared across the court at them.

“I don’t give a damn! Rick’s been gettin’ knocked around all night. Shit, half of the Lakers should’ve been ejected in the first quarter alone,” Trina spat out.

“Come on, Trina, we don’t need two of you getting kicked outtonight,” Remy chimed in. “I could just see the headlines now. ‘Pregnant Flyers Wife Thrown out of the Mecca—Injured Referee Seeking Ten Million in Damages.’ “ Remy was clearly trying to make light of the media’s overzealous involvement in all of their lives.

Casey glanced at Remy. She knew how difficult it was for her friend to even show her face at the Mecca. But when Collin had called begging her forgiveness and support, Remy had been unable to refuse him. Underneath the rawness of her hurt and anger, Remy loved Collin and wished the best for him, no matter what, and she was relieved to see him back in the starting lineup.

“Well, it’s true,” Remy said sheepishly, lifting her shoulders and chuckling as she looked back up at Trina, who was quite a sight standing near the edge of the court with her protruding stomach. She looked like she was ready to attack one of the referees.

Casey pulled at the back of Trina’s sweater in an attempt to coax her back down. “You want one of the players to knock you out when they get started again?”

Trina looked over her shoulder at Casey. Finally settling down and sitting in her seat sandwiched between Lorraine and Casey, she crossed her arms over her stomach, a grimace on her face.

Casey had invited the group of women to sit with her for the last game as one final act of camaraderie. They were not usually together since the players’ seats were scattered throughout the arena, with the most coveted locations given to the team’s franchise players, the rest by seniority on the team. Casey did not know what next season would hold for any of them, including their men. The ties these women and men shared were uncertain ones, determined by the seasons they experienced together. Casey knew how indefinite their relations were, thinking of the recent breakup of Michael and Dawn and the banishment of Kelly after her trumped-up charges against Steve. And she knew something more: no matter who comprised the Flyers next year and where they went, Coach Mitchell would not be with them. Brent had called her after he and Paul talked to Hal; his sense of betrayal and hurt had reached over the lines and touched her. She assumed Lorraine also knew the whole sordid story and how Hal had socked Mitchell, though they hadn’t discussed it. The lives of the men and women ofthe New York Flyers intersected over the course of a basketball season. One day they were thrown together with the expectation of behaving like a big, happy family and the next day they were parting ways, strewn about like dandelion fluff.

The Flyers could be relocated to Albany, Paul could be traded, Brent could suffer a career-ending injury, Rick could be forced into retirement by the team’s unwillingness to sign an older player, and Collin, being a free agent, could end up playing ball just about anywhere in the world. They all lived an existence plagued by a tenuousness that not only pervaded their careers but trickled down into their relationships as well.

Even though a breakup had been inevitable for Remy and Collin, Remy’s love for him as a friend rose above her broken heart and disappointment. Remy had put her raw feelings aside and decided to stand behind Collin in what could be his last game in a Flyers uniform, or in any team uniform for that matter. She had told Casey that she intended to give Collin her support, especially since so many of his alleged friends had turned their backs on him after the
New York Post’s
exposé article.

Casey watched as the ball boys mopped up the wet floor and removed the debris littering the court. The announcement asking the crowd to refrain from throwing items onto the court was barely audible over the chants of “Bullshit” echoing throughout the arena. The fans were close to rioting, with Rick Belleville ejected and the Flyers down four points.

Steve Tucker ripped off his sweats and began jumping up and down in an effort to loosen up as he prepared to take Rick’s place on the court. Casey watched across the court as the acting head coach, Bob Stillman, whispered in Steve’s ear. Casey imagined Steve had to be grateful that Shaquille had been ejected as well. When Steve had initially entered the game in the first half, he had struggled trying to hold on to the ball. The same had been true for Collin as he unsuccessfully tried to get one three-pointer after another to sink. Yet somehow the Flyers had managed to stay in the game, despite Steve and Collin having a difficult time trying to get back into their grooves.

When a few of the wives had questioned why Coach and Alexiswere absent, Casey had made up something about a death in the family, crossing her fingers so God wouldn’t punish her for the lie. No one seemed to mind much, including the fans, since Mitchell’s strategy had been the object of much talk and speculation in the media. During the last game, Walt Frazier had wondered aloud over the air whether Mitchell had lost his sanity. The fans had been ecstatic when Stillman put Steve and Collin back into the rotation. Postgame stories would no doubt probe into this detail, but as for now, Walt Frazier just kept mentioning his absence, playing speculative games when there was nothing else to say, telling the fans the media had to improvise. Tomorrow would be feeding-frenzy time for the sports press.

As Collin inbounded the ball to Paul, Casey’s mind wandered. She felt a tug at her heart. She had rushed in and out of her apartment to change from her work attire before the game tonight. As had become her routine, Nikki had been waiting at the door. She had begged to accompany Casey, but Casey had refused her, not wanting Nikki to stay up past her weekday eight-o’clock bedtime. When Nikki had finally relented, she made Casey promise to kiss her when she got home, no matter how late; and oh yeah, Daddy too. As much as she had been fighting it, Casey had to admit to herself that she had fallen in love with the little girl.

“Yes, Collin! Hit another one, baby!” Remy uncharacteristically screamed as she jumped out of her seat when Collin hit his first three-pointer of the night, putting the Flyers within one point of the Lakers.

Casey noticed that the people sitting around them were staring at Remy with looks of confusion on their faces. Since Collin and Remy were such a well-known couple, the general public was engaged in a mission to figure out if the
New York Post
article was really true or if Collin was straight and he and Remy were still an item.

As Kobe Bryant of the Lakers attempted to inbound to Rick Fox, Paul Thomas stole the ball out of Jones’s hand and made an easy layup, putting the Flyers up by one point. The entire Mecca was on its feet. Trina seemed to have forgotten that she was angry about Rick’s ejection as she frantically jumped up and down, waving a purple and black Flyers towel in the air.

With forty-six seconds left in the game, the Lakers called a timeout, probably hoping to diminish the Flyers’ momentum after Paul’s steal and easy basket. As Paul ran to the sidelines, the guys were bumping chests and slapping each other on the butts in frenzied excitement.

When the guys left the huddle and resumed their positions on the court, Brent quickly winked at Casey and mouthed the two words “Thank you.”

As Brent stayed glued to his man on the court, guarding his every move, Paul followed suit and shut down his man as well. The twenty-four-second clock expired without the Lakers ever getting a shot off. The Flyers regained possession with twenty-two seconds remaining in the game and a one-point lead.