The Final Four (13 page)

“You need a teaching coach who understands the game of basketball, not just some guy coming on the court talking about Xs and Os.”

—Oscar Robertson, a two-time College Player of the Year and the only player in NBA history to average double digits in points, rebounds, and assists for an entire season

7:46 P.M. [CT]

W
ith Roko on the bench, Crispin digs his heels hard into the floor, like the load he’s been carrying is about to get even heavier.

“Stay in character. You can’t wear somebody else’s uniform,” Coach Kennedy calls to his players from the sideline. “Just do your own job. We’ve got a lot of pieces to this team and they all fit. Let’s put this puzzle back together.”

Crispin takes a deep breath, trying to cement Kennedy’s words into his mind.

The Trojans inbound the basketball, and with Roko out, forward Aaron Boyce helps the new point guard handle the rock.

Kennedy had called a set play during the time-out.

So the Trojans know exactly what they want to do on offense.

Crispin sets a screen along the baseline. Then Aaron cuts around him, freeing himself. But the ball doesn’t swing fast enough from left to right, and the pass to Aaron is a full beat too slow, allowing the Spartan defender to catch back up.

Without Roko at the point, the Trojans need to find a new rhythm.

But while they’re still trying to adjust, a pass sails off the court past Crispin’s outstretched arms, and the Spartans take possession.

“We’ll start our run with a stop on defense!” hollers Kennedy. “It’s all about making this stop, and nothing else!”

Crispin watches Malcolm walk the ball up slowly. He understands that for Malcolm it’s a game of cat and mouse against a new defender.

Then, nearing the top of the key, Malcolm flashes his speed, nearly exploding out of his shoes. He zips past his man and into the lane.

In a split second, Crispin makes the decision to challenge Malcolm’s open layup.

He can’t let his team fall behind by another basket.

Crispin plants his feet down an instant before Malcolm collides with him, knocking him over.

Malcolm’s shot goes in, and the ref blows his whistle.

It could be Crispin’s final foul, which would put Malcolm at the line for a free throw and a chance at a three-point play.

From the floor, Crispin sees the ref wind an arm back and then shoot it out in front of him, signaling Malcolm for a charging foul,
his
fourth of the game. A surge of adrenaline rushes through every part of Crispin’s body as he bounces back up to his feet.

ON A CABLE SPORTS NETWORK PROVIDING LIVE UPDATES FROM THE FINAL FOUR
7:47 P.M. [CT]

Announcer: With barely two minutes remaining in double overtime, the Troy players are fighting for their Final Four lives in the Superdome, trailing Michigan State by five points. The big man in the Trojans’ lineup, center Crispin Rice, has been walking a four-foul tightrope for several minutes now. Seconds ago, he was the beneficiary of a charging call. And just like that, Malcolm McBride picks up his fourth foul, joining Rice on that high wire. Recorded a few days ago, here’s a glimpse at Crispin Rice in a more relaxed setting, without those perilous foul winds blowing. Our Rachel Adams goes one-on-two again, this time with Crispin Rice and his fiancée, Hope Daniels.

On screen, Rachel Adams (left), Hope Daniels (center), and Crispin Rice (right) are sitting on stools, facing each other. Crispin is wearing his Trojans jersey, and Hope is in her cheerleader outfit (a sleeveless red and white one-piece ending in a short frilly skirt that shows
off Hope’s shapely, athletic legs), and there is a good three feet in distance between their stools. In the background is a darkened gymnasium basketball court.

Rachel Adams: Well, not only is Troy the Cinderella team of the NCAA tournament, but they also have the Cinderella moment in college basketball this year.
(Cutting to the video of Crispin’s game-winning basket and sideline marriage proposal to Hope)
So, here we are with essentially the First Couple of college sports, Crispin Rice and Hope Daniels. Hope, let me ask you, when Crispin started over to you that night nearly eight weeks ago, what did you think was going to happen?

Hope: I
(hesitating with her mouth open)
thought maybe he was running over to me for a hug or something to celebrate that basket. I never dreamed it was going to be a marriage proposal.

Adams: Did you have any indecision when he asked?

Hope: I didn’t. The word
yes
popped out of my mouth before I could even think about it. Then everyone else standing right around us heard it. They all reacted and started cheering, before it had even sunk in for me
(scratching at the painted red T on her right cheek)
. A few seconds later, my brain caught up to everything. I said to myself, “Hey, I’m engaged. I better start to get excited, too.” It was like being in a dream, and then thinking,
Oh yeah, this is real
.

Adams: Crispin, you’ve said before that this proposal wasn’t planned. So I guess you didn’t have the words ready either. Do you remember what you said when you asked Hope to marry you?

Crispin: I’ll probably never forget it. I said, “That basket I just scored would mean nothing to me without you. You’re my best friend. You’re my life. Marry me.”

Adams: That’s so beautiful. Tell me more about what the reaction has been. I’ve heard that plenty of businesses want to help you get started as a couple.

Hope:
(Excitedly)
Some hotels have offered us free honeymoons. A wedding dress company called to say I could choose any dress they had, and a cruise line wanted to give us a trip.

Adams: I suppose there are some NCAA regulations governing what you might be able to accept because of Crispin’s status as an amateur player.

Crispin: Just to make it clear, we haven’t accepted anything.

Hope: We don’t even have a wedding date yet. So if it’s after Crispin’s college career is over this year, it won’t be an issue.

Adams: What about a diamond engagement ring? Has any jeweler offered that? Hope walked in here, and I thought,
She’s not wearing a ring. I hope everything’s all right with these two.

Hope: They’re expensive. Any jewelers out there, if you’re listening, this finger’s still bare
(holding up her left hand for the camera)
.

Crispin:
(Quickly)
But that’s something we wouldn’t accept from anyone else. It’s my job to supply the ring
(taking a playful poke in the ribs from Hope, which Crispin doesn’t smile over)
.

Adams: Now, as an athlete, Crispin is used to people cheering for him. But Hope, you’ve enjoyed a little bit of fame recently as well. It seems that since Crispin proposed to you, Troy hasn’t lost a single game. And especially with this upcoming Final Four contest against the Spartans, the media has taken to calling you Hope of Troy, alluding to Helen of Troy from the Trojan War of Greek mythology. How are you enjoying that role?

Hope: It’s been an incredible amount of fun. I’m very honored. Cheerleaders are supposed to be a source of pride for their team and school. So if people want to focus on me for some inspiration, it’s great. And wouldn’t every woman want a war fought over her
(with a huge grin)
? I think so.

Crispin: She’s the queen of Troy, Alabama, right now. She can go anywhere she wants and do anything she wants.

Adams: But isn’t it pressure, too, being the team’s good luck charm couple?

Hope: Well, if we were going to have a fight, we wouldn’t do it in
public right now. We wouldn’t want to jinx the team, or let down the school or city of Troy.

Crispin: Yeah, we’d have to do it in private. Too many people would be disappointed in us.

Adams: Now Crispin, you have a nickname, too, correct?

Crispin: My teammates call me Snap-Crackle-Pop.

Adams: Is that because your last name is Rice and your first name sounds like “Krispies,” like the Rice Krispies cereal?

Crispin: I always thought it was because of my good shooting. That I could pop in shots anytime. But lately I don’t know. I’ve been in a little bit of a shooting slump. Maybe I’ve been distracted by the engagement.

Adams: Tell me the quality about the other person you love the most. Hope, tell me about Crispin first.

Hope: Definitely trustworthiness. I’ve told him lots of times that for me it’s the most important part of a relationship. And with Crispin, I have that trust in my life. I never doubt him.

Adams: Crispin, how about you?

Crispin: It’s like her name—hope. That’s what she brings into my life every day. There’s the hope that things are always going to get better. And the hope I’ll always be able to see things clearly with her in my life. It’s all positive.

Adams: Win or lose come Saturday night, I’m sure that Hope and Crispin will have plenty to celebrate in the future. I know America wishes you both the best of luck in your lives.

“At least on the basketball court [growing up] I could find a community of sorts, with an inner life all its own.”

—Barack Obama, the forty-fourth president of the United States

7:48 P.M. [CT]

M
J is shadowing his man on defense. Out of the corner of his eye, he checks the game clock. There’s just 2:43 to go, with Michigan State still in front by five points. MJ is used to watching the final minutes of a big game from the Spartans’ bench. He’s used to seeing the backside of Coach Barker stalk the sidelines, not the front of him. And whenever his team had the lead, MJ would wish for the seconds to tick off faster. But now that MJ is on the court and contributing, he’s in no hurry to push time ahead.

The Trojans are running a set play, and there is heavy traffic at the top of the key.

As a trio of Trojans crisscross, trying to lose their defenders
behind multiple screens, MJ hears Malcolm holler, “Switch with me! Switch off!”

So instead of chasing his man through the stream of bodies, MJ stays put.

He picks up Malcolm’s man moving towards him.

Then Malcolm switches onto MJ’s man, running in his direction.

The defensive changes happen quick and seamlessly.

“Stay there for now!” Malcolm shouts.

“Got it!” counters MJ.

And suddenly, a part of MJ feels like he’s been playing side by side with Malcolm all of his life.

The Spartans continue to blanket the Trojans, who can’t find an open shot.

With the thirty-five-second shot clock winding down on them, the Trojans try to force the action. But the Spartans strip the ball away.

It’s rolling loose.

MJ sees it heading out of bounds off of Baby Bear. He sprints after the rock, diving through the air for it as he reaches the sideline.

He tries to save the ball, but can’t.

MJ goes flying into the opposing bench, with the Trojans’ reserves, including a recuperating Red Bull, forced to scatter. He finds himself draped over one of their chairs, off balance, and almost sitting down in it. Then he grasps a teammate’s hand, pulls himself up, and gets back onto the court as fast as he can.

NOVEMBER, FOUR MONTHS AGO

After MJ and Malcolm had run ninety-seven sets of steps side by side, Coach Barker gave them a little wave and a grin as he headed for the gym door.

“How many left?” Barker called to them over his shoulder.

“Thirteen,” answered MJ between short panting breaths.

“Well, you boys keep on climbing. I’ll see you both at practice tomorrow,” said Barker. “And no more fighting. Like I tell you before every game we play, be the agitator, not the retaliator. There are always penalties for retaliation.”

Less than a minute after Barker left, Malcolm told MJ, “I’d quit early, right here. But I know you’re going to finish every last one. And I’m not about to let you say that you beat me at anything.”

“How am I going to beat you?” asked MJ. “We’re supposed to be running these steps together.”

“Not anymore,” said Malcolm, sprinting away and leaving MJ to finish the punishment on his own. “See ya! Wouldn’t wanna be ya!”

MJ wouldn’t chase after him, and just kept his own steady pace. Besides, Malcolm was wearing sweatpants, while MJ had on jeans that were getting heavy with sweat and chafing at both of his knees.

By the time MJ finished and got back to their dorm room, Malcolm was already stretched out on his bed watching the Cartoon Network, with an ice pack on his lower lip.

“I guess you got the workout you wanted tonight,” said MJ, heading straight for his laptop and the pile of books on his desk
without even changing his wet clothes. “I’ve still got exams to study for and a reaction paper to plan out.”

“You know, I’ve heard that exercise opens up the studying part of your brain,” said Malcolm, with any bad blood seemingly behind him. “Too bad you’re busy with all of that. It would have been a good time for you to tutor me in black history.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’d want to do right now—tutor you,” said MJ.

“What the hell is a reaction paper anyway?” asked Malcolm, hitting the mute button on the remote.

“Like that’s really important to you,” said MJ, flipping open the laptop and pressing the power button. “But if you have to know, it’s a short paper, just a page or two. It’s exactly what it sounds like: your reaction to something. I’m doing one on basketball for my sociology class.”

“So what are you complaining about? That’s no work,” said Malcolm. “You write down how to dribble and shoot. Not that you’d really know how, especially foul shots. If you did, we wouldn’t have had to run so many of those damn stairs. But you could ask me about it, and I’d tutor
you
.”

“It’s not about any of that,” said MJ, still standing beside his desk. “I’m going to write how street ball is all social.”

“Street ball is
social
?” mocked Malcolm. “Maybe in that pansy-ass Dearborn where you’re from, where it’s soft. Because with that thought in your head, I know you never played on the streets of Detroit.”