The Final Four (15 page)

Barker and Malcolm’s father began to talk as Malcolm stood there watching them. The coach had been there for maybe two or three minutes and hadn’t even looked in Malcolm’s direction yet. And a stream of steamy breath seeped from Malcolm’s partially opened mouth as his foot tapped at the concrete.

He’d heard that Barker was a baller in his day. That he was one of the toughest hard-nosed white players to ever come off the streets of Michigan. But if Malcolm had been holding a rock in his hands at that moment, he would have challenged that hotshot coach to a game of one-on-one as a real introduction.

Suddenly, Barker turned to Malcolm and said, “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you in person for a while now. I’ve seen the tapes of your game. You’re one of the most talented young players anywhere. That’s a fact. I want to see you wearing Spartan green next year, and leading Michigan State to another National Championship.”

When he finally shook Barker’s hand, Malcolm winced at the strength of his grip. And the coach took hold of Malcolm like he wasn’t about to let go.

Before they all went upstairs, and with a few of the dudes hanging out on the street still tuned in, Barker turned back to Malcolm’s father and asked, “Is this where the tragedy happened with your daughter?”

“About thirty feet away, over by that hydrant,” Malcom’s father answered.

“I have two daughters myself. I can’t imagine what your family must have gone through,” said Barker, bowing his head and making the sign of the cross. “Malcolm, I know about your tattoo. I respect that. I think it says a lot about who you are and what you value in life.”

“Thanks,” said Malcolm, who was wearing long sleeves and feeling a little bit like Barker had just nudged him off balance by bringing up something so personal.

“Coach, how did you know all of that stuff about us?” asked Malcolm.

“You see, I come here asking you to join our Michigan State athletic family,” he answered. “It’s only right that I should be willing to become part of yours, too.”

Then the coach opened his wallet and pulled out a pair of fifty-dollar bills.

“I need you to do me a favor and watch my truck,” Barker told the oldest looking of the dudes still hanging around. “Take this money and buy the rest of these boys some lunch on me.”

Barker left to more cheers than Malcolm had ever heard for himself on that street. He was the seventh head coach to visit over the last month. But Barker was the only one to make that kind of impression.

Before they stepped inside the project building, Barker told Malcolm’s father, “You know, that’s an American car I drive. I understand you’re employed in the auto industry. I’m an employee of the state of Michigan. I only buy American. I wouldn’t think of costing us jobs by buying from the Germans or Japanese.”

“I wish more people thought like you,” said Malcolm’s father.

Upstairs, the coach kissed Malcolm’s mama on the cheek, and called her “ma’am.” In the living room, surrounded by a worn-out floral-pattern couch and a brown leather recliner with cracked skin, Barker sighed as he picked up Trisha’s photo off of the coffee table. He held it by the edges, careful not to leave any fingerprints on the glass.

A few minutes later, after Barker’s first forkful of sweet potato pie, he said, “So what are your expectations from me and the university, Malcolm?”

“I want to play the point. I want to be the man, so I can be an NBA lottery pick after a year,” said Malcolm.

“You’ve got it. You’re my starting point guard, my top offensive weapon.”

“That easy? No other coach is promising me that.”

“Look, you’re supposed to be the real deal. If you can’t hack it on the court against big-time college competition, we’ll both know.”

“Believe me, I can hack anything,” said Malcolm, crossing both his arms in front of himself.

“I know you can, especially with my coaching. I’m going to add to your game tremendously. I’ll take you way past the next level.”

“What about his education?” asked Malcolm’s mama.

“He’ll have to go to class if he’s going to play, and he’ll have to pass those classes,” said Barker. “Then there’s the second half of the year, the following semester. Even if you’re intent on turning pro, you’ll have to continue to go to class. If you don’t, it won’t hurt you. But it could hurt the program and your teammates if we lose future scholarships because you cause us to dip below academic standards.”

“It’s going to be that way at any school,” said Malcolm. “That’s the price of playing college ball.”

“You can’t put a price on an education, son,” said Malcolm’s mama. “Basketball isn’t forever. I don’t want you to be the dumbest smart kid anybody ever knew.”

“Magic Johnson won a championship at MSU. He turned pro after two years of college and was the NBA’s number-one draft pick. He owns a string of national movie theaters now, and a Starbucks in downtown East Lansing,” said Barker, stirring his coffee with a spoon. “Plus, East Lansing is just ninety-three
miles from Detroit. You can drive up to visit Malcolm in ninety minutes. That’s peace of mind you won’t get with an out-of-state school, especially those California colleges.”

“You’re not worried about his SAT scores?” asked Malcolm’s father.

“Look, I’m not surprised the NCAA made him take the test again after his score jumped so much,” said Barker. “He was red-flagged.”

Malcolm had just missed the 820 he needed to be eligible to play on his first attempt at the SAT. Then he scored over 1200 on his next try.

“You mean he was black- or brown-flagged,” said Malcolm’s father with some bite. “Because no housing project kid could possibly make that new score without some kind of cheating. That’s what they’re trying to say.”

“I understand your anger and the implications. But I don’t run the NCAA. I work within their rules.”

“I took the test again. I’m waiting for my new score,” said Malcolm. “I know I did good.”

“I’m sure you did
well
,” said Barker. “That was you who took that second test, right? The proctor didn’t think somebody else was you by accident?”

“I do things for myself,” said Malcolm.

“He studied his ass off for it. I saw him with my own eyes,” said Malcolm’s father. “The first time he never studied a lick, like they were going to grade the test on his basketball skills.”

“That’s good enough for me,” said Barker. “Now, do I have
your verbal commitment to play at Michigan State, to become a Spartan?”

“That’s not binding, a verbal commitment,” said Malcolm’s mama, who’d put down her plate of pie to make the point. “I read that in the NCAA rules.”

“You’re correct. It’s not. But I like to hear my recruits say it, that they want to come play for me.”

“I’m leaning that way,” said Malcolm, nodding in agreement with his parents.

“This family just has to make one promise to me,” said Barker. “Plenty of people over the next year are going to want to be your new best friends. And the more success Malcolm has, the more they’ll show up at your front door. They’ll be agents, managers, and people who’ll want to give you money, cars, maybe a rent-free house. Don’t take a thing from any of them. It’s all an investment on their part to get close to your son and gain a part of his future NBA income. If you take any illegal benefits, the NCAA could declare him ineligible to play in college. And that could put a big dent in his career, maybe cost him millions in the draft.”

“Mr. Barker, my wife and I have lived in project buildings all of our lives, same for my son,” said Malcolm’s father. “But he’s the one who’s going to get himself out, through his own talents. We’re not going to let anyone sabotage that for a gift, or the loan of a few dollars. Not in our lifetime.”

“Being a part of success is more important than being personally indispensable.”

—Pat Riley, a three-time NBA Coach of the Year who coached five teams to an NBA Championship

7:54 P.M. [CT]

R
oko’s thoughts are getting clearer. Now the only ringing inside his head is from the crowd noise and his teammates still celebrating Aaron’s game-tying three-pointer at the buzzer.

Roko gets to his feet and puts an arm around Aaron’s shoulder.

“How you feeling, Bull?” asks Coach Kennedy. “You got it together yet?”

“I’m ready, Coach,” says Roko. “I’m like one of those terminators from the movies—the
good
kind. They can’t kill me. I just get up again, keep on coming.”

Kennedy’s eyes find the trainer’s. And without having to hear
the question, the trainer responds to Kennedy’s glance, saying, “I’m not comfortable with putting him back on the court right now.”

Roko sighs heavily, but for the benefit of his teammates, he keeps a smile on his face.

“All right, same lineup on the court that ended overtime number two,” says Kennedy. “Listen, it doesn’t matter that we’ve never been here before. Neither have they. Not heading into triple overtime at the Final Four. Not against us. Now, all season long I’ve been preaching to you about Katie Spotz crossing the Atlantic in a rowboat. There was no way for her to prep for that. She just had to do it. One day she looked around and found herself out there alone in rough waters. So she had to deal with it and find a way to get through. But we’re not alone. We have each other. Play like it. Keep rowing the boat together, Trojans. We’re headed somewhere special. Maybe we can’t see the destination yet, but it’s in front of us. I promise you.”

That’s when Roko exclaims, “Row the boat—on three.”

A percussion of hands slap down on top of his, one after another in quick succession.

“One, two, three,” bellows Roko, an instant before his single voice is multiplied in number.

“Row the boat!”

ON A CABLE SPORTS NETWORK PROVIDING LIVE UPDATES FROM THE FINAL FOUR
7:55 P.M. [CT]

Announcer: They are underway in triple overtime at the Superdome. Point guard Roko Bacic remains on the bench for Troy, shaken up and possibly injured in a collision. Undeterred, the Trojans, who tied this game in the last second of double overtime, grabbed the lead inside the opening minute of overtime number three. The Trojans won the jump ball, and on their first possession, center Crispin Rice hit a fadeaway from about twelve feet. Then the Spartans’ big man, Grizzly Bear Cousins, answered his counterpart with a basket of his own. It’s currently eighty-two all. Both Rice and Malcolm McBride are playing with four fouls apiece. We’ll keep the updates coming your way. But for now, from an interview taped yesterday morning, here’s Rachel Adams with the coaches in tonight’s epic contest.

On screen, Rachel Adams (left), Michigan State coach Eddie Barker (center), and Troy coach Alvin Kennedy (right) are sitting on stools, facing each other. Barker is wearing a green polo shirt with the Spartan logo on the right side of his chest and a Nike symbol on the left. Kennedy is wearing a red sport coat with a white shirt and red tie. In the background is a darkened gymnasium basketball court.

Rachel Adams: I’m here with a pair of coaches whose teams will square off against each other this weekend at the Final Four. One is a familiar face on the national scene, coach Eddie Barker
of Michigan State. The other is new to making a run at an NCAA Championship, coach Alvin Kennedy of Troy. Gentlemen, welcome.

(Both speak almost simultaneously)

Eddie Barker: Thank you, Rachel.

Alvin Kennedy: Thank you.

Adams: You’re both highly successful in your profession. When people hear the word
coach
, so many idealistic roles come to mind, whether it’s respected teacher, guidance counselor, or substitute parent. Talk about how you view the role of being a coach in college basketball today
(turning her gaze towards Coach Barker)
.

Barker:
(In a raspy voice)
Coaching is certainly all of the things that you mentioned. Those are the staples of the business. But today, especially, coaching comes down to three basic things: setting goals, achieving those goals, and managing your time and your players’ time efficiently so that the achievement part can happen. These aren’t easy tasks for young people, but it’s a reflection of the lives that most of them will live post-basketball, out in the workplace.

Kennedy: To me, above all, coaching is about communication. Coaches, players—everyone has to be on the same page and know what’s expected of them. And that same communication has to carry over to players’ lives, classes, and every facet of the extended family that our team becomes. Good communication
stops the little negativities that naturally creep up every day, things like jealousy, anger, and misunderstanding. It stops them from becoming bigger things that damage the soul of your team.

Barker:
(Smiling in Kennedy’s direction)
I’m glad you asked me first, Rachel. I wouldn’t want to have to follow an answer that fine. That’s why his team is where they are right now.

Adams: I think a lot of people would agree with that assessment. Of course, the coaching profession has taken a certain hit in the eyes of the public lately. I think the average salary for a coach with a team in the NCAA tournament this year is around eight hundred thousand dollars. And with the lure of even bigger money at more prestigious schools, we’ve recently seen a stream of coaches abandon their current contracts, universities, and players for more money elsewhere. Meanwhile, the players, many of whom chose a particular school because they wanted to play for that coach, are often left without the ability to freely transfer somewhere else. So the players, along with the fans, feel somewhat betrayed.

Barker: Well, it’s all supply and demand
(clearing his throat)
, a matter of economics. Truthfully, that’s the marketplace today. A winning coach and a winning basketball program can produce an enormous amount of money and exposure for a university. And a coach’s first obligation is to his family and himself, to earn a good living, and make the money he can while he can. I know there is a certain moral obligation for a coach to fulfill his contract before moving on. But maybe competing schools should
take the higher ground and not offer new deals to coaches already under contract somewhere else.