by Phil Wohl
TWO
Dave looked at the Saturday afternoon ceremony as closure for a great part of his life. He had worked hard and the success that he and his teammates experienced would be something he would never forget.
He felt the adrenaline bouncing around his body the moment he stepped out of his parents Nissan Maxima. The guy in the big meetings talking in business jargon, was instantly replaced by the guy everyone called D.A. The crowd would chant “D.A.” during games and people would greet him in the hallways every day with his initials. The only people in Bailey Woods that didn’t call him D.A. were his parents. They still were stuck in reverse with his full name, David. His mother even went to David Isaac Abrahams, his full biblical-inspired name on occasion, when he upset her.
Dave, his sister Lori and his parents walked in the back door of the school and were immediately handed programs by two female students that had volunteered for the event. There were 100 people being enshrined in this inaugural event and their pictures lined the hallway leading up the gym, scattered with a few black-and-white photos of a few athletes.
In all, there were 25 football players, 25 lacrosse players, 15 baseball players, 10 wrestlers, five softball players, five volleyball players, four soccer players, three field hockey players, one bowler, and three female and four male basketball players over the 50-year history of the school.
Dave stopped at his picture across from the boy’s entrance of the gym. Although he had been seen that particular picture of himself at the foul line before, it held a completely new significance to him now that it was so prominently displayed.
Melanie Abraham pulled out two tissues and handed one to Dave’s sister. Dave looked at his dad, Walter, and smiled. Walter had struggled to fill the gaps once Dave’s college career had ended. He would still travel into the city when Dave played in a corporate basketball league a few years earlier.
It had been two years since Dave played, but visions of the game were still very active in his mind. These thoughts were even more prominent on this special day in the gym he owned for a few years.
The ceremony was simple, with names being called off and athletes, young and old, walking up to center court to receive their Hall of Fame plaques. Pete’s high school coach, William Doherty, was now the school’s principal. He had quickly moved up the chain from athletic director to vice principal and then principal a few months before the current school year began.
The success of Dave’s team had opened the door for Coach Doherty – a door that would otherwise have been bolted shut. The town and the superintendent believed in him, and there was never a shortage of reminiscing when they got together.
Handshakes were the order of the day until the name “Dave Abrahams” was announced by Principal Doherty. Dave rose from his seat and strolled up to the huge dolphin at center court. He hugged his coach, who whispered “You have to give me a few minutes after this is over.”
Dave nodded and turned to go back to his seat, but the familiar chant of “D.A.!” started to ring throughout the bleachers and stopped him in his tracks. He looked into the second row of the bleachers at a few of his teammates, who undoubtedly started the chant to bust his chops. Dave nodded and saluted his buddies before returning to his seat.
The ceremony was followed by a catered reception in the cafeteria, saving all of the honorees and their family from being served by old ladies in hair nets and plastic gloves. Dave was about to sit down with a full plate of food, but he saw his coach out of the corner of his eye gesturing to him in the hallway. He set the plate down and said, “I’ll be right back.”
The hallway outside the gym was always a hotbed of activity for Dave. He talked to many college coaches, broke up an all-out brawl during a game, and even experienced his first French kiss against a row of lockers outside of the locker room.
Dave stepped into the hallway and shook his coach’s hand, “Thanks for putting this together.”
They started walked, “Well, I had you in mind when I started this process a few years ago. Let’s walk toward my office.”
The new principal continued, “I’m not sure if you have been following this, but we have had four basketball coaches in the past nine years. We also haven’t had a winning season since our team.”
Dave replied, “I knew about the record, but not about the coaching turnover.”
“I still don’t think the people in this town care much about basketball. I would step in, but my contract won’t allow for it,” Doherty explained.
They walked into the main office, located in the front of the school, and then Doherty stepped into his office and pulled a document off his desk.
“We’ve had a real budget battle this past year and this has impacted the district’s athletic department. The National Board of Interscholastic Athletics has sanctioned us to add an additional girl’s program and eliminate a boy’s program. We’ve had 20 or so meetings and the final recommendation hinges on the stability of our basketball program.
Dave was surprised, “They’re going to eliminate the basketball program? That’s not right! What can I do?”
The principal smiled, “I’m glad you feel that way…”
Dave left the principal’s office and took the long way around to the gym. He cruised through the halls until he came upon his locker, number 1032. The locker felt smooth and cool as he ran his fingers over the faded number plate. Across the hall from the locker was the room he first learned about how to successfully rob a house from Mr. Henderson, an aged Social Studies teacher going senile in the twilight of his career.
He passed by classroom after classroom as the memories kept flooding through. While first base was realized near the gym, second base was taken in the 300-wing – with Dave’s right hand against Cindy Brower’s left breast. He was quickly tagged out despite his best base running efforts, which were sloppy but expected for an inexperience tenth grader.
Dave continued to walk through the halls until he came upon the empty gym. The memory of the roar of the crowd echoed in his ears and hugged him like a down blanket on a winter night. This was his home. These were his people. Walking away from a high-paying job in favor of chasing his legacy was a tough sell in the rational world.
Doherty told Dave he would accept his M.B.A. in lieu of a teaching degree, because he could teach business classes once Mrs. Walters retired mid-year. He was also offered the job with a starting salary of $50,000 plus $5,000 for coaching the team. This was roughly half of his current base salary.
School had just started but Principal Doherty needed a decision by the following Monday morning. He needed information so he could go to the board with a loaded gun or an empty chamber. Doherty also gave Dave with one last deal sweetener, which hit him at a level that no corporate expense account or company seats to sporting events could.
“If you do this, we’ve been talking about retiring your number 44.”
There had been only one number retired in school history - number 27 for Ryan Pelfry—who lost only one game as a starting pitcher on the baseball team and eventually went on to win a Cy Young Award while playing for the Toronto Blue Jays.
Dave walked back into the cafeteria, took a deep breath, and then walked toward the table where his family and friends were seated. His high school buddy, Cameron Breslin, was finishing the last of the two plates beneath him.
“Good to see you haven’t lost your appetite, Cam,” Dave said.
“Hey bro, your food was getting cold so I took the liberty of finding a safe place for it,” Breslin replied.
“You might want to get that,” Dave said as he motioned toward the red sauce on Cameron’s right cheek.
“Dude, you’re such a slob,” another teammate, Brian Finnegan stated.
“What’s up, Finns,” Dave said in a somewhat awkward tone of voice.
“Big day, big time. Glad you could come back and share this day with the little people.”
A
third teammate stood up as Dave made a move at Finnegan.
“Not here, not now,” a calm Tony Dorio said. “I’ll let you kick his ass later if you want. Dave calmed down as he looked into Dorio’s eyes. “D.A., let’s go get some food.”
Dorio was a year older than Dave and obviously a year wiser. Tony D, as he was called, was always a larger-than-life figure for Dave growing up. The guy was 6’4” when he was 13 years old, but never grew another inch. Although Dave was now two inches taller than Tony, the elder statesman was still the tower of strength and voice of reason.
Dave and Tony walked through the buffet line.
“The ziti is pretty good,” Tony stated. “Not like mom’s but it’s passable.”
“So, how is Mrs. D doing?”
Tony smiled, “She still cooks me meals and does my laundry when I come over. I don’t think she’s caught on, but I usually bring the same stuff over for her to clean.”
Dave put his hand on Tony’s shoulder, “I heard about your dad. Is he doing better?”
“It was a mild heart attack, but he still yells at me to take out the garbage even though I don’t live there anymore,” Tony answered.
“Tony elbowed Dave, “What’s up with you, D?”
Dave sighed as he scooped up some ziti on his paper plate. He looked at Tony, who had a smirk on his face.
“You guys know?” Dave asked in a surprised tone.
Tony nodded, “Everybody knows. They want you back, D.”
“This shit is just wrong,” Dave stated. “We got to talk this thing out.”
“Already have four stools saved for us at O’Malley’s.”
Dave asked, “Tom works at his dad’s bar now?”
“He owns the bar. His dad died last year.”
“Fuck! Mr. O! What the hell is going on around here? Next you’re gonna’ tell me that Kelly Zabriski is a lesbian,” Dave joked.
Tony’s eyes widened as he shook his head.
Dave’s Jaw dropped, “That chick banged half of the football team!
The guys picked up some plastic silverware and headed back to the table.
“Well, now she’s on another team,” Tony said.