by Phil Wohl
FIFTEEN
It had been five years since Bailey Woods played Central in a basketball game. The games had become so one-sided that Central yawned and the decided to stir up some real competition. The last two games, in particular, were 25- and 34-point slaughters for Central, who played most of the second half of these games for reserves.
Walter Abrahams walked through the doors of the gym for the first time since the previous season. He had been told by his doctor’s to keep his blood pressure down in the months following his heart attack. Walter walked into the locker room to wish his son, and the team, good luck. The guys instantly mobbed him like he was a rock star.
While Dr. Patel wasn’t thrilled about attending the game, he knew the stress of not being there would be there would potentially be greater than his attendance. The elder Abraham decided that he wasn’t going to spend the rest of his life protecting his life. There were certain things he had to do differently, like eat better and exercise more, but living through the Bailey Woods basketball team would remain.
There was no real history between the current teams, so the game started as just that, another game. Once the lead changed hands eight times in the first quarter alone, the rivalry had been rekindled. At halftime the score was 24-22 with Bailey Woods missing out on a three-pointer after the buzzer sounded that would have given them the lead. It was becoming painfully obvious that the team with the ball last would probably win.
It was 39-38 in favor of Central after three quarters, and Dave felt he couldn’t have scripted the game better if he wrote the screenplay himself. But his satisfaction was short-lived, as his best player, Carl Tedesco, picked up his fourth foul only a minute into the final stanza. Once Tedesco went to the bench, Central quickly built an eight-point lead forcing Dave to take a time-out to regroup. With four minutes left, he rolled the dice and reinserted Tedesco. The team slowly crawled back until the deficit was cut to two with a minute left in the game. Time out, Central High.
The stands, which had been half-full most of the game, had become completely full by the end of the game. People arrived in anticipation of the night-cap rematch, but were treated to an instant classic in the interim.
Central failed to score out of the timeout and then Tedesco picked up a loose ball and put it back in the basket with 15 seconds remaining. Bailey Woods tied the score and now had to stop Central one last time.
Dwight Burrows dribbled the ball near half-court until the clock his six. He penetrated into the lane and dished to Calvin Martin, who elevated to win the game. Tedesco closed from the other side of the lane and swatted the ball against the wall as time expired. The referee at half court almost silently blew his whistle, signaling a foul on number 23 white, and the crowd went from elation to stunned silence to outright anger.
The referees huddled near the scorer’s table to discuss the foul.
“It looked like he climbed over his back from my vantage point,” the referee that called the foul stated.
“Mike, it was a clean block. I had a good look at it,” the other ref explained.
“Ok, that’s good enough for me Tommy.” He turned to the scorer’s table and yelled while waving his arms, “No foul! Time has expired! Overtime!”
Coach Timmons of Central High went crazy and had to be restrained by his assistants. The public address announcer reiterated what the ref said, and the crowd burst into celebration. Sadly, the euphoria was short-lived, as Central steamrolled Bailey Woods in overtime and won by five points.
Before the old team took to the floor, Greg Morales Turned to Dave and said, “It’s all on you now, coach.”
The rematch against Central was the furthest thing from Dave’s mind as he offered words of encouragement to his team. But as O’Malley, Breslin, Finnegan, and Brady joined Dave and Tony D in the locker room, the blood started flowing through his body again. The group of 29 year-olds, with the exception of the 30 year-old Dorio (who was held back in third grade), were legends in the eyes of their predecessors.
“The crowd wants blood!” an energized Principal Doherty said as he walked through the doors of the locker room.
Brian Finnegan, Bailey’s floor general and resident maniac yelled, “If they want blood! Let’s give ‘em blood!”
High fives and screams filled the usually docile locker room, proving that championships are never won without emotion and total commitment.
The guys couldn’t have been prepared for what awaited them on the floor of their gym. Yes it was once again their gym, at least for one more night. Mayor “McCheese” brought a huge, framed copy of an old town headline that read “CHAMPIONS!” He solicited Doherty and Dave to flank him for a photo opportunity, and then slinked off the court to undoubtedly smile and shake hands with anyone within striking distance.
Then Pete Grey, the Dolphins old public address announcer said, “Ladies and gentlemen. Please call your attention to center court…”
Out of the gym office, a way-too-familiar face emerged.
Cameron Breslin said to the group, “Is that fuckin’ Billy Joel?”
He walked over to the guys and shook hands with them, “Good luck guys.”
Joel then walked over to Doherty and said, “Doherty, you old bastard! How you doing? Are we even now?”
Doherty laughed and nodded as Tom O’Malley asked, “Even for what?”
The old coach looked at his players and replied, “If I told you, I would have to kill all of you!”
Joel and Doherty were 15 year-old classmates at nearby Clinksdale High School when Joel’s mom came home early from work and caught the two boys smoking pot. Well, she walked in on Doherty inhaling. Being the good friend that he was, albeit a totally high one, Doherty took the rap for bringing the pot over and smoking with his friend’s house. He also lied and explained that Joel was not involved in any way with the drugs.
Doherty was grounded for a month and beaten within an inch of his life by his father Liam, who drank like a fish and worked on the docks. He went to school for a month and then came straight home, where his friend “Billy the Kid” was waiting with a bong and a dream. The next year, Doherty was sent to Catholic school and well, you know what happened to Mr. Joel. The two guys stayed in touch over the years and remained close friends.
To sing our National Anthem, here is Long Island’s own, Billy Joel!” Grey projected as he was drowned out by the crowd.
The Central players puffed their chests and muttered, “Stupid crackers,” but were secretly excited to see Billy perform. If it was their home game, Ronnie, Bobby, Ricky, Mike, Ralph and Johnny – New Edition – would have been the featured attraction in white suits and classic white hats, doing their smooth synchronized dance steps.
Once the hype calmed down, it was a tale of two teams in the first half. Central had vengeance on their mind for their devastating loss they suffered a decade prior, but Bailey Woods was just happy to be competing in front of a crowd again. Their lack of focus on the game showed, as Central raced to a 36-28 halftime lead.
The players calmly filed into the locker room with barely a whimper. Dave stopped and talked to Coach Doherty outside of the locker room.
“Hey coach, remember that time you yelled at me during halftime of that holiday tournament?”
“Yeah, what about it?” the now apprehensive coach replied.
Dave smiled, “Do it again,” and then walked into the locker room with a long face.
Doherty waited a few seconds to give the appearance that Dave’s entrance was in no way connected to his own. Once inside the pungent room, he surveyed his players who sat motionless as a group of statues.
“What the hell is going on in here? Did someone die?” He turned his sights to Dave, “Mr. Abrahams! It looks like father time has finally caught up with you! I even thought about sitting you and playing Brady! Do us all a favor! Either get your head out of your ass, or admit to the entire town that you can’t play anymore! You might as well be sitting n
ext to Mayor McCheese than letting Central come into our house and embarrass us in front of our celebration!” He then panned out to the rest of the team, “I don’t care if I’m 90 years old and you guys are about to collect social security! I will never let this team quit! You are my guys. You will always be my guys.” He smiled, “I’ve seen you guys play all year. You can beat these guys in your sleep. Two points at a time.” He looked around the room, “Let’s get it in here.”
The six guys gathered around their coach. “On three,” Doherty said and then the group yelled, “HARD WORK!”
Dave hung back for a minute with his old coach as the rest of the guys took the floor to warm up for the second half.
Steve Brady turned to Tony Dorio and said, “Do you think I’ll see some light in the second half, coach?”
Deep-voiced Tony, with a straight face replied, “I sure hope not, Brades.”