Foul Trouble

by John Feinstein

  Terrell was about to tell Swanson that only one of them had gotten high, and if he wanted to get angry at someone, it should be him, when Danny pointed his finger in Swanson’s chest and said in that subtle Danny way, “Shut up, Swanson!”

  Swanson returned Danny’s menacing look. “No, Wilcox, you shut up!” he said. “You’re only on this team because your old man is coaching, and your old man is only coaching because he’s got Jamerson.”

  “What happened yesterday is none of your business,” Danny said. “We screwed up and got punished like anyone else would get punished.”

  “It is my business,” Swanson said angrily. “It’s the whole team’s business. We lost because you guys are stupid. Now we have to win all four games the next two days or we might not play the weekend. So don’t tell me it isn’t my business!”

  Terrell knew he was right. Which hurt almost as much as not playing had the night before.

  Danny apparently realized it too. “You’re right,” he said. “We screwed up. I apologize.” He put his hand out as a peace offering.

  Swanson looked at it for a second as if deciding what to do in response. Then he shook his head, turned, and walked away.

  Terrell felt slightly sick to his stomach. He took a step in Swanson’s direction, but Danny cut him off. “What are you doing?” he said.

  “I’m going to tell him it was only me. It’s not fair.… ”

  Danny was shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just beat these guys and put it behind us.”

  But that was easier said than done.

  The game was almost as good as the opener two days earlier against the Crushes. The Pinstripes didn’t have anyone as good as Terrell, but they had five very good players, and their bench was solid too. The two teams must have traded the lead a dozen times, but neither could really pull away. With forty-four seconds left, the Rebels had the ball and were leading, 85–84.

  Terrell saw Danny look at his dad as he brought the ball up court to see if he wanted a time-out. Coach Wilcox simply put his left fist in the air, which indicated he wanted Danny to let the shot clock get to ten seconds and then get the ball to Terrell in the low post. Fortunately, the Pinstripes decided not to double-team Danny, so he was able to dribble the clock down without anyone coming to help. Terrell, who had been standing on the left wing, spun down to the low block and called for the ball, which Danny delivered to him with six seconds on the shot clock and fifteen on the game clock.

  Not surprisingly, the instant the ball reached Terrell, two Pinstripes left their men on the perimeter and dropped down to help their center, who was directly behind him and was trying desperately to push him away from the basket. Seeing the extra defenders coming at him, Terrell took one quick dribble, then picked the ball up before anyone could swipe at it.

  Swanson had come out from the corner to the right wing, just outside the three-point line. Terrell spotted him and flicked a quick pass to him. Swanson was stepping into his shooting motion as he caught the ball, and no one came close to him. The shot-clock buzzer went off just as the ball hit the bottom of the net.

  The Pinstripes called time-out right away, and Swanson ran straight to Terrell and gave him a high five. “Great pass,” he said.

  “Great shot,” Terrell replied.

  The Pinstripes missed a three at the buzzer that wouldn’t have mattered anyway, and the Rebels walked off with an 88–84 win. After they had gone through the handshake line, Terrell saw Swanson turn and point a finger at Danny. He started to make a move to get between them, but there was no need.

  “Good game,” Swanson said. “You ran the offense perfectly on the last possession.” Without waiting for Danny to answer, he turned and jogged to the locker room.

  Danny and Terrell looked at each other, baffled. “Maybe he’s just happy that he hit a big-time shot with all the college coaches watching,” Danny said.

  “He’s also right,” Terrell said. “You played great.”

  They were about to head for the locker room when an attractive woman in a Brickley outfit stopped them. She appeared to be in her late twenties and was almost as tall as Danny. “Terrell, Danny. Hi, I’m Kristin Martz. I’m the TV coordinator for the camp,” she said, offering her hand and a big smile.

  Terrell was baffled. “What’s a TV coordinator?” he asked.

  She laughed as if the question was somehow remarkably clever. “It just means I’m the liaison between all our players and coaches and our TV partner. Most of the time I work in marketing for Brickley.”

  Terrell still wasn’t sure what any of that meant, but he nodded as if he did.

  “The folks from UBS were hoping to tape something with the two of you after you get through showering and changing,” she said. “It’ll be for airing on Sunday, when they televise the championship game.”

  “UBS?” Danny said. “Oh, wait—you mean UBS College or whatever they call it. Why would they want to talk to me? I would think they’d just want Terrell.”

  Kristin’s smile faded just a bit. “It’s called UBS Sports Network, and it’s very much a part of the UBS family. And they’d like to talk to you about Terrell and your dad and the great relationship the three of you have.”

  Terrell almost choked when she said that. “Did you see our game last night?” he said.

  “Well, no, I didn’t. Why?”

  “Never mind,” Danny said, jumping in. “It’s fine. Where should we go?”

  “Just go out the back door and turn left. They have a set out there.”

  “Did you clear this with our coach?” Terrell asked. He wasn’t about to agree to do anything without Coach Wilcox’s approval. He didn’t want to miss any more games.

  She shrugged. “Mr. Tommasino is talking to him right now about his interview time. So I’d guess the answer is yes.”

  Terrell wasn’t so sure about that guess. He’d have to ask himself.

  “So did you play in college?” Danny asked.

  “I played at Maryland,” she said. “I was a senior on the national championship team in 2006.”

  “Congratulations,” Danny said.

  “That must have been awesome,” Terrell said, figuring if Danny was going to be polite, he would be too.

  “Anytime you beat Duke, it’s thrilling,” she said. “See you in about twenty minutes?”

  They both nodded. Terrell had no idea that Maryland had beaten Duke in 2006 in the women’s championship game. All he remembered about the 2006 NCAA Tournament was George Mason beating Connecticut to get to the men’s Final Four. As a UConn fan living in Hartford, that had been less-than-thrilling.

  After they had showered and changed, they went to look for Coach Wilcox. They found him talking to Tom Konchalski and Howard Garfinkel. If the two of them knew anything about what had happened the day before, they didn’t let on.

  “Hey, Dad, this woman wants us to talk to these TV people…,” Danny said as they walked up.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. UBS whatever-it-is,” his dad said. “Tommasino and the guy from the network got very put off when I asked if anyone ever actually watched. I told them it was fine for the two of you, but I wasn’t going to do it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they should focus on you guys. Any coach who goes on is just doing it to promote himself.”

  Konchalski snorted. “I got a call last week from some guy who wanted to know if I would do some analysis of the players during the game. I told him no, thank you, I don’t do that kind of thing. He got very huffy and said, ‘Do you know how many homes we’re in?’ I told him I had no idea, but I was betting it wasn’t many, unless they paid extra, and from what little I’d seen of his network, I’d only pay extra if they took the network off my cable package.”

  Terrell laughed. Konchalski was honest and funny.

  “Go do the interview,” Coach Wilcox said. “And then let’s get lunch. Tonight’s game will probably decide if we make the semis. You guys need to rest.”

&nbs
p; “Who are we playing tonight?” they both asked.

  “The Gauchos. Don’t you look at the schedule?”

  Terrell shook his head and smiled semi-sheepishly. “My coach always tells me one game at a time.”

  The three adults laughed. “He’s coachable,” Garfinkel said.

  “The Gauchos may be the most famous AAU team of all time,” Coach Wilcox said. “We beat them and we probably make the quarters, because we should win both our games tomorrow. But if we lose, we’re out.”

  Terrell saw Danny smiling. “In other words, if we don’t win tonight, this interview we’re about to do will probably never air, since we’ll be long gone by Sunday.”

  “You got that right, son.”

  They had no trouble finding the set. The trouble was fighting their way through all the people standing underneath the tented area where the set was located.

  There were hangers-on everywhere. Agent types in suits, Brickley people in tracksuits, security people in yellow, and others who Terrell figured were with the network. Even the dudes were all standing in the back.

  They finally got close enough to the front to see a player Terrell didn’t recognize being interviewed. Tommasino was off to the side with Kristin Martz. When he spotted Terrell, he waved him over. “You’re up next, Terrell,” Tommasino whispered when they walked up.

  “Do I go on with Danny?” Terrell asked.

  Kristin gave him a tight smile and said, “We’re going to talk to you next, and then we’ll see about Danny. If Omar Whytlaw shows up, Danny’ll have to wait while we interview Whytlaw.”

  The interview with the player Terrell didn’t recognize was wrapping up.

  “So you really don’t need me very much, then, do you?” Danny said, which was exactly what Terrell was thinking.

  “We need you because your father wouldn’t talk to us,” said a man who had just taken off a headset. “The only coach we’ve asked who said no.”

  “My dad likes to be different,” Danny said. Terrell could see that he was a little ticked off.

  The headset guy said, “Okay, Terrell, we’re ready for you.”

  Terrell looked at Danny. “I’m nervous. I’ve never done anything except local TV before.”

  “This is a lot like local TV. Almost no one watches this network. Don’t be nervous.”

  Headset guy pointed a finger at Danny. “You know, you don’t have to appear on our network. We don’t have to interview you at all.”

  Terrell knew that was the wrong thing to say to Danny.

  Danny shrugged. “Fine with me.”

  Terrell paused for a moment, deciding what to do. He remembered how Danny had taken the heat for him before the game. That made his decision easy. He looked at the headset guy. “I’m going too.”

  The headset guy’s expression quickly changed from a sneer to a phony smile. “Oh no, Terrell, don’t misunderstand. We’re thrilled that you’re taking the time to do this.”

  Terrell shook his head. “You dragged Danny over here, you tell him you only want him if he doesn’t mess you up with Omar, and only then because his dad wouldn’t talk to you, and then you get all pissed off because he’s not acting like this is the greatest moment of his life. Hell with you.” He turned to Danny. “Come on—let’s go.”

  The two of them walked off. The last thing Terrell heard was Billy Tommasino’s voice. “Hey, Wilcox, tell your father he’d better enjoy the rest of the week,” he said. “Because this is the last time a team of his will ever be invited to my camp.”

  Terrell could tell by the look on Danny’s face that he was thinking about turning around and going back. He put his hand on Danny’s shoulder to keep him going in the right direction.

  “Don’t worry,” Danny said. “I’m fine. Thanks for that.”

  “Least I could do,” Terrell said, meaning it. With all eyes on them, they walked away from the tent and back into the gym.

  NINE

  Terrell could sense a buzz in the crowd. There seemed to be more people in the gym each day, and with the Rebels facing a team that had three bona fide Division I prospects and a well-known summer hoops heritage, the open areas between the courts were packed.

  The Gauchos were a very good team, but they didn’t have anybody who could guard Terrell. He just blew by everyone and had 22 points at halftime.

  With the game well in hand, Coach Wilcox rested both Danny and Terrell on a couple of occasions, and they spent the time coach spotting. Terrell picked out Roy Williams, Rick Pitino, Mike Krzyzewski, Jim Boeheim, and John Calipari. But Danny knew even more. Terrell nudged him and pointed to a young African American coach standing next to Krzyzewski.

  “Tommy Amaker,” Danny said, and smiled. “Harvard. My dad said he might be here tonight.”

  “Who’s the guy next to him?” Terrell asked. “Not K—the guy on the other side.”

  “Fran O’Hanlon,” Danny said. “Lafayette. I wouldn’t mind playing there, either.”

  In the second half, when the Gauchos doubled him whenever he touched the ball, Terrell remembered Tom Konchalski’s advice and found shooters—notably, Danny and Jay Swanson—wide open on the wings.

  Danny spent most of the night guarding D’Andre Dunigan, who was considered one of the better point guards in the camp—and in the country—and totally held his own. Terrell noticed that Dunigan had been sent to double on him in the post, but after Danny drilled a couple of threes, they sent someone else to double him, which opened things up for Terrell inside. The Rebels won with surprising ease, 91–78.

  In the handshake line, Terrell found Dunigan. “Nice game,” he said.

  Dunigan gave him a warm handshake and then turned to Danny, who was right behind Terrell. When Danny offered his hand, Dunigan grabbed it and pulled him close, so he could whisper in his ear. Terrell was close enough to hear him anyway. “Don’t let anyone say your boy is the only one on this team who can play,” he said. “You got game.”

  “Thanks,” Danny said, clearly surprised.

  Terrell had rarely seen Danny either flustered or surprised.

  Dunigan smiled. “And tell your boy he needs to stay away from Eddie J. and those guys. Nothing but trouble there.”

  Terrell turned around to look at the two guards. “I know,” he said. “I know.”

  He and Danny headed for the locker room. “Seems like a good guy,” Terrell said.

  “Yeah,” Danny said.

  Terrell nodded. “He’s got a bunch of guys hanging out with him too, you know. I’ve seen them.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing. Except that sometimes players have guys hanging out with them whether they want them around or not.”

  “You think that’s true of Dunigan?”

  Terrell shrugged. “Don’t know. But it is true of me. You should remember that.”

  Danny was still thinking of an answer when one of the Brickley functionaries grabbed Terrell to tell him he was needed in the media room. As Terrell was hustled off, Danny looked around for his dad, who was nowhere in sight. He was about to head for the locker room when he heard someone call his name. He looked around and found Alex Mayer.

  “Funny, I was just thinking about you,” Danny said.

  Mayer gave him a questioning look, then smiled. “You were thinking that Dunigan could kick my butt, right?” he said.

  Danny laughed. “No, but it did have to do with Dunigan.”

  “We’ve got the eight-thirty game right now,” Mayer said. “But I’d like to hear more, and I’d really like to know what happened yesterday that got you and Terrell benched. In case you didn’t know, it’s the talk of the camp.”

  Danny didn’t know, but he could imagine. “I don’t think I’ve got anything going on for lunch tomorrow,” he said.

  “How about Houston’s at twelve thirty?” Mayer said. “Michael’s got a car. He’s meeting some other people at the mall. We can hitch a ride with him or I can meet you.”

  “Michael’s got a car?”


  Mayer grinned. “Oh yeah. I’ll tell you about it. Listen, meet us in the back lot at twelve twenty-five tomorrow—or text me if something changes.”

  He jogged off in the direction of the court. Danny headed for the locker room. He was nearly there when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned and saw Bobby Kelleher.

  “We need to talk,” Kelleher said.

  “We do?” Danny said.

  Kelleher nodded. “Not tonight. You play early again tomorrow. After your morning game. We’ll go someplace quiet.”

  Danny didn’t argue. Friday was apparently going to be a very social day for him.

  The Rebels, as Danny’s dad had predicted, had no trouble with a team from Montana Friday morning. He and Terrell hardly played in the second half because the game was such a blowout.

  That didn’t mean the media didn’t have a million postgame questions for Terrell. Danny had showered and was heading out of the locker room just as Terrell was heading in.

  Danny raised an eyebrow to ask how it had gone. Terrell rolled his eyes. Enough said.

  Danny found his father outside the interview room and filled him in on his plans. “Bobby Kelleher wants to talk to me, and then I’m going to meet Alex Mayer for lunch. Okay?”

  “The kid from Mississippi?” his dad said. “Good player.” His eyes narrowed a little bit. “What’s Kelleher want?”

  “I don’t know. But given what he saw the other day, I probably should talk to him.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. I noticed I had a message from him, but I haven’t called him back. Konchalski says he’s a straight shooter, and if Tom trusts him, I guess I trust him. Remember, though, you have to be back here at three thirty for that media seminar.”

  Danny had forgotten. “Do I have to do that?” he asked.

  “Yup. It won’t be so bad. You might learn something.”

  Danny nodded. “Okay. What are you doing for lunch?”

  “Going out with Tom and Garf and Gary Williams.”

  “The old Maryland coach?”

  “Yeah, he’s just up for the day seeing old friends.” He patted Danny on the back. “You’ve played really well the last couple of games. People are noticing.”