Foul Trouble

by John Feinstein

  It wasn’t his mouth this time, it was his eyes—which at some point closed during the presentation by someone who apparently worked in public relations for the NCAA. Maybe Danny had just had his fill of NCAA people for the day, but soon after he heard the guy say, “And remember, print reporters are always looking to create controversy. Always remember that, as a student-athlete…” he felt someone shaking him by the shoulder.

  “Whaa, huh?” he said.

  “Wake up, Wilcox.”

  He looked up and saw Paul Judson, the agent he’d met the first day, standing over him. Judson had been introduced as someone who would explain to them how to know an agent you could trust from an agent you couldn’t trust. Hearing that, Danny had thought about what Bobby Kelleher would have said in response: “If the agent is breathing, don’t trust him.” He hoped he might have somehow slept through Judson’s presentation, but no such luck; the NCAA drone was still standing at the front of the room.

  “You need to party less and pay attention more,” Judson said as the room tittered.

  Terrell, sitting next to him, sat up very straight in his seat after that comment but said nothing.

  Danny remembered his dad telling him he’d better stay out of trouble, so rather than come back with another smart-ass answer, he sat up straight and said he was sorry. The drone continued.

  The meeting lasted almost two hours and Danny was pretty sure he saw others nodding off before it was over. No one shook them awake. As they walked out the door, Terrell fell into step with him. “Kinda funny, wasn’t it?” he said.

  “There was something funny in that meeting? I missed it.”

  “It’s kinda funny that a two-hour meeting on how to deal with the media is all about why everyone in the media except TV is evil.”

  Actually, Danny thought, that was funny. The entire message had been: Don’t tell the media anything. It had been two hours’ worth of the famous Crash Davis speech in Bull Durham, in which he tells Nuke LaLoosh to always say noncommittal, noncontroversial things when talking to the media: I just want to give 110 percent every day.… I love my teammates.… I want to thank the fans for everything.… I thank God for giving me the chance to play this great game. He wondered how many athletes had learned their lines from that movie.

  Because the meeting let out so late, the camp had arranged for a buffet-style meal for the players, so they would be able to eat and digest before playing at seven o’clock.

  “They should have had this set-up all week,” Danny’s dad said as they sat down. He had joined them and had brought Tom Konchalski and Frank Sullivan with him. “Then there would have been less riding back and forth to restaurants with unsavory types.… ”

  Tom Konchalski had been briefed on Danny and Terrell’s latest misadventure, and he wasn’t laughing even a little bit. “Let me tell you something about these NCAA guys,” he said. “In their own way, they’re every bit as corrupt as Ray Leach or Paul Judson or any of these other hangers-on. They have an agenda too. They’re after scalps, so they can show their bosses that they’re doing their jobs. They don’t care what’s fair or whether they’re nailing big offenders or little ones. They just want to nail someone.”

  “What’s the old Tark line about NCAA justice?” Frank Sullivan asked, referring to Jerry Tarkanian, the former coach at Nevada–Las Vegas who had spent most of his career battling with the NCAA.

  Coach Wilcox smiled and filled in the story for Danny and Terrell. “Years ago, an overnight-mail envelope en route from the Kentucky basketball office to the father of a Kentucky recruit accidentally opened, and a thousand dollars fell out of it. The mail guy turned the money in, and Kentucky got investigated by the NCAA. Tark said, The NCAA is so mad at Kentucky, they’re going to put Cleveland State on probation for another three years.”

  Everyone laughed ruefully. It was hardly news that the NCAA would rather put the hammer to a relatively small program like Cleveland State than to a big-time program like Kentucky.

  “The point of the story should be important to you,” Konchalski said, looking at Danny. “They’d rather nail you than Terrell or Michael Jordan, because those guys are more likely to drive TV ratings when they get to college. Terrell, you’re lucky—they’ll only go after you if you really screw up. Danny, you they’re more than happy to go after.”

  Danny remembered the feeling in the interview room. The NCAA guys had made sure Jordan’s coach was there. They hadn’t even asked Terrell a single question. They had gone after him first as if he was somehow the main culprit. “So what should I do?” he asked Konchalski.

  “Everything your father tells you to,” Konchalski answered. “Play by the rules. You too, Terrell. Because the more they think you’re on the take, the more likely they’ll be to go after Danny.”

  They both looked at him closely to see if he was smiling.

  He wasn’t.

  Given all that had gone on that afternoon, Danny was afraid the game that night might be a disaster. He’d forgotten, though, that the rest of the Rebels hadn’t been involved in the ongoing soap opera. He also hadn’t been paying much attention to the team they were playing, the Texas Rangers, who, as it turned out, were probably more qualified to play baseball than basketball.

  Early on, it became apparent that no one on the Texas team wanted anything to do with Terrell. At the end of the first quarter, with the Rebels leading 18–9, Coach Wilcox looked at Danny and said, “Throw it in to Terrell every time until they stop him.”

  They never did. All the starters came out two minutes into the fourth quarter with the score 81–38. Terrell had scored 44, and, although he didn’t know it, Danny had 21 assists. The only reason he found out was because someone rushed over to him when the game was over to tell him he had set a camp record—whatever that meant—with the 21 assists.

  Jay Swanson was behind Danny in the handshake line when the camp PR person told Danny about his “record.”

  “My cat could get twenty-one assists feeding Terrell in a game like this,” Swanson said. “All this team is about is trying to get you a D-1 scholarship.”

  Danny was tempted to start another fight, but there was no point. He only had to put up with Swanson for two more days. Still, he couldn’t resist a small jab. “How many threes did you hit tonight, Jay?” he asked.

  “Five,” Swanson said, not surprising Danny by knowing his stats off the top of his head.

  “How many of those came on passes from me?”

  Swanson didn’t answer that one.

  Before Danny could say anything else, he heard a familiar voice.

  “Jay, my man. You had twenty-three and it could have been double if you’d have gotten the ball more.”

  It was Ray Leach.

  “No kidding,” Swanson said.

  There was an angel sitting on Danny’s shoulder telling him to just keep walking. But there was a devil on the other shoulder whispering in his ear. He listened to the devil.

  “Hey, Ray,” he said. “Do you want to meet up with Terrell and me after we’re showered?”

  Leach looked like a kid who had found Santa eating his cookies by the fireplace.

  “Yo, dude, absolutely. Tell me where and I’ll meet you.”

  “Yeah, perfect,” Danny said. “Meet me in hell.”

  He headed for the locker-room hallway with a huge grin. He didn’t have to look back to know that both Leach and Swanson were glaring daggers at him. He really did need to try harder not to pick fights with everyone…starting tomorrow.

  TWELVE

  The easy victory over the team from Texas clinched a spot in the quarterfinals for the Rebels. Saturday morning they would play DC Assault, a team out of Washington. A win would most likely set up a rematch with the Orange Crushes, the team they had played on the first day of camp. To Danny, that game felt like a hundred years ago. The Riverboats were in the other bracket, meaning they couldn’t meet the Rebels before the championship game. Just as well—Michael Jordan had scored 54 points
in the Riverboats’ last game of the round robin.

  According to Tom Konchalski, there were now three players being touted by the scouts as potential one-and-done college players: Jordan; Omar Whytlaw, from the Crushes; and Terrell. Konchalski had also told Coach Wilcox that Danny had been one of the surprises of the camp. “My phone is filled with texts,” his dad confirmed. “You are no longer considered a marginal D-1 prospect. You’re well above that. Don’t get a big head.”

  Danny was too tired to get a big head. The games had been good—but all the off-court stuff had been exhausting. As he pulled on his uniform Saturday morning, he knew he needed to focus. There were plenty of lockers available now because twenty-four of the thirty-two teams were no longer playing. Some had gone home; others had stayed to watch the remaining eight teams.

  As it turned out, the quarterfinal didn’t require all that much focus from Danny. The game was almost as much of a blowout as the one the night before. DC Assault’s best player, Carlos Ruiz, who was their point guard, had rolled an ankle the previous day and didn’t play. Without Ruiz, the DC team had trouble running any offense at all. The game was close for a half, before a spate of turnovers led to a 17–2 run for the Rebels, who pulled away to win, 94–74. Terrell finished with 27 points, Swanson had 22, and Danny had 12 points and 12 assists.

  The dudes were out in force after the game. Terrell gave them the usual high fives but didn’t linger. “We have to play the semis in a couple hours,” he said. “I’ll catch you guys later.”

  The semifinals would be played back to back. The Riverboats were playing High Five from Detroit at 2:00. After that, the Rebels would have their rematch with the Orange Crushes at 3:30. There was another buffet set up for the players because the timing was so tight, but they did have the option of eating on their own.

  “Trouble in paradise?” Danny asked as he and Terrell headed for the buffet.

  “What?” Terrell asked.

  “You and the dudes,” Danny said. “You kind of blew them off back there.”

  Terrell shrugged. “Listen, I know I screwed up the other day, but I’m not stupid. So you can lay off a little, okay? I’m not sayin’ I’m never going to hang with those guys again, but I am going to be more careful.”

  Danny nodded, surprised at Terrell’s serious tone.

  “All I want is to win two more games and get out of here. It’s been one long week.”

  “So you think we can crush the Crushes and sink the Riverboats?” Danny asked, earning a small smile from Terrell.

  “Everyone loves a rebel.”

  “You know it,” Danny said, nodding. “Let’s go overthrow the establishment.”

  Terrell shook his head. “Danny, Danny—always looking for a fight…”

  “You got a problem with that?” Danny said, getting up in Terrell’s face.

  “Not at all, man,” said Terrell, laughing. “Not at all.”

  Crushing the Crushes was—not surprisingly—easier said than done.

  The gym was packed. Gone were the three courts and the three games being played at once. The regular baskets were in place, with the court now running north and south, and all eyes in the building were on one game, because only one was being played.

  Terrell and Danny got a chance to briefly congratulate Alex Mayer as the Riverboats were leaving the court after winning their semifinal. They had been in the locker room for the final few minutes but had seen enough to know that Jordan had been brilliant again. While Danny and Terrell were chatting with Alex, Jordan walked by with a phalanx of security and camp PR people.

  “Nice playing, Mike,” Danny said.

  Jordan glanced at him, shook his head, and kept going.

  “What’s his problem?” Terrell asked Mayer.

  “He’s decided what happened the other day was your fault, that you guys somehow tipped off the NCAA guys,” Mayer said.

  “That’s crazy,” Danny said, feeling a surge of anger. “He’s the one driving around in the big car, hanging with Leach. I never even heard of the guy until you two brought him to lunch.”

  “Me neither,” Terrell put in.

  Mayer waved a hand. “I know, I know,” he said. “I told him that. But he’s scared now. It never occurred to him the NCAA would actually check up on him. He isn’t going to blame Leach or any of his boys, so he’s decided to blame you two.”

  “That’s his problem, then,” Terrell said.

  “You’re right,” Mayer said. “But if we play you guys tomorrow, don’t try to take a charge from him.”

  Danny snorted. “I may be dumb, but I ain’t stupid.”

  Mayer laughed.

  A camp PR person hustled up. “Alex, you’re needed right now in the interview room,” she said urgently.

  “Good luck, guys,” Alex said. “I hope we’re playing against each other tomorrow.”

  No matter what Danny’s dad had said about Mayer lying so coolly to the NCAA guys, Danny couldn’t help but like him. He hoped they would play tomorrow. Of course, there was the not-so-small matter of the Orange Crushes and Omar Whytlaw to get past first.

  It became clear very early in the game that Whytlaw wanted very much to get even with Terrell for nailing the three-pointer at the end of their first game. But Whytlaw’s obsession with proving he was better than Terrell turned out to be a bigger problem for the Crushes than the Rebels because he didn’t want to give up the ball. Coach Wilcox quickly recognized what he was doing and ordered Danny to double-team him whenever he caught the ball in the low post with his back to the basket.

  The smart thing for Whytlaw to do when he saw Danny coming at him was to pitch the ball to Danny’s man, who was wide open on the perimeter. Instead, with Danny in front of him and Terrell behind him, he tried to bull his way to the basket. By halftime, Danny had stolen the ball three times. Whytlaw had twice been called for charges when trying to get past Terrell and had made just three of eleven shots. At the other end, Terrell was handling the Crushes’ decision to double-team him perfectly: He waited for the perimeter defender to leave his man and then passed to the open Rebel. Terrell had seven assists at halftime, and Danny and Swanson had each hit four three-pointers. The Rebels led, 43–29.

  “You have to expect Coach Welch to adjust and tell Whytlaw he has to pass the ball out of the double-teams,” Coach Wilcox said during the break. “He’s probably already said it, but now he’s got to insist.”

  “Should we stop doubling?” asked Jason Marks, who occasionally doubled instead of Danny, just to surprise Whytlaw.

  “No, not until he actually starts to pass the ball,” Coach Wilcox said. “If he starts finding shooters, we’ll make the adjustment.”

  On the first play of the second half, Danny found Terrell inside, and no one doubled him. Not wanting to commit a third foul, Whytlaw played matador defense on Terrell, allowing him to spin right past him for an easy dunk. The Crushes came down, and Whytlaw posted up, calling for the ball. George Smalls, the point guard who had threatened to put Danny through the floor if he tried to take a charge the first time the teams had played, actually looked away from Whytlaw, clearly wanting to go somewhere else with the ball. But his teammates were just watching, not moving, figuring the ball was going to Whytlaw.

  Terrell could see Smalls visibly sigh before angling left so he could get a pass into Whytlaw in the post. Instantly, Danny turned to double. Whytlaw saw him coming, took one quick dribble, and tried to power through Terrell, who had excellent position. Terrell went down, and the whistle blew. Sitting on the floor, Terrell saw the referee signaling Whytlaw for a charge—his third foul.

  “You got to be kidding!” Whytlaw said to the ref, clearly frustrated. “Dude is acting, man. Can’t you see that?”

  Having signaled the foul, the ref turned to Whytlaw. Danny knew from his dad that the officials, most of whom were aspiring college referees, had been told to be patient with the players and try to explain to them what they’d done wrong. “Son, he had clear position on you.
Even if he hadn’t gone down, it would have been a charge. You went right through him.”

  “Ah, f— you, man,” Whytlaw said.

  The officials had been told to be patient, but they had their limits. Right away the ref called a technical foul on Whytlaw for cursing. Since a technical also counted as a personal foul, that meant Whytlaw now had four fouls—one away from fouling out. Coach Welch was way out on the court, taking Whytlaw by the arm to get him away from the referee before he got teed up again.

  Terrell saw Danny start to the free throw line to shoot the technical. Danny was a 92 percent free throw shooter, so he always shot technicals in Lexington games. This was the first technical that had been called all week here, though, and Swanson was also walking to the foul line. Clearly, he was also used to taking the technicals.

  “What are you doing, Wilcox?” Swanson said. “Does Daddy let you shoot technicals to make you happy?”

  “I do usually shoot them, yes,” Danny answered.

  “Yeah, well, when you make eighty-five percent, then you can shoot them,” Swanson said. “In the meantime, get out of my way.”

  Terrell looked at the bench to see what Coach Wilcox would do. He was waving Danny away from the foul line, indicating he should let Swanson shoot. Swanson made one of the two shots. Terrell saw Danny walk stiffly past Swanson to go and inbound the ball, clearly aching to say something but holding himself back. He felt no such compunction. “My boy shoots ninety-two percent from the line,” he said to Swanson. “Next time, he takes the shots.”

  Swanson said nothing.

  They were up, 46–29. They just needed to get this game over with and get ready for the final. That turned out to be difficult. With Whytlaw on the bench, the Crushes spread out their offense and, with nothing to lose, began bombing threes. By the end of the third quarter, they’d cut the lead to 65–55. A few minutes later, it was 79–75, and Coach Wilcox called time-out.

  As the players huddled around him, Terrell noticed Whytlaw reporting to the scorer’s table to check back into the game.

  “Coach,” Terrell heard Danny say, catching his father’s eye and nodding toward the table. Danny was always careful to call his dad Coach in front of other players.