Foul Trouble

by John Feinstein

  “Look, let’s be honest,” Tennyson said as he dug into a huge stack of pancakes he had served himself from the middle of the table. “We all know the score: We’re here to get ready for the NBA and to have a good time while we’re at it. Coach H makes sure of that. Does he pile it on a little heavy in recruiting? Sure. But who doesn’t?”

  Suliman took over. “I’ll tell you what, though. The guy makes sure you get your props from the media, and he knows all the people you want to know. Stewart Jenkins is full of it, but the dude will take care of you. Wait till you get home. You’ll have enough Athena gear to last until about your fifth year in the league. And it will just keep on coming.”

  “The gift that keeps on giving,” said Twan Mobley, the point guard, who was sitting across from them. “Jenkins can get you more than gear too.”

  “You mean like Brandi?” Terrell said.

  “Was that her name last night?” Suliman said. “Yeah. He knows about a hundred just like her.”

  Terrell decided to change the subject. “Can Coach Hathaway coach?” he asked.

  They all laughed. “Back when Bob Knight was still coaching at Texas Tech and Coach H first got here, they were both recruiting a kid from Texas named Bobo Alexander,” Tennyson said.

  Terrell vaguely remembered the name.

  “Anyway, when Bobo told Coach Knight he was going to Atlanta, Coach Knight said, ‘That’s fine, Bobo. Go play for a guy who couldn’t coach lions to eat red meat. See how that works out for you.’ ”

  “Where’s Bobo now?” Terrell asked.

  They all looked at each other. “D-league,” Mobley finally said. “I think he’s playing in North Dakota or something.”

  “So why would I come here if Coach H isn’t a good coach?” Terrell asked.

  “Because you don’t need to be coached,” Tennyson said. “You don’t come here because of what you get on the court, you come here because of what you get off the court. And, trust me, that isn’t a bad deal.”

  When breakfast was over, Anton Bennett, one of the assistant coaches, showed up to walk him over to the football game. Any doubts Terrell had had about Atlanta were long gone. This was exactly the kind of program he knew he wanted no part of.

  He genuinely liked the players, but he suspected their honesty was as much strategy as anything else: Tell him what it’s really like here—lots of parties and freebies, lots of exposure and celebrities. Sure, Coach can’t coach, but that’s not what the place is about. For some people, Terrell knew, the U of A would be the perfect place. Just not for him. He’d learned a ton from Coach Wilcox. And from Danny, too. About strategy, and anticipating what the other team would do. And about how to play defense—Coach Wilcox was all about defense. Yeah, the talent and the effort was all him, but Terrell was a smarter player because of the Wilcoxes. And he knew he had more he could learn still.

  The football stadium was brand-new, built to house a rising program. It had 30,000 seats and was about two-thirds full. Coach Bennett explained on the walk over that Atlanta had started playing football only four years before and was still in the Football Championship Subdivision, meaning it played one level down from the powerhouse schools that made up what was called the Football Bowl Subdivision.

  “In the old days, they called it 1-A and 1-AA, but you know the NCAA. They don’t like to imply that anyone is bigger or more important than anyone else, so they came up with the new names,” Coach Bennett explained. “We’re scheduled to move up in two years. Right now we draw about twenty thousand a game, which puts us in the top five nationally in our division, and we’re ranked eighth in the country. Today’s a big game for us because Delaware is always good.”

  The stadium sparkled with newness. There was enough parking for tailgating, and it was a perfect fall day, so the lot was full of cars sporting red-and-black flags. Terrell almost laughed out loud when he saw the name on the stadium: “Athena Field of Atlanta.”

  “So…Athena paid to have its name on the stadium,” Terrell said to Coach Bennett as they walked inside.

  “Athena basically owns this campus,” Coach Bennett admitted. “We’re practicing right after the game. There will be about five thousand people watching us in Athena Arena.”

  “Athena Arena—seriously?”

  “Only if you consider twenty million serious. That’s what they’re paying for the next ten years to have their name on both places.”

  Terrell swallowed his next question. Stewart Jenkins had said the night before that it was okay for him to give Terrell gear since he didn’t represent the university. Really? His company was paying twenty million—not to mention whatever they were paying Coach Hathaway—and he didn’t represent the university?

  Now, that was funny.

  They rode an elevator up to what was labeled “The President’s Level.” It was packed with well-dressed people holding drinks that didn’t look like sodas to Terrell. He glanced at his watch: it was 11:40 in the morning.

  “Come on. We’re supposed to meet Coach Hathaway at the president’s private reception,” Coach Bennett said. “Dr. Haskell really wants to meet you.”

  Dr. Wayne Haskell was the president of the U of A. Terrell had read a bio that described him as “one of America’s most forward-thinking academicians.” He had no idea what that meant.

  Coach Bennett led Terrell down a hallway filled with people dressed in black and red. At the end was a door with a guy standing guard who looked like he was in the Secret Service. He was wearing a dark suit, had a wire coming out of his ear, and looked very serious. Remarkably, he smiled when he saw the two of them coming. “Coach. Good morning,” he said. “This must be Mr. Jamerson.”

  “It is,” Coach Bennett said. “Terrell, this is Owen Taylor. He’s our head of security.”

  Terrell shook hands with Owen Taylor, who pushed the door open for them. Inside were still more people in red and black. Coach Hathaway, who stood out because he was in red and black sweats, spotted them immediately and waved them over. Terrell noticed that there was a huge picture window that had a panoramic view of the stadium and the field. There was a door that led outside to two rows of seats where, he assumed, President Haskell and his friends went to watch once the game began.

  “Terrell, how was your morning?” Coach Hathaway said, greeting him as he and Coach Bennett walked up. “If you didn’t get enough food, there is plenty here to eat.” He pointed to a buffet table on the far side of the room right in front of another picture window. There were no fewer than six people lined up to serve food.

  One thing about attending the U of A, Terrell thought, I’ll never starve. “I enjoyed meeting the guys,” he said as he and Coach Hathaway shook hands. “They were great.”

  “Well, come on over and meet Dr. Haskell,” Coach Hathaway said. “He told me he was going to fire me if he didn’t get to meet you before kickoff.”

  Terrell laughed, and they walked over to where a small man in a gray suit, wearing (naturally) a red shirt and a red-and-black tie, was standing with several people. As soon as Dr. Haskell saw Terrell coming, he broke off his conversation. “Grant, it’s about time!” he said in a drawl so Southern that Terrell thought he might be acting. “Terrell, I’m Wayne Haskell, and it is an honor to have y’all here at the U of A. Come on over and meet some folks.”

  He had grasped Terrell’s hand and wouldn’t let go, dragging him in the direction of the folks who wanted to meet him. Or was it “him-all”? Terrell wasn’t sure. The next few minutes were a whirlwind of names. Terrell didn’t even try to keep up. He just kept repeating “Very nice to meet you” until he thought his tongue and his arm were going to fall off.

  After Dr. Haskell had finally introduced him to the last couple in the informal receiving line, he took Terrell by the arm and steered him to the front of the box, where they had some breathing room. He waved an arm in the direction of the field and the view. “Like it?” he asked.

  “It’s spectacular,” Terrell said.

  “On
ce we move up to play with the big boys, we’ll expand and sell the place out every Saturday,” Haskell said. “We’re playing South Carolina next year, you know. Wanted to play Georgia Tech, but they’re afraid of us.”

  Terrell figured if he kept smiling and nodding, that would be enough. If it bothered Haskell that he wasn’t oohing and aahing, he didn’t show it.

  “You know, Terrell, I leave athletics to my athletics people,” he continued, changing subjects without missing a beat. “I pay Grant a lot of money, and he’s worth every penny. You should have seen the way our fund-raising skyrocketed last spring after we made the Sweet Sixteen.”

  He had now pushed up very close so he could whisper in his ear as best he could since he was about a foot shorter than Terrell. “Grant tells me you’re the guy who will put us over the top. He’s never said that about a player before. He’s gushed about guys who he said would make us better and get us to the places we’ve already been. But when he told me you were coming to visit us, he said, ‘Dr. Haskell, this is the guy. We get Terrell, we’re going to the Final Four.’ ”

  Haskell paused as if he was letting the weight of those words sink in. “Ever been to the Final Four, Terrell?” he asked at last.

  “No sir.”

  “I have. They put seventy-five thousand people in a dome to watch basketball. Can you imagine that? If you take the U of A to a Final Four, I can tell you without hesitation that your future is assured.”

  That got Terrell’s attention. What exactly was the distinguished president of a major university saying to him? “My future will be assured?” he repeated.

  Haskell nodded. “You know how much money there is right here in this box? A lot of these people could buy and sell most NBA owners. Ask our players how appreciative they were last year. This is a dream world for a basketball player, son. You have my word on that.”

  Terrell was a little bit stunned. President Haskell had just offered him a massive bribe. On the other hand, he hadn’t technically offered him anything—which proved that he was no dummy. If Terrell went public and said, “Dr. Haskell offered me a bribe,” the first question would be, “What, exactly, did he offer you?”

  The answer to that would be, “Well, he said people would be very appreciative if we got to the Final Four and that the U of A was a dream world for a basketball player.”

  Part of Terrell wanted to ask Haskell to be specific so he could take the information back to Bobby Kelleher. But he knew it was pointless. Haskell wasn’t going to make that mistake and, even if he did, unless Terrell had him on tape, he’d just deny it. Before he could respond at all, Coach Hathaway returned, carrying a heaping plate of food.

  “Terrell, figured you should eat something before kickoff,” he said. “Dr. Haskell, what’d I tell you?”

  “Great young man!” Dr. Haskell said. “You were a hundred percent right, Grant. I say, let’s sign him up right now.”

  Haskell turned to Terrell. “What do you say, Terrell, you want to make your commitment to U of A right now?”

  Terrell did his best to smile. “I think if I committed to anyone without checking with my mom, she’d kill me,” he said.

  “Where’s your mama?” Dr. Haskell asked, looking around. “Didn’t you bring her?”

  “No sir. She’s back home.”

  Dr. Haskell said, “Well, next time you come down, I want your mama here as my personal guest. We Southern men understand about treating your mama right.”

  Another non-bribe?

  “Come on, Terrell, let’s find you a place to sit down and eat,” Coach Hathaway said, which sounded very good to Terrell.

  Dr. Haskell shook his hand and gave him a hug.

  These people, Terrell noticed, were big huggers.

  “I want you in the U of A family, Terrell,” Dr. Haskell said. “You are just the kind of student-athlete we want here. I know this will be the right place for you. I can tell just talking to you.”

  “Yes sir,” Terrell said, wondering exactly how much Dr. Haskell knew about his record as a student. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Anything—I mean, anything—I can do to help, you let me know.”

  Terrell knew he meant that. Just like everyone else did.

  NINETEEN

  Terrell breathed a deep sigh of relief the next morning when Coach Hathaway gave him a hug (naturally) as he dropped him off at the curb in front of the airport terminal.

  Coach Hathaway wanted to walk him to his gate, but Terrell told him it was really okay, he didn’t have to go to the trouble. He was surprised and relieved when the coach didn’t argue with him. Danny had texted that his connecting flight from Nashville had left on time and that he would meet Terrell at the gate for the flight back to Boston.

  Terrell couldn’t wait to tell Danny about all the “helpful” folks he had met in Atlanta. There had been more of them at the party the players had taken him to Saturday night after the football game. During the game, various professors and deans had taken turns sitting with him, along with several other boosters. All of them wanted to tell him why the U of A was the place for him.

  After Atlanta had beaten Delaware, 17–13, he had been taken out to dinner—this time at Morton’s—by several of the players. If anyone paid for the meal, he didn’t see it happen.

  “Don’t we need to pay?” he had asked James Tennyson as they were getting up to leave.

  Tennyson laughed. “Already taken care of, buddy. One thing about coming to the U of A, you needn’t worry about bringing any cash with you.”

  They had gone from there to an off-campus party at some kind of club where there were two guys who weighed at least three hundred pounds apiece standing at the door.

  They hugged and high-fived Tennyson, who was Terrell’s official escort, and then did the same with Terrell.

  “Bouncers?” Terrell asked as they walked inside a room that was so loud, he knew there was going to be no way to talk the rest of the night.

  “Football players,” Tennyson screamed back. “The linemen rotate on the door to make sure no one comes in we don’t want.”

  Terrell looked around and saw that just about every male in the room appeared to be an athlete and every female a future runway model. As if reading his mind, Tennyson shouted, “Dudes don’t let in any girl that’s less than a nine.”

  If he was joking, Terrell didn’t see any evidence of it.

  Tennyson led him to a table in back that had been commandeered by several basketball players and several of the women who had passed the “nine” test. There was a good deal more hugging, much of it from the women.

  One, who was introduced to him as China, told him he would be the most popular guy on campus the day he arrived.

  “What about these other guys?” Terrell asked.

  “Everyone says you’ll be the best player we’ve ever had here,” China told him. “Best player gets the best girls. Of course.”

  The rest of the night was more of the same. Terrell had to admit that the attention from China and her friends was a lot more fun than the attention he’d received from Dr. Haskell and his friends. He couldn’t help but wonder if these were all U of A students.

  At one point, when the throbbing music had been turned down for a little while, he asked a girl who’d been introduced to him as Destiny if that was her real name.

  “Destiny Marie Watson,” she said. “I’ll show you my driver’s license if you want.”

  “What’s your major?” he asked.

  “Marketing,” she answered. “I’m on the volleyball team.”

  He could easily look at the school website to see if Destiny Watson was on the team. When he thought about it, it wasn’t that much of a stretch on a campus of fifteen thousand that twenty or twenty-five great-looking women would show up at a party thrown by the campus jocks.

  At midnight, Terrell mentioned that he had to be up early to make his 9:45 flight. Grudgingly, Tennyson agreed to take him back to the hotel. It took another fifteen minutes at th
e door, what with all the hugging and promising to stay in touch.

  “So this is a typical Saturday night around here?” Terrell asked as they walked to Tennyson’s car.

  “Nah, when we’re playing and we win, then it really gets wild,” Tennyson said.

  He stopped and looked Terrell in the eye. “Listen, man, everything I hear, you’re probably only going to college for one year,” he said. “You pick a place like Duke or North Carolina, you’re going to have to go to class, keep up your grades—stuff like that. Here, you’ll just have a great time, go to parties like this one every weekend, never have to worry about anything except winning games and fighting off the ladies.”

  “What if I want to actually graduate?”

  Tennyson laughed. “Then you shouldn’t go here.”

  He unlocked the car and started to climb in. Terrell had one more question. “If going to school here is about fighting off the ladies, how come you’re leaving with me?”

  Tennyson smiled at him as he pulled the door shut. “Soon as I drop you off,” he said, “I’m going back.”

  Right, thought Terrell. I knew that.…

  As promised, Danny was waiting at the gate, reading the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. When he saw Terrell coming, he stood up to greet him.

  Terrell put out his hand quickly and said, “You know I love you, man, but please don’t hug me. I can’t take any more hugging.”

  Danny laughed. “That bad?” he said.

  “Worse,” Terrell said. “Tell me about Vanderbilt.”

  “Loved it,” Danny said. “The players are good, smart guys. I think I’d fit in. Coach Stallings seems like a straight shooter. He told me he thought I could play for them but that he’ll have two senior guards next year and I’d probably be fighting for minutes behind them. I already knew that, but he didn’t try to BS me about it.… I did find out something pretty interesting after what Kelleher told us last week.”

  “What’s that?” asked Terrell.

  “They were recruiting Alex Mayer early on. He was very interested until the summer. Then when they tried to contact him about making a home visit, he told them he’d narrowed his list and they weren’t on it.”