Foul Trouble

by John Feinstein

  “The pizza’s good,” Danny said. “But that’s not what I like about it the most.”

  Felipe laughed. “Understood. Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “What are you, my bodyguard?”

  “Yeah,” Felipe said. “I guess I sort of am.”

  As it turned out, they were parked right next to each other behind the restaurant.

  “I’m sure you think I’m overreacting about this,” Felipe said as he unlocked his car door. “But you weren’t there last night. Maurice is pissed. And he’s crazy.”

  Danny nodded. He wasn’t looking forward to going home to a dark empty house.

  PART III

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Not yet, Terrell. Maybe next week.”

  Terrell groaned in disbelief. “Doc, it’s been a month. I feel fine.”

  Dr. Mazzocca shook his head. “You said you felt fine the first day you came in here, and when you stood up after I examined you, I had to catch you before you fell down.”

  Terrell stood up fast now. “Look, I just stood up and I’m fine.” In truth, he had felt the room spin just a little bit when he got up.

  “No, you don’t. I saw your eyes roll there for a second. I’m a doctor, remember?”

  Terrell sighed. Since his first visit to Dr. Mazzocca after returning from Washington, two things had been abundantly clear: The doctor knew what he was doing, and he wasn’t going to let Terrell play basketball until he was 100 percent sure that Terrell was 100 percent healthy.

  For a month now, Terrell had not been allowed to do anything more than shoot free throws. He wasn’t even allowed to dribble or pull up to shoot. Well, truth be told, he had tried it once when no one except Danny was around, and he had gotten light-headed.

  “Am I gonna play again this season? Tell me the truth.”

  “Sit down, Terrell,” Dr. Mazzocca said. “Yes, I think you’ll play. In fact, I think you might be okay in the next week or so. You’ve been better every time I’ve seen you, and that’s important. Sometimes people don’t get better for a long time. You stood up too fast there. But let’s try this: Play some easy one-on-one with your pal Danny after practice tomorrow and see how that feels. But don’t keep playing if you feel dizzy at all. How’s that for a deal?”

  Terrell nodded. “You really think I’m ready for that?”

  “I do. But you have to go slow. No dunks, nothing really physical. And remember: You aren’t in playing shape right now, so don’t play too long, even if you feel good.”

  “And if I feel okay?”

  “Like I said, come back next week. I’ll run you through the tests again and see how you do.”

  “The sectionals start in three weeks.”

  “I know, Terrell. Last week you told me they started in four weeks. Now, do me a favor, stand up slowly, walk out of here, and try to remember your basketball career is about more than the sectionals.”

  Terrell nodded. “You’re right. The states are more important. But we have to win the sectionals first.”

  Dr. Mazzocca smiled at that one. “Patience, Terrell,” he said. “Patience. That’s the most important word in your life right now.”

  “Sectionals, Doc,” Terrell said. “Sectionals. That’s the most important word in your life right now.”

  Terrell would never say it to anyone, not even Danny, but he had sort of enjoyed his forced respite from basketball.

  Well, once his mom had stopped fussing over him quite so much.

  Coach Wilcox had told him not to come to practice, in part because he knew how much it would frustrate him to sit and watch but also because he thought his time was better spent doing other things.

  School suddenly became easy. His friends were all at practice, so he would go home after classes were finished and get his homework done right away. He had to take breaks because if he read or sat at the computer for too long, he would start to feel a little bit dizzy. But with all the extra time, that was no problem.

  He had also been able to spend more time with Valerie. She didn’t work on Mondays or Tuesdays and had at least half a day free on weekends. On game nights, Terrell would go to watch Lexington play, and then he and Danny, and most of the other guys on the team, would head for Nettie’s.

  The tough part of game nights was that, not surprisingly, Lexington struggled without him. In their first game without Terrell, Concord kept things close. Danny had to force a shot at the buzzer and it rimmed out, leaving the Minutemen 55–54 losers.

  Three nights later at Waltham, Danny and James both got into foul trouble. Terrell was convinced the officials were trying to give Waltham—the team with the best chance to challenge Lexington if Terrell was healthy—every break possible. With Danny, James, and Terrell all watching for most of the evening, Waltham blew the game open and won, 71–57.

  Danny and Terrell had a long talk that night while sitting in a back booth at Nettie’s. Both of them were amused by the fact that there was almost no one around. There had been virtually no sign of the dudes since the fight in Washington. The only coaches showing up were from the schools recruiting Danny. Terrell was still getting a steady stream of texts, though.

  Hey, T, can’t wait to see you back playing—Coach H

  Terrell, know your teammates want to see you back soon—Wojo

  (Coach K, he had learned, didn’t know how to text.)

  T-man: Hear you may be back soon. Don’t lose faith in yourself—Coach Williams

  Kelleher had come to see him to give him a pep talk as much as anything else. He said he was “close” to being ready to write his story. But Terrell wasn’t in a position to help him anymore—the agents were nowhere to be found. Ditto for the apparel reps and the money managers.

  “You know, I can honestly say I haven’t missed any of them. If there was a way to somehow play and not have any of these people around, life would be perfect,” Terrell said.

  Danny laughed. “Well, you could just play badly,” he said. “That would keep them away.”

  Terrell shook his head, suddenly serious. “This is killing me. I sit and watch the games and I want to sneak into my uniform and get out there because I figure that even if I’m fifty percent, I could help.”

  “You could help. But that’s not the point, and you know it. We’ll hang in there until you get back.”

  “We have to win the league to make the sectionals. Another loss and we’re in trouble.”

  “We’ll get Waltham and Concord at home at the end of the season and even things up. You’ll be back by then. I promise.”

  “Don’t make promises that aren’t in your control.”

  Valerie’s shift had ended a little early, and she slid into the booth next to Terrell. “You tell him?” she said.

  “Tell me what?” Danny said, looking at her quizzically.

  “Nothing,” Terrell said. He had had an idea, but he’d decided to talk to Coach Wilcox before mentioning it to Danny.

  “You tell me right now, Terrell, or I swear—”

  “Okay, okay.” Terrell held a hand up. He knew Danny wouldn’t be put off. “I was just noticing some things during the game. And I had some ideas for how you should change the offense.”

  “Like how?” Danny asked.

  “Coach is still running the same plays as if I’m out there. Tommy Bonk is a good guy, but let’s face it…”

  “He’s not you or even close to you.”

  “Right. You’re the best player we’ve got right now.”

  “There’s James—”

  Terrell shook his head. “No. James is good, but you are our best player. Your dad has to set more high screens to get you shots, and he’s got to bring Tommy away from the basket more to open up space for you. Everything needs to run through you, from the start of the offense to whenever you decide whether to pull up or get in the lane and create from there.”

  “He doesn’t want to do that.”

  “I know, and I know why—because he doesn’t want it to loo
k like he’s trying to make his son the star. I get it. But he has to think like a coach and not a dad. He’s always done that when you screw up. He’s got to do it now because it’s the best thing for the team.” Terrell could see Danny turning things over in his mind. He could tell by the look on Danny’s face that he’d struck a chord.

  But Danny just said, “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I do,” said Terrell, suddenly becoming even more sure. “Look, I’m going to talk to him. So be ready to work on some new plays, because you’ve only got two days to practice before we play Sudbury on Tuesday.”

  Danny smiled. “You’re pretty pushy for someone who hasn’t scored a point since New Year’s.”

  Terrell smiled back. “And who do you think I learned that from?”

  Three nights later, Danny scored 31 points and had 10 assists, and Lexington, with its new Danny-in-charge offense, buried Sudbury, 81–60.

  Terrell went down to the locker room after the game. He had been staying away, wanting to give the guys space, but Danny had texted him before the game and told him the guys missed him. Coach Wilcox was standing at the door with his assistant coach Joe Kress giving the players a minute to celebrate, as he always did after wins. When he saw Terrell, he broke away and came over and wrapped him in a hug. “Coach Jamerson,” he said. “Come on inside for a second. We’ve got something for you.”

  Coach Wilcox picked up a ball and gathered everyone around. “Fellas, that was a great win. Every one of you played about as well as I could possibly ask you to play. Especially you, Danny.”

  Terrell didn’t think he’d ever seen Danny blush quite so deeply.

  “Now,” Coach Wilcox continued, “you all know we changed our offense for this game, and you executed brilliantly. But we never would have gone this route without Terrell’s bold new vision, and, frankly, relentless badgering.”

  Now it was Terrell’s turn to blush.

  “So, Terrell”—Coach Wilcox paused and flipped him the ball he had been holding—“this is for you from all of us. No one ever deserved a game ball more.”

  Terrell was so surprised, he almost dropped the ball. Everyone was clapping, and he didn’t know what to say. Then he did: “I couldn’t have done it without my players.”

  Everyone cracked up.

  After that night, the Minutemen went on a tear. Some of the games were down-to-the-buzzer nail-biters. Others they won easily. But one way or another, they were keeping their season alive—waiting, praying for Terrell to come back.…

  Terrell’s one-on-one workouts with Danny had gone well, though they’d hardly proved he was ready to play.

  Which is why he was surprised when Dr. Mazzocca smiled after his weekly exam and said, “Almost.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Stand up quickly.”

  Terrell did as he was told. He felt nothing.

  “Sit down and then stand up again.”

  He sat down, then stood up. Nothing. “I feel fine,” he said.

  “That’s what I thought,” Dr. Mazzocca said. “If you walked in here right now and I ran all the tests and I didn’t know you’d had a concussion, I would never suspect you’d had one.”

  “So I can start practicing?” Terrell said, realizing his heart had skipped a beat.

  Dr. Mazzocca shook his head. “No, not yet. But you can start running and you can play real one-on-one with Danny. If you don’t have any setbacks in the next week, I think you’ll be ready for a real practice.”

  Terrell nodded. If he was cleared in a week, he would have two days to practice before the game with Billerica—a game the Minutemen should win easily. That would mean he’d be really ready to go for the two season-ending games against Concord and Waltham that were must-wins to get into the sectionals.

  “Which means that, yes, you should be able to play the last three games of the regular season,” Dr. Mazzocca added, reading his mind.

  “Why am I better today?” Terrell asked.

  Dr. Mazzocca shrugged. “Your body has healed. Some people never completely heal from a concussion like the one you had. Others can recover in a week. You’ve done the right things, we’ve been cautious, and it looks like it’s working out. The reason I want to wait, besides being careful, is I want you to go back out there feeling completely confident that you’re healed. In a week, after you play some more one-on-one and feel the way you feel now, you’ll be more comfortable going out to play. I don’t want you timid when you start playing again. I want you to be Terrell.”

  “Doc, I never knew you were a fan.”

  “I’m a fan of keeping good kids healthy,” Dr. Mazzocca said. “And I did graduate from Lexington once upon a time.”

  The following Friday was the best night Terrell could remember having since he had first started being noticed nationally. It was Valentine’s Day, and Valerie and Laurie both had the night off and were in the stands when Billerica came to town.

  Even though the team had been instructed not to say anything, the whole town seemed to know that Terrell was coming back. The gym was already packed when the team came out to warm up thirty minutes before tipoff, and the entire crowd was on its feet screaming as soon as they saw Terrell in uniform. He spotted at least a dozen signs that said “Welcome back, Terrell” or something like it as he went through the layup line.

  “Maybe my dad should start Bonk and really mess with them,” Danny said as they jogged through early warm-ups.

  “Shut up, Danny,” Terrell said.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Danny said. “Some of the older folks might have heart failure if you sit on the bench.”

  “I might have heart failure if I sit on the bench.”

  He did end up sitting—but only in the fourth quarter.

  Coach Wilcox ran Terrell’s favorite play to start the game—a pick-and-roll. He came up to the foul line to set a screen and then rolled to the basket, looking up into the air to see that Danny had put the ball right where he could bound into the air, grab it, and dunk it.

  As Terrell came down, he heard the crowd explode and felt a surge of energy and power. God, he thought, I can’t believe how much I’ve missed that feeling.

  The whole night was like that. Billerica wasn’t very good and had no chance to guard Terrell. When the Indians tried to double-team him, he found open teammates for easy shots. By halftime, both of Billerica’s big men had fouled out and Terrell had 25 points. At the end of the third quarter, Coach Wilcox pulled all the starters with the score 75–35. Even with JV players in the game for most of the fourth quarter, the final score was 89–52.

  There wasn’t a single moment when Terrell thought about or worried about his concussion. He was completely comfortable running up and down the court, although he got tired a little quicker than normal. He’d need to build his stamina back up.

  When he and Danny sat down on the bench at the start of the fourth quarter, Danny asked him how he felt.

  “Great,” Terrell said. “It’s almost as if it never happened.”

  “Too bad,” Danny said.

  “Too bad?”

  “Yeah. I guarantee you come Tuesday night, all your old friends are going to be back in force.”

  Even so, Terrell couldn’t stop smiling. For now, he was just happy to be a basketball player again.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Terrell was surprised to find his mother sitting at the kitchen table when he got home that night. She had never been one to wait up for him. But here she was, after midnight, sitting in her bathrobe, with a glass of milk and a couple of the chocolate cookies she liked in front of her.

  “Everything okay?” he asked as he shucked his coat.

  “Fine,” she said, smiling. “I guess I was a little wound up from the game. Couldn’t sleep, so I came down to get something to drink.”

  “And eat,” he said, pointing at the cookies.

  “Guilty,” she said.

  He went to the refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of water, and sat d
own across from her.

  “Did you have a good time?” she asked.

  “Oh yeah. Went to Nettie’s. It was nice because the super friends didn’t know I was playing tonight.” Terrell and his mom had taken to calling all the hangers-on the super friends somewhere along the way in honor of a cartoon he had watched as a kid. “So it was just the guys on the team and—”

  “Valerie and Laurie.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I like Valerie,” she said.

  He had introduced them just before the Washington trip, and his mom had dealt with the idea of his first serious girlfriend far better than he’d imagined. The fact that Valerie was brilliant and not a basketball groupie probably didn’t hurt.

  “She likes you too,” he said. “She says I need the two of you to balance things out, because the men in my life only ever think about basketball.”

  “I’ve heard there are other things in the world,” his mom deadpanned.

  “Who knew?” Terrell shook his head.

  There was silence for a moment, and then Terrell said something he hadn’t planned on saying—something he hadn’t even fully admitted to himself. “Mom, I’m a little scared.”

  “Of what?” she said, clearly surprised.

  “Getting hurt again.”

  She nodded and thought. “I know it scared me to get a call from a hospital. I think my heart rate has just about gone back to normal.… But your concussion was a fluke. Bad luck.… There’s no reason to think it will happen again.”

  “All injuries are a fluke,” he said. “Omar’s fall was a fluke. He’d made that move a thousand times before and been fine.”

  “But that serious an injury, one where you can never play again—that’s rare. The kind you’ve just been through is more common—an injury where you just have to stop and give your body time to heal. It was scary, but you did get better. You’re fine now.”

  Terrell knew she was trying to be reassuring, but she was missing his point. “Yeah, but it could have gone the other way. There’s no guarantee I’ll always come back strong.”

  She grunted. “Terrell, honey, there are no guarantees in life. But that doesn’t mean you should live scared.”