Foul Trouble

by John Feinstein

  “I know,” he said. “I just wonder sometimes…” He trailed off, not sure he could actually say this out loud.

  “Wonder what?”

  “I wonder if the guys who say I’m crazy to not even consider some of the offers I’m getting have a point. I mean, maybe it does make sense to get paid now—while I’m healthy and people want me. If someone’s willing to set us up for life right now and can guarantee we’d get the money even if I got hurt, why take the risk of getting hurt again and ending up with nothing?”

  She didn’t answer for a while. “What would Danny say to that?” she asked at last.

  “He’d say if I take the money now, these guys will own me, and he’s probably right. But what’s the difference if they own me now or later? I will sign with an agent someday. I will sign with an NBA team and a shoe company and maybe more. I know it’s against the NCAA’s rules—but it’s not illegal. And from all I’ve heard, even the NCAA doesn’t really want to catch guys like me. They only go after non-stars, so there’s less of a scandal. If the people making the rules are corrupt, do I still have to follow the rules?”

  His mom narrowed her eyes. “Terrell, I hear what you’re saying. But I can also hear you—and you sound like someone who is trying very hard to convince himself that what he’s saying is right.”

  Terrell groaned and put his head down on the kitchen table. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to think anymore.”

  She sighed and reached over and rubbed his shoulder. “I never thought that being good at something would be so difficult,” she said. “When you were little, I always hoped you would find a niche, something that would make you happy. I never dreamed that finding that niche would come with so many terrible choices.… I just want you to do something that you love doing.”

  “Mom, I do love playing basketball. But getting paid to do something you love isn’t necessarily a bad thing, is it?”

  “No,” she said quietly. “No, it’s not.”

  Danny’s prediction that all of Terrell’s super friends would be back turned out to be accurate—in spades. He had forgotten that the NCAA had opened a new recruiting window for coaches during the last two weeks in February, allowing them to go on the road before March Madness cranked up.

  It was impossible not to notice the star-studded lineup spread around the gym when they went out to warm up before the Concord game. Since it was a Tuesday, a night when only a handful of college teams had games, none of the schools recruiting Terrell had just sent assistants. The big-name head coaches were all there: Mike Krzyzewski, Roy Williams, Steve Alford, Grant Hathaway, and Mike Todd—the five finalists in the Terrell sweepstakes. They weren’t alone, though, Danny noticed. Kevin Stallings from Vanderbilt was there, and so were Mike Lonergan from George Washington and Tommy Amaker from Harvard. They were there, he knew, to see him one more time. Several other big-name coaches wandered in—perhaps, Danny thought, to get an early look at James Nix.

  And then there were the usual suspects: the dudes, who had been completely absent during Terrell’s absence, were there, and so were the shoe company reps and the agents. There were others in suits that Danny didn’t recognize. Clearly, Terrell-mania was back in full force. The national signing date was only a few weeks away. It occurred to Danny as he went through the layup line that he had been so focused on Terrell’s health the last few weeks that he hadn’t made any real progress toward his own decision.

  In a sense, the game was a disappointment. Everyone had been waiting to play Concord again since the loss in January. This game was, if nothing else, concrete proof of how much Terrell meant to the team—if there had been any doubt at all beforehand.

  For some reason, Coach Stephenson started the game trying to guard Terrell one-on-one, putting Terry Schaefer, his six-foot ten-inch center, behind Terrell in the low post. But Terrell was much too quick for Schaefer. Danny made no pretense of even trying to run an offense. Instead, he simply threw the ball in to Terrell, who made poor Schaefer look silly. Terrell might have scored every point for Lexington in the first quarter if not for a couple of Concord turnovers and run-outs by the Minutemen that led to fast-break baskets. By the time the first quarter was over, Lexington led, 24–7, and Terrell had 16 points.

  “Terrell, he’s got to double you sooner or later,” Coach Wilcox said at the end of the quarter. “As soon as you see it, find your shooters on the perimeter.”

  As the second quarter started, Concord did begin double-teaming Terrell, but perhaps Coach Stephenson hadn’t been so crazy to try to guard him with one player at the start. At least that way, Lexington was only scoring two points a possession. When they double-teamed him, Terrell found Danny or Nix consistently open for three-point attempts, most of which they buried. By halftime it was 52–20.

  The final score was 89–56. Basketball game over. Let the recruiting game begin.

  Which it did as soon as Danny and Terrell had showered and changed and emerged from the locker room. The media had returned too. During the time that Terrell was injured, there hadn’t been more than a handful of reporters at the games: the school paper, the local weekly paper, and a blogger or two. It was as if Lexington had ceased to exist outside the town limits.

  No more. Coach Wilcox had to enlist some of the school staff to handle the renewed media onslaught. Terrell and Danny were led to a riser where two microphones awaited them.

  “Maybe we should sing a song or two,” Danny said to Terrell as they walked onto the riser.

  “How about ‘Can’t Get No Satisfaction’?” Terrell suggested with a grin.

  Instead, they went through the usual battery of questions—most directed at Terrell. Once he had assured people that his 35-point, 15-rebound, 11-assist performance did, in fact, mean that he felt pretty good, the questions about his future began.

  “Are you any closer to making a college choice?” asked a tall blond woman who was wearing impossibly high heels.

  “I guess I’m closer in that it’s late February and I hope to decide by early April,” Terrell said. “I can promise everyone that as soon as I know where I’m going, I’ll tell you, if only so people will stop asking me.”

  “Did you ever worry your career might be over, given the nature of your injury?” asked another reporter.

  “Not really,” Terrell said. “But mostly because I forced myself not to think about it.”

  He had been prepared for the question. What surprised him was how badly he felt lying about it. He had thought about it constantly.

  The questions went on like that for a couple more minutes before someone asked Danny if he was close to making a college choice.

  “Yes, I am,” Danny said. “I have decided I definitely want to go to college.”

  That got a laugh and gave the teacher who was more or less running the press conference the chance to thank everyone for coming and wrap it up.

  Danny and Terrell were heading for the door when they realized there was no way to escape without going through the gauntlet of Terrell’s many, many admirers.

  “Maybe we should go back downstairs and slip out the back,” Danny suggested.

  “No point,” Terrell said. “They’ll follow us to Nettie’s.”

  They waded in.

  Mostly it was handshakes and congratulations and “Glad-to-see-you-back” hugs. Terrell hated the hugs.

  Danny saw Tommy Amaker and Kevin Stallings and started to go over to say hello.

  Amaker held up a hand. “If I could talk to you right now, Danny, I’d tell you that Kevin and I aren’t allowed to talk to you,” he said. “I’d also tell you, nice playing. But obviously I can’t talk to you because of the no-bump rule.”

  “You’d just want me to know you were here, right?” Danny said, smiling.

  “Right,” Amaker said. “I’d also want you to know I can’t be here Friday, but I’ll be pulling for you because I know how important that game is.”

  “And if I could talk to you,” Stallings said, “I’d wa
nt you to know that I flew up from Nashville as opposed to driving over from Cambridge. But you’d probably know that anyway. Not that I would bring that up, even if I could talk to you.”

  They all laughed, and Danny waved a hand in a non-goodbye. Terrell was completely surrounded by agents and shoe company reps—some whom Danny recognized, others whom he didn’t. New players in the game. Standing on the outside of the circle, Danny noticed the dudes watching pensively.

  Maurice glanced over and saw him staring. He and Danny exchanged glares for a moment. Maurice looked away first.

  Maybe now that his human ATM machine was back in service, Maurice wasn’t as eager to confront Danny again. Still, Danny didn’t think they were finished by a long shot.

  The school was humming with anticipation the next three days.

  The game on Friday with Waltham would decide the league championship and who would advance to the sectionals. There were four sectionals held around the state, and the winner of each sectional would advance to the state championship series at the TD Gardens in Boston, the home arena of the Celtics.

  It snowed on Wednesday but not enough to create a snow day. It took a blizzard to call school off in Lexington. A little three-inch storm just meant everyone stayed inside at lunchtime.

  By Friday, the bad weather had moved out and a warm front came through, sending the temperatures soaring into the fifties. Since seniors didn’t have to stay in school for lunch, Danny and Laurie decided to take a walk. There was an old-fashioned drugstore about four blocks from the school that had very good hamburgers and milkshakes. Danny was craving a chocolate milkshake.

  “You sure it’s okay for you to eat like this on the day of a game?” she said as they walked over.

  “It’s noon. We play at seven. I’ll be fine. Since when did you start worrying about basketball?”

  “Since I started dating you,” she answered. “Heck, even Valerie is paying attention. I think she was more nervous Tuesday night than you guys were.”

  Danny laughed. “My dad always says it’s harder to watch than to play or coach, because you can’t do anything.” He knew, though, that there was more to it than that. While he and Laurie had fun together, Terrell and Valerie had gotten serious—very serious. He could tell by the way they acted around each other and by the way Terrell talked about her. He even seemed jealous that Danny might be going to Harvard with her and he wasn’t.

  They were still joking about Valerie’s nerves when they pulled open the door to Peggy’s. Peggy herself was behind the cash register when Danny and Laurie walked in. “No booths open,” she said when she saw them. “There’s one table, I think, in the back. Or there’s room at the counter.”

  “We’ll sit in the back,” Danny said. “Thanks.” He spotted the empty table and was about to point Laurie in that direction when he saw who was sitting around the large table at the very back of the room.

  There were at least ten people in the party. Danny didn’t recognize all of them, but he didn’t need to. Paul Judson was looking directly at him. He was flanked by Billy Tommasino and Stan Montana. Next to Montana was the U of A Coach Grant Hathaway, and directly opposite Hathaway was Maurice.

  It was the person sitting next to Hathaway, the one clearly trying to duck his head when he saw Danny, who brought Danny up short. Barrett Stephenson.

  Bobby Kelleher had told them that Coach Stephenson was likely in Athena’s pocket. But Danny had been so distracted by the dudes that he’d lost track of him. Now here they all were together…

  Without saying a word to Laurie, Danny headed straight for the table. “So what brings all of you to town?” he said, looking straight at Coach Stephenson.

  “Danny, don’t overreact the way you do,” Coach Stephenson said. “This is just a bunch of basketball guys having lunch, nothing more.”

  “Sure it is,” Danny said. “And all of you just want to help Terrell in any way you can.”

  “Is that so hard to believe?” Paul Judson said. “Yes, we’re all in the basketball business. That doesn’t mean we don’t have the best interests of players at heart.”

  “Oh, please,” Danny said. “Where were all of you when Terrell was hurt?”

  “Recruiting rules didn’t allow me to leave town,” Grant Hathaway said. “You know that, Danny. None of the coaches recruiting you were in town during that time, either. They couldn’t be.”

  “I’m not talking about you, Coach. I’m talking about the rest of these sycophants.”

  “Big word, white boy,” Maurice said. “But maybe you should stop running that mouth of yours before someone gets hurt.”

  “You want to fight again, Maurice?” Danny said. “How ’bout just you and me outside where no one else can get hurt.”

  Maurice smiled and shook his head. “Nah, I’m not gonna fight you again.” He glanced over at Laurie and cocked an eyebrow. “But I know you and Terrell don’t want to see anyone else get hurt.”

  Coach Stephenson stood up to get between Danny and Maurice. “Both of you, stop it,” he said. “No one’s getting hurt. Danny, you have my word that I’m only here to help Terrell. So is everyone else at this table.”

  Danny laughed angrily. “That’s a good one, Coach,” he said. “Where’s Terrell, then? While you’re all plotting about how to help him?” He turned to Laurie. “Let’s go. There’s a bad smell back here.”

  Danny was still shaken when he and Laurie walked back to school. They were arguing about whether he should let Terrell know what they had seen.

  “Let it go, Danny,” she said—for about the fifth time. “Telling Terrell won’t accomplish anything. You’ll only upset him right before the biggest game of the year.”

  “He should know,” Danny argued.

  “And you’ll let him know—tomorrow,” she said.

  Danny finally decided she was right, mostly. “I’ll wait until after the game,” he said as they walked back into school. “But he’s gonna know before he leaves the locker room.”

  “Fine,” she said. “Unless you lose. Then let it wait.”

  He gave her a sharp look. “We’re not losing,” he said. “We lose, and the season’s over.”

  Laurie just nodded.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I just don’t want to see you too down if by some remote chance you lose tonight,” she said. “It’s not the end of the world, you know.” She slid her hand inside his. “You’ve still got a lot that’s good in your life.” She smiled, showing her dimples.

  He tried to smile back and couldn’t do it. “I know you’re right,” he said. “But losing isn’t an option tonight.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Danny knew that losing wasn’t an option. But clearly the Waltham team felt exactly the same way.

  Waltham Coach Jack Kvancz had been at the school for about a hundred years and had twice won state championships. This wasn’t one of his best teams, but the Hawks were still 20–5 and 17–2 in league play. The Minutemen had played three extra games because of the Christmas tournament so they were 26–2 overall but also 17–2 in the league. The winner would go on to sectionals the following week. The loser would start looking forward to spring break.

  Kvancz knew what had happened to Concord in its rematch with Lexington on Tuesday. He knew with Terrell in the lineup his team would probably suffer a similar fate if it came out and tried to play straight-up basketball.

  So it didn’t.

  Every time the Hawks had the ball, they made no attempt to get into their offense until the shot clock was under ten seconds. On a couple of occasions they didn’t get a shot off, but on a number of others they managed to find a good shot with the clock under five seconds. Playing good defense, staying in a stance for thirty seconds on every possession, was tiring. Danny was just glad that Massachusetts was one of a handful of states that had a shot clock. Otherwise, Lexington might never have touched the ball.

  At the other end of the court, Kvancz put his team into what Danny’s dad called
a junk defense, meaning there were two players around Terrell at all times. There was no dropping down from the outside to double-team him, just two guys with him. The other three defenders guarded Danny, James Nix, and Monte Torre man to man. That meant that Alan Inwood was essentially unguarded. There was a reason for that: Inwood averaged under four points a game, and it showed in the first quarter, when he missed four straight wide-open shots.

  It was 11–11 at the quarter and 21–21 at halftime. Coach Wilcox kept trying different players in Inwood’s place, but they weren’t much better offensively. He moved Terrell away from the basket to clear some space, and that helped because it gave Danny and James some room to operate, but they were still having trouble denying Waltham good shots at the end of the clock.

  The game crawled into the fourth quarter. The crowd, which had been crazed at the beginning, was now tense, almost imploring the Minutemen to figure out a way to pull away from Waltham.

  It wasn’t happening. When Corey Allenson hit a three with the shot clock at one second, Waltham opened the biggest lead of the game, 41–36, with fifty-three seconds to play. Coach Wilcox called time-out.

  “Okay, here’s the deal,” he said. “Terrell or Danny has to be our shooter here. Danny, you’re bringing the ball up. Everyone else is on the baseline. Terrell, you come out to screen”—he was drawing this on his grease board as he spoke—“and Danny, if the shot’s there, take it. If someone switches, it will be one of Terrell’s guys. Then you get him the ball, and Terrell you go in there and dunk it as hard as you possibly can. They’ll foul you, I promise. But you’ve got to make the shot. We need three here, not two. Got it?”

  They all nodded. Danny noticed his dad was sweating.

  He brought the ball up as quickly as he could. He could almost hear the fear in the crowd’s noise. Kvancz had dropped his defense back, content to kill clock without risking a foul. Danny veered left near the key as Terrell popped out and set a hard screen on Allenson, who was guarding Danny. As soon as he did, one of the two guys guarding him switched, coming to get a hand in Danny’s face. Waltham didn’t want to give up a three right now.