by Ken Abraham
Since Union had never before played Gallatin, Coach Martin permitted Bill, Joe, Roy, and the other Union players to sit up in the stands during the first half of the Gallatin-Springfield matchup. Bill kept a close eye on Eddie as he went through his pregame routine and then practiced long set shots and jumpers.
Bill leaned in to Roy. “Whew, Eddie is like a machine on those long shots from outside the key.”
“We can’t worry about that,” Roy said. “If we play them, we just have to protect the inside.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Bill said as he glanced around the now-packed gymnasium. Bill recognized a number of the faces in the crowd. He rolled his eyes when he saw Mayor Knapp and the white mayors from the other towns posing for the obligatory pregame handshake photo. He also saw the Sherlin family seated together. Jim and Betty sat on the end of the bleachers, with Bo in his wheelchair on the floor, and Debbie and Delilah perched behind him. Bill located his mom and his sister, Delores, with Tyree sitting nearby with some friends in the Negro cluster, right behind the Union cheerleaders.
Missy and the Green Wave cheerleaders assembled on the sidelines in front of the Gallatin fans. Charles Hamilton Sr. and his wife munched on popcorn in the stands, along with several of their overdressed friends.
Across the court, Principal Herron stood rigidly in front of the door to the boys’ locker room, paying careful attention to everything going on around him. His eyes scanned the crowd looking for potential troublemakers. Union’s Principal Malone sat comfortably with his family on the third row of bleachers in the Negro section. Bill couldn’t help but notice big, boisterous Buddy Bruce standing in the first row of Gallatin seats, facing the crowd and leading a rousing cheer for Eddie. The piercing sound of the gymnasium buzzer broke Bill out of his reverie.
The referee tossed up the opening jump ball at midcourt, and Alton Rourke, Gallatin’s tall center, tipped it to Eddie, who ripped down court, stopped in front of one of the Yellow Jackets’ defenders, and fired a long jump shot from about twenty-five feet away. Swish! Gallatin scored first.
The Green Wave defense did its job, forcing Springfield to take several unwise shots before turning over the ball without even scoring. Meanwhile, Eddie hit for three more quick buckets, and the Green Wave rolled onward.
Springfield’s quick guards raced back and forth across the court, trying desperately to keep up with the powerful Gallatin offense, but once out in front, they were difficult to catch. At one point near the end of the first half, one of the Springfield forwards was dribbling the ball up court, just across the center line. Eddie swooped in for a steal, tapping the ball away from the forward and picking up the bounce, and then with almost supernatural spring in his legs, he took it all the way in for an unopposed easy two-pointer.
The crowd went wild. Even the Westmoreland and Union spectators grudgingly acknowledged Eddie’s incredible athleticism.
“Absolutely amazing!” Al unabashedly cheered into the WHIN microphone, momentarily forgetting all sense of neutrality in his broadcasting. “Eddie Sherlin was flying through the air for that bucket!”
When the Springfield coach called a time-out to slow down the Gallatin offense, Missy and her Green Wave cheerleaders strutted onto middle court, evoking a strong response from the already fired-up Gallatin crowd.
Eddie and his teammates didn’t need much encouraging. By halftime, the lighted scoreboards high on the walls at each end of the gym read: Gallatin 28, Springfield 17. The Yellow Jackets jogged off the court with their heads hanging low, while the Green Wave remained confident.
The second half produced more of the same, with the coaches yelling instructions, the fans cheering, and Eddie and the Green Wave putting on a show. Perspiration soaked their uniforms as the teams gathered on the sidelines during a time-out. The cheerleaders continued to work the crowd into a frenzy. It was high school basketball at its best.
The Yellow Jackets—continuously trailing behind Gallatin—grew desperate, taking more chances and fouling more frequently, as they lunged for the ball or fought for rebounds. At one point, the Springfield center purposely shoved Eddie. Eddie lost his footing and tumbled to the court, skidding several feet across the hardwood.
Bo, angry about the obvious infraction, shook his fists and strained in vain to get up out of his wheelchair. Buddy Bruce leaped to his feet and started down off the bleachers, ready to deck the guy who had shoved Eddie. It took four of Buddy’s friends to restrain him from jumping over the people in the first few rows and racing onto the court.
In his peripheral vision, while still on the floor, Eddie noticed the commotion Buddy was causing in the bleachers. He quickly bounced to his feet and waved Buddy back, motioning for him to sit down.
Eddie sank the foul shot then backpedaled down the court.
Springfield scored, and Alton brought the ball out to Eddie, who passed to Tim and then cut behind the man defending him. Tim saw Eddie’s move and fed him the ball on a high pass around midcourt. Eddie pulled down the ball and dribbled full tilt toward the top of the key. He faked to the left and cut back to the right, leaving the Springfield guard looking for him. Only one man stood between Eddie and the basket—the opposing center who had shoved him hard a minute or two earlier. Eddie went right at him, leaving his feet right in front of the center’s face. The center’s arms went up and he tried to block Eddie’s shot—but he didn’t stand a chance. Eddie rammed the ball right over the center’s head, banking it off the backboard, his body sending the guy sprawling on the floor up against the mats covering the back wall of the gym. The fans’ screams turned to cheers as the referee indicated that the bucket was good and called a foul on the Yellow Jackets’ center.
With absolute cool, Eddie stepped to the foul line, bounced the ball twice, and then let it rest in his palm. He felt the shot leave his hand and watched closely as it made its way through the net. Any spunk Springfield had left went down the drain as the ball split the cords. A few minutes later, the buzzer mercifully sounded and all the members of the Green Wave surrounded Eddie, slapping him on his back and hugging him. The final scoreboard said it all: Gallatin 58, Springfield 29.
Meanwhile, downstairs in the locker room, Bill, Roy, and Joe, who were getting ready for game two of the double bill, heard the final buzzer. They could tell by the crowd noise that nothing had greatly altered the outcome of the game since they had gone to change clothes. As Bill laced up his shoes, nobody needed to tell him that Gallatin was in the finals. But right now his primary concern was winning the game against Westmoreland and advancing his team to the finals.
Westmoreland was tough, and because they were Union’s strong rivals, everyone knew it was going to be a rough and tumble game.
Bill stood at center court waiting with the opposing center for the jump ball. He easily out-jumped the Westmoreland center, tipping the ball to Joe, who eased down the court, allowing the offense to set up and for Bill to get into position with his back to the basket.
Joe snapped a hard pass chest high to Bill, and without even looking in his direction, Bill fed Roy, who was streaking down the baseline for an easy layup. Westmoreland didn’t even know what hit them.
The Union Devils quickly headed down court, playing a zone defense. Westmoreland attempted to drive the lane three plays in a row, but each time, Bill swatted the shots away. If they’re going to beat us, Bill thought as the Westmoreland guard pulled down one of the blocked shots, they won’t do it down under.
Bill was equally daunting on offense. Working at the top of the foul line, with his back to the basket, Bill took a pass from Roy. He faked a pass to Joe in the corner, but then without even looking at the basket, in one giant sweeping motion, Bill turned and let sail a mighty skyward hook shot. Swish! The ball never touched the rim.
The Union cheerleaders went crazy, jumping up and down while Tyree leaped with sheer joy. Union fans hopped to their feet at the sight of Bill’s amazing shot. The Devils took control of the game and never let
loose. By halftime, Union had a commanding 30 to 12 lead. Bill had scored as much as Westmoreland’s entire team.
The second half began with more of the same. On the opening play, Bill got the jump on the tip-off and nudged the ball to Roy. Bill raced down court as Roy made a fancy behind-the-back pass to Bill as he flew by on Roy’s left. Bill took it all the way in and banked the ball off the backboard and through the net. He threw his hand in the air indicating “number one” as he hustled back down court to set up the Union defense. Any indifference Bill had felt earlier about finishing his high school basketball career victoriously was definitely gone. He was in this thing to win!
The Devils kept up the pace. Roy and Joe hit from the outside, running the plays off Bill, who continued to pour in points underneath the basket, grabbing rebounds and putting them back up, tipping in missed shots, and maneuvering himself past the outstretched arms of several defensive players to lay the ball into the net. Bill’s face looked as though someone had doused him with water, as perspiration dotted his forehead and trickled down his face and chest, soaking even the large number 35 on his jersey.
The fans screamed like maniacs as the Union Devils continued playing excellent basketball, looking almost as though they were a college team. At one point, Bill went up under the bucket, grabbed a rebound off an errant Westmoreland shot, and whipped the ball on a floor-length pass to Joe, who was all alone under the Union goal. Joe easily laid up the ball into the basket. Union’s dominance was almost embarrassing. When the final buzzer sounded, Union had nearly doubled Westmoreland’s points. The scoreboard read: Union 61, Westmoreland 37.
Bill and Roy slapped each other’s backs, and other Union players were hugging; their sweat-drenched bodies were exhausted, but their spirits were exuberant. “We did it, Roy!” Bill shouted over the commotion of the crowd. “Union is in the finals!”
Principals Malone and Herron looked past the excited players and fans and exchanged knowing looks. In the heat of the moment and the uproar of the crowd in the gymnasium, it seemed that the significance of what had taken place had not yet dawned on most of the people in attendance. But both principals knew they would soon be facing a scenario unlike anything that had ever happened in Gallatin—or in Tennessee, for that matter. The danger and potential conflict loomed ominously behind every congratulatory word, hug, and slap on the back.
Along the sidelines, the Union team was all smiles as they walked off the court. Bill spotted a radio announcer interviewing Eddie Sherlin, who was now dressed in street clothes. Coach Vradenburg and the Gallatin team had returned to the bleachers to watch the Union-Westmoreland game, knowing they would be facing the winner of the matchup. So the guys from WHIN had quickly nabbed Eddie now that the teams that would be playing in the finals were set. A newspaper reporter was standing alongside Eddie, taking notes, and a photographer shot several photos of the impromptu interview. Neither the radio announcers nor the newspaper reporter made any effort to get Bill’s or Roy’s perspective as they moved toward the locker rooms. And no photographer took Bill’s or Roy’s picture for the newspaper.
Roy sidled up close to Bill. “They won’t ignore us next week when we beat their white butts.”
Bill hung his head and shook it. “It’s just the way things are, Roy. But when we win next week, they will have to put our pictures in the paper. They might even get one of you scoring.” He nudged Roy playfully.
Roy didn’t smile. “I’m gonna give them plenty of reasons to shoot our pictures.”
As he did in every interview, Eddie tried to acknowledge the source of his ability. “It is really God out there on the court,” he told Al and Jesse. “I’m really nuthin’. It’s him working in me. That’s how it gets done.”
The newspaper reporter stopped writing the moment Eddie mentioned God and waited patiently for the star player to say something important or relevant. He likely knew better than to turn in an article to his editors that contained a bunch of “God talk.” If Eddie wanted to be a Christian, fine. But, clearly, the reporter wasn’t going to let him use their paper as a tool for evangelism.
Eddie was still talking with the interviewers when he noticed a big guy out in the middle of the court, pushing on the chest of the center who had knocked him down during the game. “Excuse me, please,” he said to the announcers and the reporter. “I’ve got to go.” Then turning toward midcourt, he yelled, “Buddy! Come on. Let that guy alone. Let’s go!”
Outside the gymnasium, kids from Gallatin and Union waited to get on their respective buses. They looked across the parking lot toward one another, unspoken tension thickening the air. An awareness of the impending potential problems and the magnitude of the district championship game were setting in. The game between Gallatin and Union would be a showdown unlike any other ever played—or any game ever played again in Tennessee.
22
THE AFTER-GAME PARTY was already under way by the time Bill and Roy arrived at the small, crowded house filled with loud Motown music and lots of Negro kids dancing. Bill and Roy were looking for their girlfriends but the two star players could barely make it past the front door. They fell into conversations with one person after another about the lopsided victory against Westmoreland and the upcoming championship game against Gallatin High. Eventually, they extricated themselves from the questions about how they were going to shut down Eddie Sherlin or stop that tall center who played for Gallatin. The two stars picked their way through a crowd of admirers in the kitchen and continued on toward the living room.
“Well, it’s about time,” Charlene said to Bill, as he and Roy finally found their dates.
The living room furniture had been pushed aside to make room for dancing. Roy and his date, Cecelia, hugged and moved to the middle of the dance floor, their arms entwined around each other’s body and neither of them moving their feet much. Joe and his girlfriend, Olivia, a cheerleader, wobbled back and forth in a slow dance, Joe’s hands moving up and down Olivia’s back.
“And just where do you think you’re headin’?” Olivia asked.
“Down court,” Joe replied whimsically, as he moved his hands lower.
Olivia leaned backward, away from Joe, yet not breaking their dance hold. “Oh, yeah? You’d better pass before you foul out,” she warned him. “You’re not getting anywhere near this basket.” She turned abruptly and slapped Joe’s hands.
“Ow!” Joe squealed in mock pain. “Hey, careful there, woman. Don’t go hittin’ the hands. These hands are my career, honey.”
“Then keep your career off my rear,” Olivia said, clearly indicating she was not joking.
They reestablished their holds and danced slowly over to the side of the room, smiling at each other warmly. For as much grief as they gave each other, they enjoyed being together.
Meanwhile, Bill and Charlene had moved onto the dance floor and struck up a conversation as they danced slowly, but Bill seemed a million miles away.
“Did you hear about Nancy and Tommy?” Charlene asked as they danced.
“No, what about them?”
“They got engaged.”
“Really? That so?”
“Uh-huh, and they’re planning on getting married right after graduation.”
Bill didn’t like where this conversation was headed. “Oh,” he said nonchalantly.
“Yeah, Tommy’s gettin’ a job at the shoe factory, and Nancy’s going to work for her daddy. They figure in a year or so they can afford one of those real pretty trailers. Maybe start a family. Won’t that be great?”
“Yeah, great.”
“There’s something nice about settling down early, kinda knowing where you are going and how you’re going to get there. I know you’ve been talking about heading north to Michigan where you’ve spent the past few summers with your relatives. Maybe going to one of those northern colleges.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Bill said, looking across the room.
“But what am I supposed to do while you are away at some big f
araway university? Sure, we could visit, but that isn’t healthy for a relationship when two people are miles and miles away from each other. You know what I mean?”
Bill didn’t answer.
“Bill?”
Still no answer.
Finally, Charlene took both of her hands and placed them on Bill’s cheeks. “What are you thinkin’ about, Bill?”
Almost startled, Bill recovered quickly. “Oh, I’m thinkin’ about you, Charlene. What else would I be thinking of right now?”
The couple resumed dancing, and Bill looked across the room, catching the gaze of Martha, the girl who had flirted with him by his locker at school. Dressed in another low-cut, tight-fitting sweater and short skirt, Martha smiled and cocked her head slightly in an inviting manner. Bill did not discourage her, even though Charlene was snuggling her body close to his, her lips nearly touching Bill’s ear.
“Bill, honey, did you see me waving at you during the game?” Charlene asked.
“Of course I did. I could hardly keep my eyes on the court with you sittin’ up there in the stands lookin’ so pretty.”
“Really? Did you notice who I was sitting with?” Charlene asked.
“Ah, no, I did not.” Bill smiled at Martha, who was seated across the room, her legs crossed in such a manner that allowed Bill to view most of her thigh.
Charlene sensed that Bill wasn’t paying attention to their conversation, so she suddenly separated herself from his embrace and stepped back so she could see his eyes, only to catch him staring across the room.
Bill tried to cover by reaching for her and turning her on the dance floor, but he was too late.
Charlene whirled around and spotted Martha smiling openly at Bill. Charlene turned back to Bill. “You mean to tell me that you are eying up Martha while you are dancing with me?”
“No, of course not, baby,” Bill replied. “She ain’t looking at me. She’s looking at Darius, over there on the couch.”