by Ken Abraham
Jesse and Al, who looked as though they had been in a street brawl, were at their microphones recapping the opening two quarters. With their ties askew, their hair mussed, and their faces slick with perspiration, they were emotionally wrung out. “It’s halftime here in Springfield,” Jesse told the listening audience, “with the game tied at twenty-nine all. And what a first half it has been! We’ll be back with all the highlights after this commercial message.”
30
IN THE UNION HIGH LOCKER ROOM, Roy and Bill sat on a bench in front of the first set of lockers toweling perspiration from their faces. “Lucky shot,” Roy groused about Eddie’s last-second score.
“Yeah, don’t worry about the lucky ones. We gotta keep the ball out of Eddie’s hands. If he gets hot—”
“If he gets hot, he might just have to run into my elbow.” Roy chuckled as he rubbed his elbow, still sore from hitting the Gallatin center so hard. He turned to see Coach Martin, who entered the locker room just in time to hear Roy’s comment.
Coach Martin didn’t share the humor. “It’s funny to see a player in such a good mood when he’s only one foul away from fouling out.”
Roy sighed. He’d been nailed.
Coach Martin allowed the team to get some water before gathering everyone around him. “Okay, we’re going to go with a box-and-one defense. That means I want someone on Sherlin all the time. Roy, that will be you.”
Surprised, Roy looked up at the coach. “But I have four—”
“That way the referees will always have their eyes on you.” Coach Martin drilled Roy with a look. “And if I see anything that looks like dirty play, I’ll bench ya. You hear me, Roy?”
“Coach?” Roy started to protest, but Coach Martin was clearly in no mood to hear it.
“Listen to me and listen well. If you want to be a championship team, you need to win fair and square. It does you no good if Eddie Sherlin goes down and we win the game by ten points or a hundred points if you are branded as a bunch of ‘dirty-playin’ coloreds.’” He paused and looked from man to man. “Are you hearing me?”
Several of the players nodded.
“Just as we’ve always said, ‘We have to be better than the opposition, and not just better. We have to be ten times better than the white team.’ Put yourself in the position to be able to compete. Don’t waste energy pointing fingers or placing blame. You give it your best shot. You put your best foot forward, and if you do it the way it’s supposed to be done, you will land on top.”
Coach Martin lowered his voice to the point it was barely audible but no less forceful. “We can win this game. But listen to me, men. We are going to win this game with class—or not at all.”
In the Gallatin High locker room, Coach Vradenburg’s first concern was for his injured player. “How’s Alton?” he asked one of his assistants.
“They took him to the hospital. He needs some stitches. He’ll be fine, but he won’t be coming back tonight.”
Hearing the assistant’s gloomy assessment, the players hung their heads in despair. Most had hoped that Alton could get some ice on the cut and be bandaged up and ready to play the second half. Without Alton, Union’s height around the boards was going to be even more of a factor.
After the players had toweled off and gotten some water, the coach laid out the game plan. “Okay, circle up here. We’re going to protect the middle, so we’ll start the second half with a two-three zone. Eddie and Allen up front. With Alton out, we won’t have our in-and-out game, so we’ll play more of a high pick and roll. Ken, you and Joey bring the ball up court. Eddie, you roll off the screens either way, left or right.”
Coach Vradenburg noticed Henry punching his fist against his palm, obviously angry. The coach moved to stand in front of Henry but spoke to the whole team. “Anybody thinking of retaliating? Trying to get back at those boys for knocking out Alton? You will be benched, and you will be dealing with me.”
The coach softened his tone and spoke quietly but emphatically. “I’m mighty proud of you men. We are going to win this game the right way—the old-fashioned way—by out-playing the other team, by out-hustling the opposition. If you do what you know is right, you will come out of here with your heads held high.”
One of the timekeepers opened the locker room door and popped his head inside. “Two minutes, Coach.”
The coach nodded his thanks, and the door closed. “Okay, you can do this.” Coach Vradenburg paused as he considered the enormous impact of the game and the pressure on his players. “This may be a life-changer for you and for a lot of other people.”
He looked around one last time at his players. “Now, let’s go win this game!”
The teams exited the locker rooms at almost the exact same time, following their coaches back past the snack bar and up the staircase to the gymnasium. A crowd of people, including Anthony and Ronald, two of the bigger boys from Springfield who had been in the fight with the Gallatin guys, pressed up against the snack bar as the teams filed by. Anthony spotted Roy and yelled out, “Hey, you cheater. Wanna pick on someone? Come pick on me!”
Roy glared back at the kid.
“Yeah! You there, big man. You’re so tough. You with the sharp elbow weapon. Why don’t they put you back in the zoo where you belong?”
“Keep moving,” Bill said from behind Roy. Roy bristled and was about to respond when he saw Coach Martin shooting him a warning look. Roy kept his eyes on the coach as he moved up the stairs. Bill stayed close to his teammate. But just then, from the top of the stairs, someone else called down to Anthony and Ronald. “Hey!”
Bill and Roy looked up to see James, the leader of the Vietnam vets.
“You got a problem, fat boy?” James taunted.
“Me? I ain’t got no problem,” Anthony fired back. “What’s yours?”
“You!” James retorted.
Sensing the danger of this confrontation, the coaches called out to the players. “Okay, let’s go!”
The teams burst through the doors and onto the court for some quick warm-up shots. The fans, mostly back in their seats following the break, stood and cheered.
In the hallway below, James threaded his way down the crowded staircase to confront the Springfield boys. A bunch of Union fans leaned into the stairwell to watch the action, and someone yelled, “Fight!”
Several of the police officers guarding the gym and locker room entry doors raced down the steps, with more of the crowd standing up and rubbernecking to see what was going on.
Then the buzzer sounded, indicating the start of the second half. With all eyes still watching the stairway, two police officers escorted the Springfield boys back to the bleachers, while another officer walked James back to join his buddies. One policeman gave an “okay” sign to the referee, indicating that things were under control and the second half could begin. The furrowed brows and tense expressions on the faces of Eddie’s parents, Anna Ligon, and the school principals did not convey the same sort of confidence.
The buzzer shrilled again, and the teams went back to work. Bill won the tip on the jump ball, out-dueling James Johnson and tapping the ball to Joe Malone. They ran a play from the top of the key, passing the ball back to Bill at the foul line, where he banked in a jump shot. Union was on the move.
As Gallatin guard Ken Kirkham brought the ball up court, Eddie hustled into position just across the center-court line. Roy Jackson was on him like a glove, shadowing Eddie in man-to-man coverage everywhere he moved. “Hey, Sherlin,” Roy said as he squared off in front of Eddie. “I’m going to be your closest friend for the rest of the half.”
Roy did a good job too. He played Eddie tight, keeping a hand on him wherever he went, especially when the referee wasn’t looking. Eddie was quicker than Roy, but Roy was bigger, and his long arms were in Eddie’s face even when Eddie didn’t have the ball.
Eddie worked off the picks his teammates placed, trying to block Roy from following him through the key. Eddie got the ball, faked one way
, and then dribbled left-handed in the opposite direction, and Roy couldn’t keep up with him. But when Eddie went up for the jump shot, Roy recovered just in time to tip the ball enough to knock it out of bounds below the goal.
The Union crowd loved it, and with his face toward the bleachers and his back to Coach Martin, Roy risked flashing the Union fans a cocky smile. They cheered even louder.
Throughout the third quarter, Roy played Eddie closely, keeping up an annoying and constant chatter. More often than not, when Eddie got the ball, Roy was so close to his face that he had to pass to someone else. The man-to-man coverage was working, especially because Gallatin did not have a big man in the center to help draw the guards away from Eddie. The few times Eddie tried to shoot or drive past the defenders, Roy’s coverage was too tight or Eddie was double-teamed and his shots bounced off the rim.
Coach Vradenburg sensed Eddie’s exasperation and called a time-out. As the cheerleaders led the crowd in raucous yells, the coach gathered his team in a huddle. “If Eddie gets doubled, you guys gotta cut to the basket. Somebody has to be open. And move the ball around. Don’t hold it. Keep them running.”
The coach looked at Eddie. “You’re trying to drive around your man. Go right at him. He has four fouls. He has to back off or he’s outta here. Go straight at him.”
Eddie nodded, and the team broke from the huddle.
The coach was right. When Eddie went straight at Roy, as much as the Union star wanted to stay with him, he had to back off. Eddie dumped in a long shot from the corner. Union quickly countered. When Eddie came back down the court, Roy was all over him. Joey Graves, one of the Gallatin starters, fired a pass to Eddie, who dribbled into a double team and got trapped. Eddie found a lane and bounce passed the ball back to Graves for an easy two points.
Bill grabbed the ball as it came through the hoop, stepped out of bounds, and whaled a long pass down the court to Joe Malone at the top of the key. Joe took two dribbles and put the ball up and in.
Back and forth the game went.
Near the end of the third quarter, Roy covered Eddie like a wet blanket as Eddie backed in toward the basket, keeping the ball just far enough away from Roy’s long arms. Eddie turned quickly for a jump shot. But he faked it. Roy leaped high in the air to block Eddie’s shot, but the expression on his face said it all. He had been fooled. Eddie brought the ball up in front of him, making an off-balance shot as Roy came crashing down on top of him. The referee blew his whistle, and Roy cursed under his breath for allowing Eddie to fake him out. The gym buzzer sounded its jarring tone.
“That’s the fifth and final foul for Roy Jackson,” Al told the radio audience as the referee indicated the call to the scorekeepers. Roy walked off the court to the cheers from Union fans, who applauded his strong showing, and jeers from the Gallatin crowd, who were glad to see Roy out of the game. To make matters worse, Eddie sank the foul shot, tying the score once again.
The teams continued to trade scores back and forth, but neither team could break out in a strong lead. The clock ticked down and the buzzer sounded, ending the third quarter.
“Unbelievable!” Jesse was nearly yelling into his microphone. “After three quarters of play, we’re still tied up!”
“That’s right, Jesse,” Al chimed in. “We’ve got only eight minutes to go in this ball game. Eight minutes to decide who will walk out of here with the district tournament championship. And we are starting the game all over again. Tie score. It all comes down to this, folks!”
The noise was deafening. The gymnasium seemed to be rocking as the place prepared to come unglued. Both cheerleading squads had given up their efforts to perform cute routines. They were simply screaming and chanting cheers, the crowd yelling right along with them. Even Buddy Bruce was hollering as loud as he could. On the other side of the gym, the Vietnam vets were standing and chanting something. The barbershop men were standing and waving, their voices hoarse. Up in the Gallatin stands, the KKK racists glared at the Negroes across the court. Betty Sherlin hugged Delilah and Debbie. “Pray, girls, pray!”
The fourth quarter began with Joe Malone bringing the ball down court, looking carefully for the open man. Every shot mattered. Every move was crucial. Bill was still finding ways to get open under the bucket. He made a hook shot. Then a quick fake and move to the corner for two more points. He caught a quick pass from Joe and drilled a turn-around jumper from the foul line.
Gallatin matched Union shot-for-shot. Eddie got free in the corner, and James Johnson whipped him a quick pass. Eddie drove from the corner but couldn’t find an opening, so he passed to Allen Cook, who sank a sensational fall-away jump shot.
Bill dribbled toward the basket then zipped a behind-the-back pass to Joe, but the pass caught Joe off guard. He fumbled it, knocking the ball out of bounds.
It was Gallatin’s ball.
Ken Kirkham, spying Eddie open, brought the ball down court and passed it to him. Eddie faked a set shot and then dribbled around his defender, straight toward the basket. Only one man was in his way—Bill Ligon. Both players went high in the air. Eddie leaped as high as Bill, although Bill was nearly five inches taller. But Bill had position on him. He blocked Eddie’s shot, their bodies slamming together.
Eddie tumbled to the ground, flying into a group of fans on the floor under the basket. Bill stumbled backward as well, landing awkwardly right next to where Eddie had fallen. Eddie caught Bill’s eyes for just a moment. The two star players stared each other down, neither backing off an inch. For a fraction of a second, perhaps they both remembered two childhood friends—one colored and one white—and a time in each of their lives when one had fallen and the other had helped him up.
Not tonight.
Both Bill and Eddie struggled to maintain their composure as they hustled back onto the court. The Gallatin fans were outraged that no foul had been called. Union fans snarled in return.
Since Bill had blocked the shot, it was Gallatin’s ball. Allen Cook brought the ball in to Eddie. Still fuming over the blocked shot, Eddie dribbled all around the top of the key, looking for an opening, wanting to shoot. But he was covered well and dribbled right into a double team. Eddie didn’t want to be tied up in a jump ball, so he forced a shot that missed badly.
Bill snagged the rebound and saw Joe streaking toward the Union bucket. Bill hit him with a pass about ten feet above the foul line. Joe took it the rest of the way, faking his defender to the left and cutting back to the right to score.
Coach Vradenburg called a time-out.
The Union fans were going wild, sensing that victory was within their grasp. Several of the rowdy vets were taunting the white fans, and the white fans responded in kind. Things were getting ugly again.
The Gallatin team huddled. In an unusual move, Eddie sat down and grabbed a quick sip of water.
Coach Vradenburg came over to him. “Are you hurt?”
“Naw, I’m okay,” Eddie said, rubbing his shoulder where he had hit the floor. “Just needed a breather.”
The coach nodded and returned to the huddle, drawing a play on his clipboard and showing the other players.
Just then, Eddie heard a familiar voice calling his name from behind him. He turned and spotted his brother, Bo.
“Eddie!” Bo called again.
“Not now, Bo,” Eddie said, shaking his head.
But Bo would not be deterred. “Eddie!” he yelled again.
Eddie turned around to face his brother.
“Listen, Eddie. You gotta let it go, man. Don’t let them get to you. Don’t let them get you out of your game.” Bo shook his fist. “Eddie, you can do it. They’re not giving you the middle, but you can hit those long shots. Just like when we were kids, you and me, out behind the house. Do it like you’ve always done it.” Bo stopped and gulped hard. “Eddie, I love ya, buddy. Win this thing. Win it for you, win it for the school, but win it for me too.”
Eddie nodded and turned back to the court. He closed his eyes, and for an instan
t, he was back behind the house, hitting the twenty- and twenty-five-footers.
The buzzer sounded and Eddie opened his eyes to see the team breaking the huddle. “Let’s go, guys,” he said as he rejoined the team. “We’re gonna win this thing.”
It was midway through the fourth quarter and the scoreboard read Union 60, Gallatin 56. As the players returned to the court, the crowd’s roar, like Niagara Falls, reverberated throughout the gymnasium.
Bill looked over and spotted Eddie heading to the far sidelines. But on his way, Eddie stopped and stared up for a moment at the net, almost as if to say, “You are mine.”
He trotted over to the edge of the court. The ball came into play, and Ken Kirkham found Eddie along the sideline. Eddie took the pass and dribbled around to the front of the basket. Joe Malone was playing him loose, assuming that Eddie was too far away to dare a shot from that distance.
Joe was wrong.
At least thirty feet away, Eddie went up for the shot. The ball arced to the basket, never touching the rim. Swish! Eddie’s favorite sound.
To Eddie, it seemed that he was all alone—out behind the house as an eleven-year-old boy. Swish! His teammates got the ball to him and from the deep pocket corner—Swish! Eddie scored again.
Athletes refer to it as “being in the zone” when the rest of the world fades away and there is nothing but the goal. Eddie was in the zone. The Gallatin crowd was going wild. Swish! From everywhere and anywhere on the court, wherever Eddie shot—Swish!
The Union Devils scrambled in every direction, trying to shut down Eddie by keeping him from getting the ball. Roy Jackson, sitting on the bench, shook his head and yelled instructions to his replacement. “Stop him! Foul him. Do anything you gotta do. Just don’t let him shoot!”
Missy and her cheerleaders jumped for joy. Even the racist boys were overcome with school spirit, cheering, not just because Eddie was white, but because he was part of the Green Wave. The vets stared in disbelief. The kid was a shooting machine. The Sherlin family cheered wildly. They’d seen Eddie shoot like this before. Several people on the Union side slumped in their seats. The barbershop guys sat stunned.