by Tim Tingle
For the Bulldogs, Boyd took over in the low post. He hit short bank shots with either hand. And while the Achukmas hit threes from long range, Tommy Boyd made his three the old-fashioned way, as the announcers say. He made baskets, was fouled, and hit the free throws.
Mato was benched with four fouls, and Cherokee Johnny couldn’t stay up with Bulldog Boyd. There was one play I’ll never forget and never expect to see again—not in high school. Boyd caught the ball on the baseline and dribbled once under the basket, stepping around Johnny.
As Johnny lifted his arm to block the shot, Boyd ducked under the backboard and lifted the ball and Johnny’s arm high over the rim, then brought it down in a strong slam dunk.
Hoke, maybe Johnny’s arm stayed pretty much connected to his shoulder, but only because Boyd allowed it. Score at the end of the quarter:
Achukmas 72–Bulldogs 64
“Nice playing, men,” Coach said as we joined him on the sidelines, very out of breath but doing our best to hide it. “Newcomers, your turn. Let’s drop back on the press and stay with a tough man-to-man defense. Pound the backboards.
“Mato, take Johnny’s place. You’ve got two, three minutes, then Johnny’s returning. So don’t aim for it, but don’t be afraid to get that fifth foul, as long as it’s clean and nobody gets hurt. Understood?”
“Yes, sir!” we shouted, then pumped hands as the Newcomers hit the court. Mato earned his fifth foul in the first minute, reaching high to block Boyd’s shot and catching him on the arm.
With two minutes to go in the game we were clinging to a five-point lead. Chris had played the entire game and had to be exhausted. But he was as determined as ever.
“That’s why they are state champs,” Coach Robison later said.
Chris swiped the ball on a careless inbounds pass. He could have driven in for a lay-up, but Johnny was waiting for him. So Chris took a step back and launched a three-pointer from the corner. Swish!
Achukmas 90–Bulldogs 88
A little over a minute to go! We had to score, and Cherokee Johnny was our man. He sprinted to the free-throw line and Les tossed him the ball. Without hesitation, Johnny nailed the midrange jumper.
Thirty seconds on the clock!
Achukmas 92–Bulldogs 88
A three-pointer wouldn’t be enough for them to pull ahead. We just had to play tough defense and make them earn a bucket.
“Tommy Boyd, ball’s going to Boyd,” I said, joining Coach Robison and my teammates as we stood up off the bench.
“Just don’t foul,” shouted Coach, but nobody heard him. The gym rocked with noise, and this was only a scrimmage!
Suddenly the Bulldog coach, Coach Maniford, leapt to the scorer’s table and called a timeout. The gym quieted down, but everybody stayed on their feet.
CHAPTER 12
A Star Is Born
Smart move to call a timeout, I thought. They need a score and a quick steal or a foul.
Wrong again. Coach Maniford left his players waiting on the sideline and waved to Coach Robison. They talked for a few minutes till a referee blew his whistle for play to begin.
Coach Robison nodded his head up and down, with the biggest smile across his face. He spoke to the referees and before he returned to our bench, he grabbed Coach Maniford by both shoulders.
I don’t know what they said but they sure looked like brothers to me. Still standing, the crowd grew silent. A new Bulldog ran to the scorer’s table. He bounced when he ran, wore thick eyeglasses, and his shoulders were hunched up around his neck.
“Don’t stare, men. You have a chance to be part of something great tonight, something life changing. Here’s the plan, and please let us make this work.
“The young man checking in is the Bulldogs’ biggest fan. He is a special ed student and unable to play, but he shows up at every practice and his parents take him to every game.
“Coach Maniford even bought him a jersey and he sometimes joins the team on the bench. He has never played, but he works hard on his shot every afternoon after school.
“This game never was about winning, not tonight. That comes later. But tonight Sammy Darnell will be the big winner. Johnny, I want you to back away and let Boyd hit a lay-up.”
“Yes, sir,” Johnny said.
“Then step out of bounds and toss the ball to Sammy. He’ll be ready to intercept your pass under the basket. Let him keep shooting till he scores. Grab the rebound when he misses and hand it to him. Understand?”
“Yes,” we all said.
“When he scores, the buzzer will sound and the game will be over. It will end in a tie. Everybody goes home happy.”
“And Sammy gets the game ball,” Eddie said.
“That’s the idea,” said Coach. We joined hands and whispered “Achukma,” as the Indians and Bulldogs took the court.
The crowd soon saw what was happening. Chris tossed the ball into Boyd, Johnny backed away, and Boyd banked in his lay-up, bringing the Bulldogs to within two.
Achukmas 92–Bulldogs 90
When Johnny caught the ball and stepped out of bounds, Sammy Darnell—special Sammy—hurried after him. He waved his arms back and forth, like in a full-court press. Johnny tossed the inbounds ball to Sammy, who grabbed the ball with both hands and looked back and forth.
When he saw nobody was guarding him, Sammy leaned over, stared at the ball, and took two slow dribbles. Then he lifted his head to the basket and took his first shot. It rolled off the rim, and Johnny snatched it and gave it back to Sammy.
With the crowd cheering his every move, Sammy grinned and jumped up and down after every shot. On the fourth shot, when the ball dropped through the net, he fist-pumped with both hands and ran to the Bulldog bench. The buzzer sounded and the game was over!
The crowd gave Sammy a loud and heart-felt standing ovation. I glanced at Mom and Dad, and they both were wiping their eyes. More than one life was changed tonight, I thought.
As we made our way through the crowd to the locker room, Coach Maniford caught up with us. He shook hands with Coach Robison.
“Thank you, Coach,” he said, “and give my thanks to your young men as well. This is a night Sammy will remember for the rest of his life.”
CHAPTER 13
Two O’Clock, Tulsa Time
On the way home after the game, I asked Dad, “What was your favorite play of the game? How about Eddie’s three-pointers? Is he good or what!”
Dad didn’t say anything. Mom looked at him and ran her fingers across the back of his neck. “Can you guess, Bobby?” she asked.
“Oh yeah,” I whispered. I leaned forward from the back seat and said something I know I should say more often. “I love you, Dad. Sammy’s basket, that was your favorite play tonight, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, Bobby. To see your team fight so hard the whole game, but when it mattered, you realized that it’s only a game. Everyone there won tonight, Bobby. Everyone—we all won.”
Dad woke me up early Sunday morning, knocking on the door. “Bobby, the day always goes better if you rise before the sun! Time to get up.”
We had a breakfast of pancakes and Choctaw-style blackberry pudding, with a few slices of bacon apiece.
“We thought we’d go to the early service, this morning,” Mom said. “It’s been awhile since we sang those old Choctaw hymns. Sound good, Bobby?”
“Yes, Mom, good idea.”
“Time to give thanks,” Dad said.
After church, Dad and I walked a few blocks to the outside basketball court, something we hadn’t done in months. We both tried dribbling the ball on the crooked old sidewalk. Not easy.
We shot free throws, jumpers, and mostly just enjoyed a quiet afternoon. On the way home Dad asked, “How’s Heather doing, son?”
“She seems hoke, Dad.”
“Will you promise to let me know if anything changes?”
We shook hands and sealed the deal.
Monday came too soon, and Johnny and I met Coach in his office befo
re school started.
“Welcome home, men,” Coach said, looking up from his laptop. “I’ve got your summer tournament schedule. Here’s a copy for you, and I’m sending email attachments to the parents.”
“When do we start?” Johnny asked.
“Our first game is in two weeks,” Coach said. “Think we’ll be ready?”
“Any more games like the one Saturday?” I asked.
“No, just full-court scrimmages against ourselves. We’ll have Friday evening and Saturday morning practices, then tournament play begins. Our first game is two weeks away, two o’clock in Tulsa.”
Johnny and I waited and listened. We knew Coach had more to say or we’d already be on the court shooting free throws. He took a deep breath before speaking.
“What I saw Saturday morning makes me think we can win in Oklahoma, win the Midwest, and get to the national tournament.”
Johnny and I looked at each other. We knew we were preparing for the summer of a lifetime.
If only we had known.
The school year had finally come down to a matter of days. “Count ’em on on your fingers,” Heather said at the lunch table on Tuesday. “Eight more to go.”
“Then what happens?” asked Lloyd.
“You buy me popcorn at the basketball games and I share it with Faye,” said Heather.
“And I show my bald head again,” Faye replied.
“And I climb into my hole,” I said.
“And I grow a few inches,” Johnny said.-
The next Saturday morning Coach had a big-screen TV set up in the meeting room. “The brackets are all set, men,” he said. “Our first opponent is a team from Little Rock, the Hawks. They’re a first-year team like we are, and the players are the best in the area.”
He clicked on the remote and the screen lit up with a film of the Hawks. “Have a seat and let’s get to know the players you’ll be guarding. Their post man, Drake Weller, can shoot right or left, and also has a nice fade-away from ten feet out. He’s your man to guard, Mato, so watch closely.”
So this is how the college teams get ready, I thought.
We studied the Hawks for almost an hour, as Coach stopped the film for question-and-answer time.
“Hoke,” he finally said, “are you men ready to hit the court?” We were ready. And eager, though nobody said what we were all thinking.
We can beat these guys.
We soon had our chance.
At eight o’clock Thursday morning we climbed on the bus for Tulsa. “We should be there by ten thirty,” Coach said. “Rest up, men. We win today and we’ll have a game tomorrow night, and hopefully two games Saturday.”
Mom and Dad had already claimed their seats when we came out for our shoot-around. Faye and Heather soon showed up, and we had maybe four hundred fans. It was way different watching the Hawks warm up. We whispered their names and talked to ourselves about them.
“Eddie, I wonder if they studied us?” I asked.
“Probably didn’t think they needed to,” Eddie said.
“Yeah,” Johnny said. “Indians can’t shoot anything but buffalo.”
We were so anxious and excited and ready to play.
“Gimme your hands,” Coach said. “Play clean, play hard, and nobody gets hurt.”
We joined hands, gave it our team whisper, then shouted “Yeah!” and ran to the circle for tip-off. The Hawks got the tip and right away threw the ball to Drake Weller. He jumped high for the ball, but Mato slapped it away.
Les grabbed the loose ball, fired it to me, and I drove hard to the basket. Two men moved to stop me, so I pulled the old Eddie trick. I tossed the ball over my shoulder to a trailing Eddie, who caught the ball and took his two easy dribbles.
I looked at Coach and pumped my fist as the ball sailed high and straight through the net!
Achukmas 3–Hawks 0
Coach waved his finger at me and gave me his one-eyed glare, Choctaw-saying, no time to celebrate yet!
By the end of the first quarter we led 20–12. Weller had scored eight of their twelve points.
“Mato, how’re you feeling?” Coach asked.
“Fine, Coach. I’ll do better guarding him.”
“You’re doing fine,” Coach said. “They expect us to double-team him, which gets other players open. But you’re guarding him one-on-one and doing great. That’s why we have the lead, Mato.”
Midway in the second quarter we got a cool surprise. Les Harjo, our Creek wing player, felt the magic. It started with a fifteen-footer from the baseline, a wide-open jump shot. When Weller missed a bank shot and Mato tossed me the ball, there was Les again.
Another fifteen-footer, nothing but net! As the first half ended, he’d scored ten points and was five for six from the field.
Achukmas 36–Hawks 22
“They’ll come out strong in the second half, men,” Coach said. “Ryan, you think a Choctaw can guard Weller?”
“I’ll give it a try,” Ryan said.
“Good. Mato, you switch men with Ryan. Since Weller isn’t dominating like they expected, they’ll look to go elsewhere, so be ready.”
So be ready.
How could we ever be ready for what happened?
CHAPTER 14
On the Side of Good
When power post man Drake Weller saw Ryan, a smaller player, guarding him, he backed up close to the basket. He caught the ball, stomped his pivot foot close to Ryan and swung around, pounding his shoulder into Ryan’s chest. Ryan fell hard on his back.
The referee blew his whistle and everyone waited.
“Charge, number twenty-four,” the ref shouted, pointing to Weller and reaching for the ball. Mato helped Ryan to his feet, and Coach stood up and spread his arms wide, letting us know to keep our seats and stay calm.
I looked at Johnny and he nodded. We both knew what an important moment this was for us as a basketball team—as a family of Indian players.
“He flopped!” Weller shouted, holding the ball away from the referee. The ref turned to the Hawk bench for support.
Didn’t happen. The Hawk coach was running down the sideline and pounding his fist in his palm. “He was told to flop!” he said. “That’s why he’s guarding him!”
Now it was our turn to settle Coach Robison. Suddenly a familiar voice sailed over us and tapped Coach on the shoulder. “Need some help, Coach?”
Coach Robison turned around and there was Mr. Blanton, and right beside him stood Lloyd. “Doctor says I should avoid stress, with my heart and all, but I’ll take the risk for you!”
Coach Robison gave him the funniest and happiest look of confusion I’ve ever seen. Then he looked at Dad and Mom.
“You could have warned me,” he said to Dad.
“Naw, you woulda called the cops,” Dad said, joking, and Mom pinched him on the arm.
Coach turned back to the game. Fun time over, he Choctaw-said. Let’s see what the refs are gonna do.
The referees called both coaches to the scorer’s table. The Hawk coach was still hollering as he approached the referees.
We looked over his shoulder and saw a policeman step into the gym. “Coach,” I said, nodding at the policeman, “maybe Weller has a history.” Coach turned around and took a deep breath. “Will this ever be over?” he asked.
Only just beginning.
Seeing the policeman, the Hawk coach settled down, but kept that angry look on his face. The officer called the referees aside.
“It’s your call,” he said to the refs. “If you want me to take anyone out of the gym, just say so. Players, fans, coaches; it’s your call.”
‘Thank you, Officer,” said the head referee. “We’re fine for now.”
“I’m here if you need me,” the police officer said.
The head ref spoke quietly, and I could see he was giving a warning to the Hawk coach. Then he stepped to center court and said in a loud voice, “Technical foul on number twenty-four of the Hawks. Achukmas, one free throw and take the ball o
ut of bounds.”
Coach tapped Eddie on the shoulder for the free throw. He hit it and Coach called time-out.
“Hoke, men, we have our first big challenge,” he said. And that’s all he said, as he waited for us to respond. We looked at each other and the feeling of respect for Coach was strong.
We joined hands and said it—like an old Indian elder’s prayer. “Play clean, play hard, and nobody gets hurt.”
The Hawk coach took Weller out of the game and the fans behind the Hawks bench booooed! Dad leaned over so we could hear him, but no one else could.
“I am so proud to be on this side of the gym,” he said, “with Coach Robison and you young men.”
“Yakoke, Dad,” I said.
“Thank you,” my teammates said, each in their own Native language.
I tossed the ball to Eddie and the game began again. “Let’s play,” Eddie said as he crossed midcourt.
I knew exactly what he was saying. I ran along the sideline, then cut hard to the top of the circle. Eddie set a pick for me, as I knew he would.
The man guarding me bumped into the screen, and Eddie flipped me the ball. Now wide open, I launched the three.
“If anybody ever doubted that the Achukmas were on the side of good,” Dad later said, “all doubts flew out the door when your three-pointer flew through the net, Bobby.”
Dad has a way with words.
CHAPTER 15
Makeover and Matthews
Without Drake Weller, the Hawks seemed lost. They had no one to run their offense around, and no big stopper on defense. But their biggest enemy was attitude.
“Men,” Coach said as we began the final quarter, “always remember what you’re seeing. Teams have lost their best players for years. It happens all the time, at every level—college and the NBA.
“How you respond to trouble, that’s what separates champions from everyone else.”
The Hawks had no shot blocker in the lane, and Les got an easy bank shot. “No more!” shouted the Hawk coach, and his players knew what he meant.
The next time we had the ball, I threw it in to Ryan. He faked left, then pivoted to his right for an under-the-basket lay-up. Before he could shoot, a Hawk defender shoved him out of bounds!