by Tim Tingle
The referee blew his whistle and ran to the scorer’s table as he called the foul.
“Shooting foul on number eighteen, Hawks. Two shots.”
He handed the ball to Ryan and we took our places around the lane. Coach Robison eased his palms down, reminding us to stay cool. Ryan made both free throws and the Hawk coach called a timeout.
As we approached our bench, Coach Robison motioned for us to take a seat. “Men,” he said, “today is more than a game. I want you to watch what our rival coach does and tell me what you’ve learned about him.”
We knew to be very quiet, but right away Johnny said, “I can already tell you about him, Coach.”
Coach smiled and tapped his lips with his finger.
Johnny hushed. What’s the right word for what we next witnessed? Makeover?
The Hawk coach made no complaints. He didn’t shout and run to the referees. He stood up and motioned to the Hawk who shoved Ryan. He pointed to a seat at the end of the bench. Then he tipped his finger to his head and nodded at the head referee.
“Now, Johnny,” Coach asked, “what have you learned.
“Wow,” whispered Johnny. “There’s good in everybody.”
Weller checked in at the scorer’s table and the game continued, with no hard fouls and nobody hurt. When the buzzer sounded, we lined up to shake hands with the Hawks. We kept our happy feelings in a tight bundle and hurried through the line.
As soon as we entered the locker room, Coach said, “Hoke, men, I am as happy as you are. But no yelling or cheering. They’d take it as taunting and we don’t need any more enemies.”
“You mean Indians have enemies?” Johnny asked.
“Whatever gave you that idea?” said Dad, stepping through the door with that big Choctaw grin on his face and slapping Coach on the back.
“Don’t worry, Coach,” he said. “The post office must have lost my invitation, but I knew you’d want me here.”
“Couldn’t get by without you,” Coach said.
“Yeah, especially after Dad’s makeover!” I added.
“I just wanted to let you know how proud I am of all of you,” Dad said, heading out the door.
“So,” Coach said, “we’ve got no films on tomorrow’s opponent. But better than that, we’ll get to see them play. So hurry up, get dressed, and join me in the stands. Game starts soon.”
“And we play the winner, right, Coach?” Eddie asked.
“That’s right, so let’s stay together. And remember, watch the man you’ll be guarding; watch what he does without the ball.”
We arrived back at the court as the teams were finishing their warm-ups. We sat behind the scorer’s table, so we could get a good look at both teams. It didn’t take long to spot the best team—the Downtowners, all-star players from the Oklahoma City area.
“Hoke,” Ryan said, “who gets to guard that guy?”
A confident guard, over six feet tall, was circling the three-point line, catching the ball and popping long jumpers.
“No more relaxing on defense,” Eddie said. “Look at those shooters!”
“You have never relaxed on defense in your life,” Mato said.
“No need to start now,” Coach said. “That’s Riley Matthews, and he’s first team All-State.”
By halftime the Downtowners led by eighteen points, and it could have been worse. Riley Matthews hit his first three shots and scored ten points in the first quarter. Their post players were muscled up and controlled the backboards, but rarely tried to score.
“Any thoughts?” Coach asked at halftime.
“They play a slow game,” Les said.
“I think we can outrun ’em, Coach,” said Eddie.
“If they ever miss a shot,” I said.
“And if I can ever get a rebound,” said Mato.
“So are you boys ready to toss in the towel, head home?” Coach asked.
“No way!”
“Not even close.”
“Hey, they aren’t scoring against our defense.”
“I’m believing we can take ’em,” Johnny said. “Matthews is taller, but let’s see him shoot over Eddie.”
“I’d love to see you block his shot, Eddie,” I said.
Eddie stayed quiet during the banter, and I knew he was thinking about how to guard Matthews. Finally he leaned over to me and whispered, “If we can stop Matthews we can beat these guys.”
The game ended with the Downtowners on top, 57–32. “A convincing win,” Coach said. “Ready for some pizza?”
Coach ordered pizza for us all, and we gathered in the dining room of the hotel. He set up his stand and chalkboard and while we munched, he talked.
“How do you beat a slow team?” he asked.
“You outrun ’em!” Eddie shouted.
Coach Robison raised his eyebrows.
“Oh, wait,” said Eddie. “Running away after the shot is taken won’t work against every team. You have to get a rebound before you can fast-break.”
Coach nodded, but said nothing.
“Every Panther fights for the rebound,” I said. “Even guards. Everybody. We crash the boards.”
“But first?” asked Coach.
“We block out our man so he can’t grab the rebound,” Les said.
“And then?” Coach asked.
“Then the fun begins,” said Eddie. “Mato outruns their big man and Bobby dashes downcourt. I toss the ball to Bobby, he throws it high to the rim, and Mato catches it for a slam dunk!”
Coach waited for the laughter to settle.
“Hoke men,” he asked, “should I draw that play on the board or does everybody get it?”
Soft laughter this time, and Coach continued. “We have to rebound and keep Matthews from his favorite shooting spot. Where’s that, Eddie?”
“He likes to catch the ball at the top of the three-point circle,” Eddie said.
“And then, Bobby?” Coach asked.
“He takes one dribble to his right, and if he is open, he shoots.”
Coach turned to Eddie.
“And if he’s not open, he passes the ball to the post man at the free-throw line. Sometimes Matthews cuts to his left, catches the return pass, and shoots.”
“Mato,” Coach asked, “what happens after the shot?”
“Everybody goes for the rebound,” Mato said.
“Not everybody,” said Eddie, and I nodded in agreement. “Matthews stays around the three-point line. If they get the offensive rebound, they pass it to him.”
Twenty minutes later, when plates were empty and every slice of pizza gone, Coach closed the conversation.
“If we can stop Matthews, we can beat these guys.”
Just like Eddie said.
CHAPTER 16
Wake-Up Call
Everybody went to bed early after some in-room hotel TV time. “Bedtime by eleven!” Coach ordered.
I was wide awake at five o’clock in the morning. “You up yet?” I asked my roommate Eddie.
“Yeah, sure. I’ve been shooting three-pointers,” he said, rolling over and burying his head in his pillow.
Suddenly the phone rang! I reached for it, knocked it to the floor, and searched around till I found it.
“Hello?” I asked, hoping there was no emergency.
“This is room service. Did you order pancakes with raspberry syrup and four slices of bacon?”
“That’s not funny, Dad,” I said.
“I tried to stop him,” Mom said in the background.
“Yeah, Dad, go ahead and bring me those pancakes. With bacon and orange juice. Extra syrup. And make that two plates. Eddie is rooming here with me.”
“Hey,” Eddie said, “it’s too early for breakfast.”
“It’s only my dad,” I said, making sure Dad heard me. “He won’t talk with food in his mouth, so Mom always serves a big breakfast.”
“Very funny,” Dad said.
“Yakoke, Dad. I’m learning.”
We rolled over and went
back to sleep till six. I carried my syrup-loaded plate of pancakes to Mom and Dad’s table in the dining room.
“Mind if I join you?” I asked.
“That will be fine, Bobby,” Mom said. “And no worries. I already disciplined your dad.”
Dad stuck his bottom lip out, pouting. “She’s mean to me,” he said.
“Oh, poor little Daddy,” I said. “If we win tonight, will that make you happy?”
Dad straightened up and looked at me with a bright beam in his eyes. “Yes, Bobby,” he said, “that will make me happy. And you can beat those Downtowners. Forget about Mark, Luke, and John. You stop Matthews and you’ll win.”
Mom looked at me. I looked at Mom, and we nodded in agreement.
Not bad, Old Man. Not bad at all.
“We’ve got the gym from nine to ten thirty this morning,” Coach said, walking from table to table. “Be in the lobby by eight thirty and we’ll drive over.”
“Save your energy for tonight,” Coach said as we took the court. “Start with some lay-ups.”
Five minutes later he blew his whistle. Whrrrr!
“Hoke, men, jump shots, still nice and easy.”
Les, Eddie, Ryan, and I walked downcourt, tossing the ball back and forth. When I reached the three-point line, Eddie caught the ball and turned to us.
“Will you guys do something for me?” Eddie asked. “I want to try something out.”
“Sure,” we agreed.
“Great,” he said. “Bobby, you hang out around the three-point line. Maybe just to the left of center.”
He wants me to go to Matthews’ favorite spot, I thought, but I didn’t say it.
“And Ryan, will you play low post, and Les high post?” he asked.
We shrugged our shoulders and did as we were told. I looked at Coach Robison. He was watching us out of the corner of his eye, making no big deal about it.
“Bobby, dribble across midcourt and toss the ball to Les at the free-throw line. Then Les, throw it back to Bobby. And I’m gonna play easygoing defense on Bobby. No pressure.”
“You want me to shoot a three-pointer?” I asked. Like Matthews does, I thought.
“You got it,” Eddie said.
Weird, but I trusted him. Dumb me!
So I tossed the ball to Les and he threw it back to me. Eddie stepped away from me, leaving me wide open for the three-pointer.
Or so I thought! He turned back to me as I lifted the ball, taking that sweet, soft jumper.
Eddie took one step in my direction, then planted his foot hard and soared high, way high. As the ball left my hand, he swatted it and the ball sailed to the bleachers, forty feet away.
“Hoke,” Eddie shouted. “No more me being boss, men. Back to the shoot-around.” He ran to the bleachers and retrieved the ball.
Fifteen minutes later we practiced our defense. “We’re only doing a walk-through,” Coach said. “Save your energy till tonight.”
Soon we piled into the bus and headed back to the hotel. “We’ll meet in the lobby at noon,” Coach said, “and get some lunch. Hang out around here till then, and no going on the warpath. We’ll have plenty of time for that tonight.”
After lunch at a fancy burger joint, we spent another long and boring afternoon. Finally, bus driver Mr. Bryant greeted us in the lobby with a big smile.
“Achukmas, let’s go win a ball game!”
We piled on the bus and five minutes later (or so it seemed) we piled on the court—warm-up over, tip-off to begin.
“Fight hard for every rebound,” Coach said. “Eddie, you’ll be guarding Matthews. And remember, play clean and hard and nobody gets hurt.”
We piled our hands high and shouted “Achukma!”
Mato got the tip as Ryan jumped in front of his man for the ball. He tossed it to me, and right away I saw where this game was going.
Matthews was guarding Eddie!
Couldn’t ask for anything better than that.
You could read the thought on Matthews face. Short little Indian Eddie McGhee—can’t be hard to guard this guy. He didn’t like defense anyway; Matthews wanted the ball.
Eddie saw the look too, and we knew what to do. I drove hard to my left, then spun around and set a pick for Eddie. Matthews trotted to the basket as Eddie ran behind my screen. I tossed him the ball. Matthews is too good to fight over a screen, I thought.
“Yes!” I heard Dad shout, and I knew he was standing and pumping his fists to the ceiling. Dad was right. Eddie’s three-pointer hit nothing but net.
Achukmas 3–Downtowners 0
We ran back on defense, and as the Downtowners crossed midcourt, Coach yelled at Eddie.
“Pick him up, Eddie. You can’t leave him open!” I glanced over and saw Eddie backing off Matthews, giving him plenty of shooting space behind the line.
Just like he guarded me this morning, I thought. I was right. What happened next silenced the gym. Even Dad sat down, and Coach Robison called the earliest time-out of his career.
Here’s how it played out. The Downtowner’s point guard threw the ball to his high post, at the free throw line. Matthews let him know he didn’t like it, waving his arms in the air and calling out, “I’m wide open.”
The low post threw the ball back to Matthews, who caught it and took his one dribble. He takes one dribble before shooting, that’s what Eddie had said. But still Eddie stayed several feet away.
“Cover him!” Coach shouted.
Even Matthews looked at Eddie, with a sneer on his face. Yeah, try covering me, his look said. Matthews jumped up and got ready to shoot a game tying three-pointer.
That’s when Eddie sprang into action. He whipped around and planted his left foot to the hardwood, then launched himself high, higher, and still higher.
“No, Eddie!” I shouted. We didn’t need a taunting move, not now, not this early in the game. But Eddie was smarter than us all. He didn’t slap the basketball into the bleachers. He barely touched it, but it was enough to send the ball rolling from Matthew’s hand and across the court.
Les picked it up and fired it to me. The Downtowners were so stunned they didn’t move, and I had a free path to the goal for a lay-up.
Achukmas 5–Downtowners 0
Matthews, who had been fussing at his teammate for not throwing him the ball, had his first shot of the game blocked!
I’m guessing this had never happened before. Coach Robison called a timeout and motioned to clear the bench so we’d be sitting. “One question,” Coach said, “and I want the truth. Did you men plan what just happened? Did you plan on baiting Matthews into shooting and left me out of it?”
“No, sir,” I said.
“Then why were you yelling for Eddie to stop?” Coach asked.
Nobody said anything for a long moment.
“The truth,” Coach said.
“Here’s the truth, Coach,” Eddie said. “I watched Matthews closely yesterday and I wanted to block his first shot. I practiced it on Bobby. But I told no one, Coach. I promise. That’s why Bobby was hollering at me. He didn’t want me to send the ball to the bleachers, like I did yesterday.”
“I saw you do that yesterday,” Coach said, “and I’m glad you didn’t swat the ball into the crowd tonight. We might not have gotten out of here alive.”
“I’m sorry, Coach. I’ll ask you before I try anything like that again.”
Coach smiled and touched Eddie on the shoulder. “Nice block, son. Guard him close, and no smart-talking, no matter what he says to you. Let’s be the deaf Indian champions, how about it,” he said, placing both hands in front of us.
We all joined him and whispered, “Play clean, play hard, and nobody gets hurt. Achukmas.”
CHAPTER 17
Bobby Better Score
We saw a different Matthews after that. He scored only seven points in the first half. Johnny fouled him on the arm on one three-point shot, and Matthews hit all three free throws. But he was only two of ten from the field on threes.
&nbs
p; Achukmas 28–Downtowners 16
With their leading scorer having an off night, the Downtowners lost it. They complained to the refs on every call. They loafed back on defense, they shoved and pushed and gave us not only the game—they gave us a great lesson.
“You hustle and push yourself, you give it all you got,” Coach said in the locker room following the game. “But if your mind isn’t sharp and focused, you will never be a champion.”
Achukmas 52–Downtowners 34
As Mr. Bryant pulled the bus into the hotel parking lot, Coach stood up and turned to face us. “Men,” he said, “get to bed, get some sleep, and we’ll talk about tomorrow’s opponent after breakfast. I’ll see you in the dining room at six thirty. Don’t be late.”
As we crawled into bed and turned the lights out, I asked Eddie, “What gave you the idea of blocking his shot?”
Eddie didn’t say anything for a long time.
“You hoke?”
“Yeah,” Eddie finally replied. “I was thinking about how I used to be like him, like Matthews. I thought I was better than everybody, nobody could touch me.”
“What happened?”
“Later,” Eddie said. “Let’s get some sleep. We got two games to win tomorrow.”
“Anytime you wanna crawl out of your hole, I’ll be glad to listen.”
Eddie laughed. “I bet you know all about that hole, with a dad like yours.”
You have no idea, I thought.
Breakfast came fast. Dad and Mom were acting like grown-ups, missing home. “I’ll be glad to get some onions chopped up in my scrambled eggs,” Dad said.
“Maybe room service can do that for you, Dad.”
“Behave yourselves, boys,” said Mom.
“I’ve got a prediction, Bobby,” Dad said, changing the subject.
“I’m listening.”
“Hoke. Since Eddie and Mato have done most of the scoring, the Raiders will focus on stopping those two. You and Ryan will carry the scoring load today. That’s my prediction.”
The Raiders, our opponents at the two o’clock game, were from Edmund, north of Oklahoma City.
“Did you talk to Coach about this?” I asked.
“Oh, you know how he is,” said Dad. “Coach has his own ideas.”