Game Changers--A Benchwarmers Novel

by John Feinstein

  Eleanor, Maria, and Lisa had started sitting with Andi and Jeff at lunch, and Andi brought up the movie one day, explaining the basic plot.

  “So what happens to me in the end?” Maria asked.

  “Well,” Andi said, “Maria lives, but Tony dies.”

  “Gee, not exactly a happy ending,” Jeff said.

  “No,” Andi said. “The story is supposed to make a point about what hate can do to people.”

  “Well,” Eleanor said after a long sip of lemonade, “I guess the good news is, no one’s going to die on our basketball team.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Andi said. “But it could kill our basketball season.”

  “Not exactly tragic,” Jeff put in.

  Andi smiled. “Easy for you to say.”

  * * *

  Jeff wasn’t exactly thrilled with the presence of Eleanor, Maria, and Lisa at lunch. It wasn’t that he didn’t like them—he did, although he did his best to avoid standing next to Eleanor when they all went through the line to pick up food. For some reason being towered over by a girl felt worse than being towered over by a boy.

  What bothered him was losing his alone time with Andi. Lunch was always the part of the day when they caught up with each other and shared gossip and stories. Now it was a group conversation, and since the four girls were on the same team, there was a lot more talk about that team than about Jeff’s team or life.

  Not surprisingly, it didn’t take Andi long to pick up on his discomfort.

  Their one afternoon class together was earth science—last period. That usually gave them a couple minutes to talk before one of them had to head to practice.

  “You were quiet at lunch today,” Andi said after class on Thursday.

  Jeff smiled. “Not a lot of room for me to talk,” he said.

  She nodded. “I get it. You’re used to just you and me going back and forth. This is different.”

  “A lot different,” Jeff said, with more emphasis on lot than he had intended.

  She shot him a look. “They’re really nice, you know,” she said.

  “I know they are,” Jeff said. “But it’s just…”

  “Different, l know,” she said after he paused.

  “Yeah,” he said. “And since there are four of you and one of me, it isn’t like a lot of the conversation’s going to focus on me or on the boys’ team. I mean, I get it…”

  She gave him her dazzling smile. “But you’d rather have me all to yourself.”

  “Well, yeah,” Jeff admitted, feeling his cheeks heat up.

  “Let’s see how it goes for a little while longer at least,” she said, glancing at the clock above the doorway they were passing through. “I have to get to study hall and you have to get to practice. Let’s talk later.”

  Jeff didn’t really think there was much to talk about. He understood why she would want to have the other three girls join them at lunch. Suddenly, an idea flashed through his head, and before he had the time to lose his courage, he heard himself talking.

  “Maybe we can find some other time to talk, you know, just us,” he said.

  She patted him on the shoulder. “Let’s talk about it later.”

  And she was gone.

  Easy for you to say, Jeff thought.

  * * *

  Jeff and Andi texted periodically throughout the weekend, but there was no further discussion of finding another time to hang out together.

  Jeff and his dad went to the Palestra on Saturday afternoon to see Temple play Penn. Jeff’s dad didn’t often go to games as a spectator—unless he was with Jeff. Sometimes his dad would get a media credential for Jeff so he could sit with him on press row. That didn’t happen often, though, and it wasn’t going to happen for a Big Five game where every seat on press row would be occupied.

  Still, they had very good seats—actually, there were no bad seats in the Palestra—about ten rows up from the Penn bench.

  “So how come you aren’t working today?” Jeff asked his dad as they sat down, each with a Philadelphia pretzel and a soda in hand.

  “Have the Eagles tomorrow,” his dad reminded him. “Truth is, I’d rather work this game, but not working the Eagles isn’t an option.”

  Jeff understood this. He knew that Philadelphia was pretty much like every NFL town—only more so. The Eagles weren’t so much a passion for people as an obsession. This had become even truer a few years back when they had finally won the Super Bowl for the first time.

  Tom Michaels had worked at NBC Sports–Philadelphia for twelve years. That meant he’d been there Jeff’s entire life. Before that, he’d worked at the Philadelphia Daily News, but seeing the downward trend in the newspaper business, he’d accepted the offer to go work on television for the local sports station and had been their lead reporter on everything—but most important the Eagles—ever since.

  Jeff had been in the press box at Lincoln Financial Field—aka “the Linc,” to everyone in Philadelphia—prior to Eagles games in the past. He couldn’t sit there during a game because NFL rules said you had to be at least eighteen to sit in the press box during a game.

  But he’d always been amazed at the number of media members who showed up to cover the Eagles and how seriously they all seemed to take the idea of covering football.

  Jeff knew his dad didn’t take it nearly as seriously. He’d often said he enjoyed stories that most people didn’t want to cover more than those that everyone was covering. That was why Jeff had been able to convince him to do a story on Andi when she was being denied a spot on the soccer team. His father’s story had led to something of a media frenzy. When Andi got a chance to play—and play well—he and several other reporters had returned to follow up.

  “So, we haven’t had much time to talk this week,” his dad said. “How’s your team shaping up?”

  “Hard to tell,” Jeff answered, “since we’re playing against each other right now. We’ll learn a lot, I think, playing against Camden. Their high school teams are always really good, so I’d guess their middle school teams are good too.”

  “Nationally ranked good,” his dad said. “Of course, who knows about a sixth-grade team?”

  The game tipped off and they talked less, both focused on the court.

  During the first TV time-out, his dad asked, “You think you’ll start?”

  “I think so,” Jeff answered. “I should. The only issue is, Ron Arlow wants to be the point guard, too. I’m guessing Coach C will start both of us, but I hope he doesn’t play me off the ball. I’m better at point than Arlow is.”

  “Arlow behaving any better than he did in the fall?” his dad asked.

  “Not really,” Jeff said. “But this is different. In soccer he was the best player, so we had to put up with him. He’s good in basketball, but not the best player. So I don’t feel intimidated by him the way I did in soccer.”

  “He was the second-best player,” his dad said. “Andi was the best player. And you know what? By the end of the season, I’m not sure he was the second-best player. Might have been you, the way you improved.”

  Jeff smiled. “Dad, I thought reporters were supposed to be unbiased.”

  His dad smiled back. “Not when their son’s involved. Or his best friend.” He paused and then added, “And I’m not that biased.”

  Jeff just smiled. He wanted another pretzel.

  * * *

  Before Monday’s practice began, Coach C told the players he and Coach B had decided on the starters for the Camden game.

  “This is all subject to change,” he said. “It could change for the game Friday or it could change in January. Or, it might not change at all—though that’s unlikely. We’re going to judge you from game to game, at least for right now. We think we have twelve guys on this team who can play and play well, so we’re going to make sure everybody plays—certainly tomorrow afternoon.

  “So, for now, here are the starters: James, Tayler, Matthew, Arlow, and Michaels.”

  To Jeff, there were
no surprises in that group, except for Tavon Washington not being the starter at center. He was a better shooter than Camden James, but James was the tallest player on the team at six-two. Tate Matthew and Crew Tayler would be the forwards. Crew was about five-eight and had the skills to play guard. Arlow and Jeff were clearly the two best guards.

  Jeff glanced at Danny Diskin, whose look of disappointment was easy to see. Danny’s problem was that he was what coaches called a tweener. He wasn’t a good enough ball handler or shooter to play outside, but he also wasn’t tall enough to be really effective inside, although his strength certainly helped him as a rebounder.

  Arlow had his hand up. “Coach, which of us has the point?” he asked.

  “To start the game, Michaels,” Coach C said. “But you’ll both see time there.”

  Clearly that wasn’t the answer Arlow wanted to hear. He put his hands on his hips and stared at the ceiling. Coach C looked at him for a second, then moved on.

  “Al, you’re up,” he said, turning to Coach B.

  From the clipboard he was carrying, the assistant coach took out slips of paper. He walked around the circle, handing one to each player.

  “Go sit for a minute and use the bleachers to back up your voting slips. Write one name down for captain and hand the slips back to me.”

  They all did as instructed.

  “We’ll let you know at the end of practice who’s going to be captain,” Coach C said. “Okay, let’s stretch.”

  The next fifty-five minutes took about four hours to pass. Jeff thought he had a decent chance to be elected captain. He was glad the coaches weren’t simply going to appoint Arlow—or anyone else—the captain. However it worked out, Jeff was comfortable with it being decided by a fair vote.

  The only thing noteworthy about the practice was how evenly matched the starters and subs seemed to be. Tavon Washington, clearly unhappy about not starting, outplayed Cam James most of the day. Danny Diskin could also compete with the starters. Mike Roth, who played the off-guard spot for the second team, could shoot, although he usually needed a good screen or pass to get his shot off.

  At 4:13 p.m., with the girls ringing the court for their practice, Coach C blew his whistle—which he didn’t do very often—and brought them all to the center jump circle.

  “Gentlemen, we have a tie in the vote for captain,” he said. “No need to break it. We’ll just have cocaptains.”

  He paused for a second and smiled while everyone waited in suspense.

  “Congratulations,” he finally said, “to Jeff Michaels and Ron Arlow.”

  Jeff’s heart leaped and fell with a thud, all in about two seconds. Everyone was clapping. Arlow was clearly just as unhappy as he was.

  “Captains,” Coach C said. “Bring ’em in. Let’s hear ‘one and oh,’ on three.”

  Jeff and Arlow moved to the middle of the circle, looking more like wrestlers circling each other than newly named cocaptains.

  “Ready?” Jeff asked Arlow as he raised his hand in the air and everyone moved in around them.

  Arlow didn’t answer. Instead, he threw his hand up and said, “On three, one and oh!” Everyone responded with, “One, two, three, one and oh!”

  Everyone except Jeff. His arm still in the air, he was glaring at Arlow. Their cocaptaincy was off to a great start.

  As everyone headed for the locker room, Jeff had one thought: Who the heck had voted for Arlow?

  8

  Andi knew something was wrong when Jeff sprinted past her—and the rest of the girls’ team—as soon as the boys had done their post-practice cheer. She guessed that he hadn’t been elected captain and was disappointed by the vote.

  She had no illusions about whether Coach Josephson was going to pick her as captain. She didn’t even know at that moment if she would be starting, although she couldn’t see any way that she, Maria, and Eleanor wouldn’t start. It was clear to everyone that they were the three best players on the team.

  The other spots were—or should be—up for grabs, although Andi guessed that Jamie Bronson would start, if only because she was the most physical player on the team. Bronson had hands of stone, which made her an offensive liability, but her sheer strength made her a good rebounder and someone who, when she did catch the ball cleanly, was tough to stop inside. Lisa Carmichael should also start. At least if Andi were picking the lineup—which she wasn’t.

  There were no clues on Monday who the starters would be. Coach Josephson continued to use different combinations throughout practice—which made no sense to Andi. The starters—whoever they were—needed to work together to begin to get some feel for one another. Apparently that notion didn’t appear in any of the coaching books their coach had read.

  At five fifteen on the dot, Coach Josephson blew her whistle sharply. Everyone had been shooting free throws without threat of running suicides for a change. The players ran to the jump circle.

  “Good practice today, girls,” Coach J said. “We play here tomorrow at four o’clock. I want everyone in the locker room by three thirty. We’ll let you know then who will be starting. Coach Axelson and I will make our final decisions tonight.”

  Andi found herself wondering why those decisions couldn’t have been made at least a day earlier to give the starters some time to work together as a unit. She glanced at Eleanor, who gave a little eye roll as if to say, “What is going on here?”

  Fortunately, the coach didn’t see her.

  “One thing we have decided on is who is going to be our captain,” Coach Josephson added. “I think we have several excellent leaders on this team, but I think you’ll all agree there’s one girl who has stood out since the first day of tryouts.”

  She paused as if she were about to announce who had been thrown off the island on one of those reality shows.

  “So, congratulations to our team captain”—another pause … seriously?—“Jamie Bronson!”

  Bronson’s clique cheered; the non-clique four clapped politely. Andi, Eleanor, Maria, and Lisa almost got their hands together but didn’t quite make it there. Coach J had to notice but chose not to comment.

  Instead, she asked Bronson if she wanted to say anything to her teammates.

  Bronson, showing what kind of leader she would be, said, “Let’s go out and win tomorrow!”

  Great speech, Andi thought.

  Then Coach Josephson suggested everyone come together for a cheer. “On three,” she said, “win!”

  The response to that was mixed.

  As they walked off the court, Andi said quietly to Eleanor, Maria, and Lisa, “No wonder she picked Bronson. They’re equally articulate.”

  “Hey, they both think winning’s a good idea,” Maria said with a grin.

  They left it at that.

  * * *

  Jeff was as aware as any sixth grader that the preferred method of communicating among his peers was texting. But he wanted to talk directly to Andi that night, so after dinner, he texted her to see if it was okay to call.

  Finishing homework, she texted back. Give me fifteen minutes.

  He patiently waited sixteen minutes and then called.

  “You looked upset after your practice,” she said. “Who got elected captain?”

  “I did,” Jeff said. Then, before she got the wrong idea, he added, “And Arlow did. The vote was a tie. We’re cocaptains.”

  Andi understood. “Not exactly ideal,” she said. “Who do you think voted for him? None of his posse from soccer’s on the team.”

  “I know,” Jeff said. “I can’t figure it out. I kinda wish Coach C had just named a captain the way Coach J did in soccer. I’m pretty sure he would have picked me.”

  “Well, having the coach pick a captain didn’t work out so well for us,” Andi said.

  Jeff realized he hadn’t given any thought at all to what Andi was dealing with on the girls team. He felt embarrassed.

  “I forgot she was naming a captain today. How bad?”

  “Bad as it gets,�
� Andi answered. “Bronson.”

  Jeff was up to date to on Bronson and the mean-girl faction of Andi’s team.

  “Jeez, I’m sorry about that,” he said.

  “It gets better,” Andi said. “She didn’t even name the starters for tomorrow. Said she’d let us know before the game. Whoever the starters are, they haven’t practiced together at all.”

  “I guess having your starters work together isn’t in any of the books your coach read,” Jeff said.

  Andi laughed. It was amazing how often she and Jeff thought exactly alike.

  “Camden’s a jock school, in every sport from what I’ve heard,” she said. “And they’ve had sixth-grade teams in New Jersey for years before they started them here. I suspect they might kill us.”

  The way the schedule worked, the boys and girls teams played the same school on a given day. When the boys traveled, the girls played at home. When the girls traveled, the boys played at home. The same was true for the varsity teams—they played after the sixth-grade games. The only difference was that the varsity teams played thirty-two minutes—four eight-minute quarters—the way high school teams did. The sixth graders only played twenty-four minutes—four six-minute quarters.

  “Well, I’m not exactly optimistic about our game, either,” Jeff said. “I mean, Coach C and Coach B know what they’re doing, but we aren’t exactly a close-knit team right now.”

  “You guys are lifelong friends compared to us,” Andi said. She had a positive thought. “Hey, we got off to a terrible start in soccer and ended up winning the conference. Maybe that’ll happen in basketball, too. Slow start, then get better.”

  “We got better in soccer because Coach J finally started playing you,” Jeff said.

  “And you,” Andi said quickly.

  “Yeah, true,” Jeff said. “Maybe we should suggest to our coaches that we start the season on the bench.”