Game Changers--A Benchwarmers Novel

by John Feinstein

  “Look,” Coach C said in the huddle. “I know you’ve never played against anyone as good as this kid. I get it. But let’s stay calm and play zone and see if we can keep him from getting inside all the time.”

  They had practiced a two-three zone defense at times in practice but hadn’t used it in the first two games. Coach C was a disciple of Duke University coach Mike Krzyzewski, who only played zone in extreme emergencies. This was clearly very extreme.

  The first time Jordan brought the ball up in the second quarter and saw the zone, he began smiling. “Zone!” he called out to his teammates.

  Apparently, they’d seen this before. They all shuffled around and the kid playing center came to the top of the key and set a screen for Jordan. He dribbled behind it and smoothly shot—and swished—a three. Jeff found himself looking over at Coach C as if to say, “Now what?”

  They stayed in the zone and Jordan, apparently bored, passed more often to his teammates. It was 35–15 at halftime. The only way Merion was going to have a chance was if the Haverford coach agreed to let them play seven guys against his five. Even that might not have helped.

  Jeff hadn’t noticed how packed the gym had become once the game started. It probably seated about five hundred, and every corner was full. Apparently, the word was out that the sixth-grade team had a star in the making.

  Jordan didn’t play at all in the fourth quarter. The score was 53–22 after three quarters, and the Haverford coach decided to have mercy on his opponent. Jeff had a feeling that was going to be the case for a lot of Haverford’s games. With Jordan sitting on the end of the bench with a towel over his head, Merion managed to play the fourth quarter to a 10–10 standoff. Without Jordan, the teams were—as Jeff had suspected—evenly matched.

  The final score was 63–32. Even with Jordan not playing the last six minutes, Haverford had scored sixty-three points, which was amazing in a twenty-four-minute game at any level.

  Ted Washington, Tavon’s brother who kept stats for the team, told Jeff later that Jordan’s three-quarter totals were thirty-six points, fourteen rebounds, eight assists, and eight steals. It had felt more like 20 steals to Jeff.

  When they got back to the locker room, Coach C just shook his head as they all sat down on stools.

  “Fellas, you’ve got nothing to feel bad about,” he said. “I have a feeling someday you’ll tell people you played against the Michael Jordan of the twenty-first century. His biggest problem is going to be all the attention he’s going to start getting very soon.

  “So we’re going to pretend today never happened. The good news is, we don’t play them again until the last game of the season, so let’s try to get on an eleven-game winning streak between now and then. We’ve got Ardmore at home on Friday. Unless Jordan transfers there between now and then”—he got a laugh with that line—“it’s an eminently winnable game. So, let’s shower fast and get back to school. I know you’ve all got homework to do.”

  Jeff moaned to himself. He had plenty of homework to do. Getting visions of Michael Jordan out of his mind while he was studying would not be easy.

  * * *

  The Haverford girls’ team wasn’t nearly as good as its boys’ team. There was no female equivalent of Michael Jordan or anyone close to that. They were tall, but not very athletic. Debbie Lee was as tall as any of them and more talented.

  Of course, Coach Josephson insisted on the same five starters, so the score stayed close for a quarter—11–10, Merion. But when she put Andi and Lisa Carmichael into the game to start the second quarter to join Eleanor, Maria, and Jamie, the game became a runaway quickly.

  Haverford didn’t have any guards who could handle the ball against the quickness of Maria and Andi, and with Lisa joining Eleanor inside, Merion dominated, in spite of Haverford’s height. In the first four minutes of the second quarter, Merion outscored Haverford 13–0, pushing the lead to 24–10. The Haverford coach called time and Coach Josephson took all five players on the court out—insisting that Dove and Medley need a rest.

  “We’re fine, Coach,” Maria said when Coach Josephson explained this in the huddle.

  “I’ll decide that,” Coach Josephson answered, giving Maria a sharp look.

  The last two minutes were even and Merion led 28–14 at the break.

  In the locker room, Andi, sitting nearest to the corner where the coaches went to talk while the players rested, overheard Coach Tuller saying, “Amy, we’ve got to go with the kids who started the second quarter. They’ve earned it.”

  “Bonnie, you’ve been to one practice and been part of the first half of one game and now you’re the expert on who should play?” Coach Josephson answered.

  Andi didn’t hear the answer. The two coaches had apparently walked out of earshot.

  Maybe the group that had started the second quarter had earned the right to start the third, but Coach Josephson went with the five who had started the game. Fortunately, Eleanor and Maria were part of that group, and the third quarter ended with Eleanor catching a lob pass from Maria for a layup that made the score 40–23.

  Everyone played in the fourth quarter. Andi hit two open threes and was fouled while making the second one. As she walked to the free-throw line, she saw Brooke Jensen and Jamie Bronson reporting to the scorer’s table. Bronson came in for her pal Jenny Mearns. Jensen, however, stayed at the table, indicating to the official that she was coming in for the shooter—Andi.

  Andi wasn’t that surprised. There was only 2:14 left in the game and the lead was now a very comfortable 53–31. Jensen was part of the second five that Coach Josephson had played while leaving Andi and Lisa Carmichael on the bench, but in reality, she was probably the twelfth-best player on a twelve-girl team. Getting her some playing time in the last couple minutes of a blowout made sense.

  Andi made the free throw, exchanged a hand-slap with Jensen, and received congratulations from her teammates as she came out. She had played about fourteen minutes—a season high—and had scored fifteen points. She had taken four three-point shots and made them all. A pretty good day.

  As she walked to the end of the bench and sat down next to Maria and Eleanor, she realized she was smiling—probably for the first time all season. She put her head in a towel to wipe the perspiration from her face and became aware that someone was standing in front of her. She pulled the towel away and looked up to see Coach Josephson standing there.

  “You played well today, Carillo,” she said. “But you need to learn to pass more often.”

  Andi was about to say something like, “Coach, why pass when I have a wide-open shot?” but opted for, “Thanks, Coach, I’ll work on it.”

  “You’re a much better person than I am,” Maria said as the coach walked away. “I’d have told her to stick it.”

  “Which would have accomplished what?” Eleanor said.

  Maria grinned. “I don’t know. But I would have enjoyed it.”

  The final score was 56–39, after Haverford was able to score a few easy baskets in the final couple of minutes.

  It was nice to win. Andi was still convinced they could have at least split the first two games if Coach Josephson had kept her best players on the floor for the most minutes instead of playing her silly mind games. They were 1–0 in the conference. Andi reminded herself they had started 0–2 in soccer and had tied their first conference game. Based on that, they were ahead of schedule.

  A winning locker room is always louder than a losing locker room. Even Coach Josephson seemed upbeat.

  “Now you see how we can play when we play as a team,” she said. “Everyone contributed today—everyone. That was a great win. We have the late practice tomorrow, early on Thursday. Friday, the bus will leave for Ardmore at two thirty. I hear they won their conference opener today, too, so that will be a big game.”

  She was actually smiling. Andi was trying to remember if she’d ever seen her smile before. After they did their cheer—“Beat the Antlers!”—Maria walked past Andi on he
r way to the shower.

  “Great win?” she said softly. “Did she watch that team play? You, Eleanor, and I could have beaten that team three-on-five.”

  Andi laughed. Then she thought about it for a second. Maria might have been right.

  She remembered a quote she had once read from the football coach of a struggling team: “You never throw a win back. Every one of them is worth having.”

  This team, she suspected, was in no position to throw a win back.

  * * *

  Jeff was climbing wearily onto the bus, visions of Michael Jordan’s dunk still very clear in his mind’s eye, when he saw that Andi had texted him. He’d been thinking of texting her once on the bus but was almost afraid to ask what had happened. What if Michael Jordan had a twin sister?

  He smiled when he saw the text.

  We won! Haverford was so bad even Coach J couldn’t screw us up. U?

  He sat down and began typing a response. Danny Diskin sat down across from him.

  “Let me guess,” he said. “Andi.”

  Jeff smiled. “Yeah,” he admitted.

  “They won,” Danny said, causing Jeff to look up sharply from his phone.

  “How’d you know?” he asked.

  Danny grinned. “I have a source inside the team.”

  “Who?” Danny asked.

  “Not telling.”

  Then it hit Jeff. “Eleanor,” he said with what was undoubtedly a smug smile. “I see you talking to her every chance you get.”

  Danny shrugged. “Just means I’ve got good taste.”

  “Did her text mention how bad Haverford was?”

  “Matter of fact it did. She said even their coach couldn’t screw this one up.”

  Jeff burst out laughing. “That’s what Andi said!”

  Then Jeff went back to responding to Andi. Congrats. A win is a win, right? We got crushed. They had a kid named Michael Jordan—seriously—who might be the next MJ.

  She sent back a smiley face.

  Jeff was trying to think of a response when Danny looked up again.

  “Hey, lover boy, Eleanor says you should ask Andi to go to the movies with us on Saturday.”

  Danny had started calling Jeff lover boy during soccer season when it had become clear that he had a crush on Andi.

  Jeff didn’t think that was a great idea. Fortunately, he had a built-in excuse. “St. Joseph’s is playing North Carolina in the Palestra Saturday. I’m going with my dad.”

  “Okay.” Danny nodded. “Maybe we’ll do it sometime later in winter recess.”

  “Yeah, sounds good,” Jeff said.

  It did sound good. Whether he could actually make it happen was an entirely different story.

  22

  Amy Josephson was enjoying her second cup of coffee the next morning when there was a light tap on her office door.

  “Come,” she said, and looked up to see her friend Mary Ann Hanks walking through the door, Philadelphia Flyers coffee mug in hand. Mary Ann was a dyed-in-the-wool Flyers fan, no doubt influenced, at least in part, by the fact that her husband had played college hockey.

  “Hey,” she said, looking up. “Nice win yesterday.”

  Hanks’s varsity had beaten Haverford’s varsity in a tight game, which Amy hadn’t seen since she’d been on the bus back to school with her own team. On Tuesdays, the sixth graders left right after their game. On Fridays, with the weekend coming up, they stayed to watch the older kids play when the game was at home. It wasn’t a rule, but it was expected.

  “Thanks. You too,” Mary Ann said, sitting down. “I remember my first win. It’s a nice feeling, isn’t it?”

  “You remember back that far?” Amy said, teasing her friend. Then she added, “Yeah, it felt good, especially after those first two losses.”

  “How’s it going with Bonnie as your assistant?” Mary Ann asked.

  Amy shrugged. “Okay, I guess. Honestly, Joan knew a lot more about basketball than she does, but…”

  “But she tried to tell you some things that you didn’t want to hear.”

  That brought Amy up short. She considered Mary Ann a friend, maybe her closest friend on the faculty. All of a sudden, it was clear that this wasn’t a social call.

  She drained her coffee, stood up, and poured another mug—hers said KANSAS, in honor of her alma mater—and held the pot out to Mary Ann to see if she needed more. Mary Ann leaned forward while Amy emptied what was left into her mug. She remembered that she couldn’t stand hockey.

  “For the record, I didn’t fire her,” Amy said, sitting back down. “She quit.”

  “I know,” Mary Ann said. “I talked to her. Why don’t you tell me what happened in the locker room at Chester Heights?”

  Mary Ann Hanks was the senior person in the athletic department. She had been at the school longer than any of the other coaches—two men and two women—who taught gym. Technically, she had no authority over anyone. But most people deferred to her when there were decisions to be made—like on the subject of gym time. She had been the one who had made the schedule to alternate boys’ and girls’ practice times each day.

  Now she was sitting calmly, sipping her coffee, but clearly challenging Amy on some level. They had worked together for five years, but never before as coaching colleagues.

  “I said something that offended the two black girls,” she said finally. “They didn’t like the fact that I pointed out—accurately—that Chester Heights didn’t have as many black players as Camden had and that…”

  “They wouldn’t be as athletic,” Mary Ann said.

  “Well … yeah. Because it’s true.”

  “Amy, that’s a ridiculous stereotype.”

  “There’s a reason why things become stereotypes,” Amy said. “It’s usually because they’re true.”

  “If you were an eleven- or twelve-year-old African American kid, can you see why that stereotype might be offensive?”

  Amy thought for a moment. “So I’m supposed to cater to the fragile emotions of sixth graders—even if they should know that wasn’t my intent?”

  “That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do,” Mary Ann said. “You’re coaching sixth graders, remember?”

  “Don’t kids need to hear the truth about things as they get older?”

  “What truth are you telling them? That white people like you expect them to be better athletes because they’re black? If you want to tell them a truth, point out to them that, even today, being African American means you are going to be subjected to silly stereotypes.”

  Amy was just about done with this conversation. She hadn’t done anything wrong and she hadn’t meant to offend anyone. Before she could cut things off, Mary Ann was speaking again.

  “Okay, I hope I’ve made my point. Now, one other thing. What have you got against the Carillo kid? I hear you’ve been all over her since practice started.”

  At least that one was easy. “She’s a prima donna,” Amy said. “That Michaels kid got her on TV during soccer and she still thinks she’s some kind of star.”

  Mary Ann shook her head. “Hal Johnston got her on TV with his knuckle-dragging views on boys playing with girls. And she was a star because of what she did on the field. So, what’s your real problem with her?”

  Amy had several answers to that question, but none she wanted to share. “Did she come to you and complain?” she asked.

  Mary Ann shook her head. “As a matter of fact, no. It was Jason Crist. He apparently heard it from some of his players.”

  “What would his players know about what’s going on inside my team?”

  Mary Ann smiled. “Amy, you don’t think sixth-grade girls and sixth-grade boys talk to one another? Especially when they all play basketball?”

  Amy really didn’t want to hear any more. In the back of her mind was the thought that she’d just kick the kid off her team and be done with it. Then again, she’d probably run back to the media.

  “I’m trying my best to be fair to her,” sh
e said. “It isn’t my fault she’s a whiner.”

  “Who says she’s a whiner?”

  “Well, she must have complained to someone for it to get to Jason Crist.”

  “Amy, your team plays right before my team plays every game, remember? I’ve seen how you use her—and don’t use her. Regardless of what Jason’s told me, it’s clear-cut to anyone watching that your four best players are Dove, Medley, Carmichael, and Carillo—not necessarily in that order.”

  “I’m not sure that’s true.”

  Mary Ann stood up. “Let me tell you something, they’re the only four from your group I guarantee will play for me next year.”

  “Fine,” Amy said. “Play ’em all you want. Until then, I’ll play ’em all I want.”

  Mercifully, that ended the conversation. After Mary Ann left, Amy sat down in her chair and took her last sip of coffee. It was cold.

  * * *

  Andi probably should not have been surprised when Danny Diskin joined their lunch group on Wednesday. She knew that he and Eleanor had been texting after the game the day before because Eleanor had shown her a funny text from him about playing against a Michael Jordan who might be better than the real Michael Jordan.

  She’d giggled reading it, then said, “You like him, don’t you?”

  Eleanor shrugged and said, “What’s not to like?”

  So when Danny got to their table and said, “Room for one more?” it was Eleanor who moved her seat closer to Andi in order to make space for Danny to pull up a chair.

  Much of the lunch conversation centered on Jeff and Danny explaining what they had seen the day before at Haverford.

  “So,” Maria said. “He’s how tall and he dunked?”

  The two boys looked at one another. “About my height,” Danny said. “Like five-nine, I’d say.”

  Jeff nodded. “Maybe five-eight, no more than five-ten. There was a kid from Camden who was maybe five-seven who dunked. But he couldn’t play like this guy. Spud Webb won the NBA dunk contest at five-seven,” he added. “And Nate Robinson won it at five-nine.”