On the Buzzer

by Michael Panckridge

  The Wetherhood players were at the other end of the court, pumping each other up and shouting. Rat slowly got to his feet. Anger rippled through the Sandhurst crowd.

  Mr T was on court, talking to Rat. The referee signalled a foul to the scorers. The clock had stopped. Rat took the ball from the referee for a free throw-in. Two Hood players were crowded round him, their huge arms waving about. I went over to help him out.

  ‘Next time, I’ll put you through the wall, you traitor!’ one of the Hood kids spat.

  ‘Probably the only way you can win,’ I said. As the Wetherhood player digested this, Rat sent a neat bounce pass, right between the guy’s legs. I shot the ball back to Rat.

  ‘All the way, Rat!’ I screamed.

  He weaved his way up the court, dummied a pass to Fisk at the top of the key, and made a jump shot that was never going to miss.

  23 – 21.

  Knowing that our firsts match against the Hoods would be the big finale, the organisers had switched the firsts and seconds around for the final round. The Ascot vs Scornly firsts game had finished and kids and adults crammed around the edges of our court, watching the final minutes of the game – the final minutes of the competition.

  Mr T shouted for us to set up a zone defence. He didn’t want Rat isolated on the court. Wetherhood soaked up plenty of clock time bringing the ball down. We were inside two minutes now. A shot clock hadn’t been played all tournament. They could stay in possession for the rest of the game and win it.

  ‘Rat!’ I called. ‘We’ve got to do something.’

  ‘Full-court press!’ he cried. We raced out, each of us picking up a Hood player. They were now under pressure, but were still able to pass the ball around. The clock ticked on.

  ‘Draw the foul!’ Mr T called from the bench. I reached over Totem, the player I was marking, banging him on the arm. A whistle shrieked and the foul was called against me.

  ‘That’s seven team fouls!’ an official screamed over the noise of the crowd. I looked over at Mr T, who shook his head.

  Totem lined up for his first throw. He looked across at Rat.

  ‘This one’s for you, traitor,’ he snarled.

  ‘You wish, loser,’ Fisk replied, with venom. They eyed each other. Totem threw the ball. It rimmed out. His next shot fell in. We were three points down.

  24 – 21

  Straight away, Chaz was fouled. Now it was our turn to go to the free-throw line. Chaz hit the first home, but missed the second.

  24 – 22

  There were 27 seconds left.

  ‘It’s got to be a clean steal!’ I shouted to the team. We hovered in front of our players looking for the opening. It came out of nowhere. Wetherhood had brought the ball down quickly, and Chaz had given their tall player a slight opening. He took the shot, but just as he let go of the ball, Fisk was up in front of him, slapping the ball away. It was a perfect intercept.

  There was a scramble of arms and legs. Rat was on his hands and knees, scrapping for the loose ball. He hooked out a pass. I ran onto it, dribbled down court for a few metres, then spun into a 360-degree turn to get around the Hood player in front of me. I drove the ball in hard, suddenly realising as I started my drive to the basket that two points weren’t going to be enough.

  Swivelling in mid-air, I managed to drag two Hoods players with me. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Rat hovering out on the three-point line beyond the top of the key. I hurled the ball at him as I crashed to the floor. Rat took one look at the hoop and snapped the ball out in a huge arc. The crowd was counting down the final seconds of the game.

  On the count of three, the ball swished through the net. I caught it while still lying flat out. A Hood wrenched the ball out of my hand, but the buzzer went before he had time to get behind the back line to throw it into play. I lay still a moment longer. If I never played another game of basketball in my life, I wouldn’t mind, I thought to myself.

  But our joy didn’t last long. We went back into a huddle. Mr T shouted instructions at us.

  Mrs Cartwright still hadn’t appeared, I noticed.

  Jack, Bubba, Luci and Becky were all trying to get my attention, but I was focused on Mr. T.

  ‘People, we’ve won a battle here, but we haven’t won the war,’ he said. ‘The officials have added up the scores across the four comps today, and it seems that Wetherhood and Sandhurst have tied.’ A few of us groaned.

  ‘There are two more things we have to do,’ he said. ‘This is how it’s going to be decided. Three from the first boys’ and three from the first girls’ teams will take a two-point throw from the foul line, and a three-point shot from anywhere you like outside the three-point line. Travis, Mitchell and Mia, put your heads together and work out who our shooters will be. I’ll decide who throws first.’

  ‘Mr T?’ Fisk asked. ‘What happened to Mrs Cartwright?’

  ‘No idea, Travis,’ he answered. ‘Come on now, minds on the job. It’s not over yet.’ We lined up for our throws. Mia, Cara and Luci would be joining Travis, Rat and I for the throws. Each team would take all their two-point shots, then watch the other team. It would be the same again for the three-point shots.

  The Hoods won the toss and shot first.

  All six of their players made the two-point throws. Rat, Mia and Cara made the two-point throws for us, which gave us only six points.

  12 – 6.

  Once again, we were in trouble – six points down going into the three-point round. The crowd was hushed. Even the Wetherhood fans were quiet as the players took their shots. No one had left the stadium. Ascot and Scornly people watched, too. The spectators edged the court as they watched the drama unfold.

  As the first three-point shot for Wetherhood went in, the tension began to lift. I think most people believed that it would be impossible for Sandhurst to catch up.

  The next three shots didn’t go as well. Totem nailed his three-pointer but the last attempt lipped out.

  18 – 6

  Rat took the first throw for us, but amazingly it caught between the backboard and the side of the ring and fell away to the left. Mia took her shot, and the ball dropped in. Cheers erupted from everywhere. Luci went next, but her shot missed. Then Cara made her throw to put us only six points behind – again.

  The whole place hummed. Two shots to go, and two three-pointers would see us back in the contest. Next was Fisk. He took a few deep breaths, waited for the crowd to quieten, then fired the ball hard at the hoop. The ball hit the front edge of the ring, bobbed up, then dropped down through the hole. The ref passed me the ball. I bounced it hard into the floor, waiting for the noise of the crowd to hush.

  I had to make it just for us to stay in the comp. And then what? Do it all over again? I walked towards the sideline, still bouncing the ball. I stepped up to the edge of the line, set my feet, locked my eyes on the target and let go. It felt good from the outset. I heard that lovely swishing sound as the ball caught the net.

  18 – 18.

  Once again the roar went up. The Sandhurst kids rushed out and grabbed me. But I knew there had to be more. I didn’t expect the next announcement from Mr T, though. I was watching Mr Bronsen calling his team (the seconds) together, as Mr T spoke.

  ‘Guys, it’s out of our hands,’ he said. ‘All we can do is encourage and support our seconds team. They all get a shot. First the boys, then, if it’s still tied, the girls. Now take a seat.’

  Someone was missing, I thought, scanning the court. Bryce! I raced to Mr Bronsen.

  ‘Bryce Flavel is a part of this team, too, Mr Bronsen,’ I said to him.

  ‘Well find him, and hurry up about it!’ He looked at me. ‘Now!’

  I raced off. The crowd pushed and jostled. I wanted to watch, but I knew that being a player down could mean the difference between our having the trophy – the quad trophy set – and Wetherhood keeping it for yet another year. I pushed through the mass of bodies, trying to catch sight of Bryce. I raced to the office area, searching wil
dly and calling Bryce’s name. The woman at the counter looked at me and an idea rushed into my head. I blurted out the situation to her and soon a second announcement blared from the speakers. Surely Bryce would hear it. I made my way back to Court Two, where the action was taking place. The Sandhurst seconds were taking their three-point throws. Bubba had just scored with his. I looked up at the scoreboard, then back at the Wetherhood players as they jumped and shouted. They’d obviously won. They were ahead on the scoreboard by three points.

  Mr T and Mr Bronsen were arguing with an official. I tried to get as close as I could.

  ‘You’ve put out a team of six, that’s all we can do for you,’ said the ref.

  ‘Wait!’ Fisk, of all people, was pushing through the crowd, dragging Bryce with him.

  ‘This is the final boy. You can see here, his name is printed on the original team list.’ Mr Bronsen was holding out a piece of paper to the official. There was a moment’s hush. Even the Wetherhood players and supporters had gone quiet.

  ‘Get him a singlet, quick!’ someone said behind us.

  The official, waving his arms, walked back onto the court, the referees alongside him. They motioned for Bryce to join them.

  ‘Two shots left for Sandhurst. Their seventh player has arrived.’ Bryce turned to me, looking helpless.

  ‘This is it, Bryce,’ I said. ‘A two-pointer, then a three-pointer. You can do it. It’s your chance to get back at–’ I stopped.

  Bryce turned to see Mrs Cartwright, who had reappeared. She looked furious.

  ‘Get out there, Bryce, and nail it.’ I pushed him towards the free-throw line as Mrs Cartwright stormed towards us. But Mr T and Mr Bronsen had blocked her path. Again, a hush settled over the crowd as Bryce walked out towards the free-throw line. He held the ball as if he were carrying a large bowl of jelly that hadn’t quite set. There were a few titters from the Wetherhood side of the court. Bryce got to the line, adjusted his glasses and took his stance, feet spread, ball in his hands down between his legs. The titters turned to gasps of surprise. He did a few practice swings and then swung down a bit further and through and up, letting go of the ball. It flew up, pinballed between the back then front of the ring and dropped through.

  The biggest cheer of the afternoon rang out, but Bryce didn’t acknowledge it. He was in another world. He looked over at Mr T as if to say, ‘What do I do now?’ Mr T waved his arm towards the three-point line.

  Bryce took a few steps back and waited for the ball to be returned. He threw again, but this time, just as he was bringing the ball up to release it, the buzzer blared out over the speakers. Everyone screamed or jumped as the noise broke the silence. Bryce released the ball. It sailed high up into the air. Hundreds of pairs of eyes watched it make an enormous, looping arc. The crowd roared as if willing the ball to either go in, or miss – depending on whose side they were on. Finally, the ball began its descent. I looked at the basket, then back at the ball. Basket. Ball. Basket. Ball. Basket.

  Ssswwwwiiiiisssssshhhhhhhh.

  Nothing but net!

  Sandhurst players and spectators jumped up and down, hugging and high-fiving for ages. Mr Bronsen, Mr T and the other Sandhurst teachers joined in. Cameras and phones were snapping hundreds of photos.

  Of all the great Legends moments I’d had at Sandhurst, this was maybe the best. Everyone was celebrating, clapping and cheering. Even people who had done nothing got thumps of congratulations. And the kids that had been involved, all of us, were getting high-fived and patted on the back and having our hands shaken. It was incredible.

  A rumour was going around school the following morning about a notice put up in the basketball section, which had been torn down by the first teacher to see it. The notice, so the rumour had it, listed the top five placings for the Legend of Basketball and everyone’s scores. It had been written in a scrawly hand.

  Luci, Beck, and Bryce hadn’t seen the notice, but Bubba had. That meant, of course, that all day Bubba was the most popular kid in the school as everyone clamoured to get their scores.

  The teachers tried to put out the fire by saying that the results weren’t official.

  But at the school assembly after lunch, we at last heard the official results. Incredibly, they were no different from the results that had been floating around the school for most of the day. Mrs Cartwright was nowhere to be seen. Mrs Waite and Mr Bronsen made the speeches.

  Bryce had planned a grand entry and it went off perfectly. He walked in just as Mrs Waite was talking about the quad trophy achievement. Everyone stood up and cheered as Bryce walked down the centre aisle, holding the cup. The trophies stood in a row on the front table, ribbons in the school colours of blue and gold tied to each of them.

  Mrs Waite then picked up the Legend of Basketball trophies.

  ‘And so, to the moment so many of you have been eagerly anticipating,’ she said. ‘Our winners this year, our Legends of Basketball, are Travis Fisk and Mia Tompkins!’

  Once again, as he did for the Legend of Football, Fisk stood up, his arms raised toward the ceiling, his fists clenched. He gazed around the hall, soaking up the applause. He took his time getting to the front, but I sensed the applause wasn’t as strong as it had been for Bryce, and there weren’t as many kids wanting to give him a high five on the way.

  I was almost out of my seat, knowing who she was going to call when my name was announced for coming second. Chaz got a big cheer for coming third. He was followed by Bubba, and then Rat, who had snuck in for fifth.

  Mrs Waite announced the remaining placegetters in the girls’ section. Cara had come second, Luci third, Becky fourth, and Talia fifth. Just as Bubba had said.

  Outside the assembly I caught up with everyone.

  ‘Hey, Rat! Get over here!’ I shouted as Rat tried to slip quietly away. Rat stopped, turned and shyly made his way over.

  ‘You did well,’ Luci said. ‘Really well.’ And he had. No one wanted to mention his low score in the quiz. So we were all a bit surprised when Rat brought the subject up.

  ‘I stuffed up the quiz,’ he said. ‘Yeah. Geez Rat, you would have blitzed the whole Legend of Basketball if you’d –’ Bubba’s comment petered out.

  For a moment no one spoke. Then finally Rat looked up at Bubba.

  ‘If I’d been able to read?’

  ‘What?’ I said without even thinking.

  ‘I just guessed,’ said Rat. ‘I got the first three right, I reckon, but then Mrs Morris – um, Cartwright – decided that she wouldn’t read out any more questions.’

  ‘I reckon she was supposed to read them aloud but decided not to,’ I said.

  Mrs Waite and Mr Bronsen walked past. ‘Mr Bronsen,’ I called. ‘Mrs Cartwright was supposed to read the basketball questions aloud, wasn’t she?’

  The teachers stopped and looked at me, then at Rat.

  ‘I can’t read,’ Rat said.

  ‘Yet,’ added Becky. Rat looked at her.

  ‘Yeah. Yet.’

  Mrs Waite was speaking.

  ‘That is correct. Mrs Cartwright was supposed to read the questions aloud. Are you telling me that she didn’t?’

  ‘Only the first three questions,’ I said. Mrs Waite and Mr Bronsen looked at each other.

  ‘Which means,’ Bryce said, ‘that Rat here has not been given a chance to show off his knowledge of basketball. He deserves that chance, doesn’t he?’

  ‘We’ll make that decision, Bryce, thank you,’ Mrs Waite said. She and Mr Bronsen walked away, deep in conversation.

  ‘Well, maybe Travis is in for a little surprise,’ Luci said, a glint in her eye. ‘How many points does Rat need to overtake him, Bubba?’ I asked.

  Bubba looked at the sky for a moment. ‘Another eight should just about do it, I’d say.’

  ‘And speaking of Mrs Morris, I mean Mrs Cartwright: Bryce, how was it that she left the stadium at just the right moment?’ I asked. ‘If she’d stayed for the game, Rat would never have come back on, and Wetherhood would
have won the match.’

  ‘And the trophy,’ Luci added.

  Bryce looked at us and smiled. ‘Well, I’ve got a little story for you all. I’m assuming you’re coming over for the traditional Legends party at my house tonight?’

  ‘Wouldn’t miss it,’ said Becky.

  ‘And you, Rat?’ I asked.

  Rat looked down at his shoes.

  ‘Yeah. That’d be neat,’ he said, a grin spreading across his face.

  ‘Give us a hint, Brycey,’ Bubba said ‘We presume you had something to do with getting Mrs Cartwright away from the game.’

  ‘Well, a little bit. I told the woman at the stadium’s front desk that I was Mrs Morris’s son. Then I said there had been a bit of an accident and my mother needed to come quickly. Then I raced outside. I assumed the office woman would just point in the direction I’d headed when Mrs Cartwright appeared.

  ‘And she did?’ I asked.

  ‘She did. Mrs Cartwright – well, Mrs Morris – ran outside. She rushed into the car park and looked around everywhere. That’s when I jammed the automatic doors. I used the scrap paper that she told me to do something useful with.’

  ‘Well, that was pretty useful, I would have thought!’ Bubba chuckled.

  ‘I thought so, too,’ said Bryce. ‘So of course she came back to the entrance when she couldn’t find her son. Meanwhile, I’d ducked round to the side door and bolted it from the inside. Then I phoned the woman at the desk about a major raffle prize she could win.’

  ‘Bryce, you’re weird,’ Beck said.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Why did you do that?’

  ‘Well, it kept her from going over to un jam the sliding doors. She was far more interested in hearing about the prize.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ I gasped.

  ‘You kept Cartwright out just long enough, Brycey,’ said Bubba.

  ‘Yep. She was so angry, I thought at one stage she was going to smash through the doors.’