The Sixth Man

by John Feinstein

  Sure enough, it swished with twelve seconds to play. KOP led 69–67. Jonas grabbed the ball as it came through the basket and quickly inbounded to Alex. The Cougars had dropped their defense back as soon as Appleman made his shot, so Alex was able to quickly get the ball to the frontcourt, where Coach Archer called time with eight seconds left.

  It was now so loud that Coach Archer told everyone to get as close to him as they possibly could while he talked.

  “We’re going to run option-down,” he said, shouting to be heard even though he was no more than a foot from any of his players. “Got it?”

  They all nodded. He grabbed his grease board and drew up the play even though they all knew it. Max would inbound to Alex and run to the left wing as a decoy. Alex would look at Max and then throw the ball to Holder in the low post. Steve’s job was to get a shot up as soon as possible so the Lions would have a chance to follow his shot if he missed. When they ran the play in practice, Holder regularly got a shot up in three to four seconds after the play began. They had eight seconds left.

  Plenty of time.

  “Steve, you even have time for a shot fake if you need it,” Coach Archer said. “No need to rush. Make the shot, get fouled, we’ll get out of here. If not, make it and we’ll win this thing in overtime.”

  He was shouting to be heard, but the look on his face was one of complete calm, which helped settle Alex down. Coach Archer looked around at all of them as the horn sounded, meaning the time-out was over.

  “We’ve done this in practice a thousand times,” he said. “Close your eyes for a second and see an empty gym. Just us.” They all did as they were told. Alex actually did see an empty gym for a split second.

  Then he heard the referee’s voice just outside the huddle. “Come on, guys, let’s play,” he said.

  Alex opened his eyes and looked around. The gym was anything but empty.

  They had to inbound from the far side of the court, which meant that Max had to stand within a few feet of the homophobe section. Never once during the game had he so much as flinched at the barbs being hurled at him. Now he looked to Alex as if he were still seeing an empty gym. Alex couldn’t imagine what must be going through his head.

  The official handed Max the ball, and Alex took a jab step in the direction of the basket, then stepped outside to catch the inbounds. As instructed, Max ran to the wing, hand up in order to look like he wanted a quick pass back. Alex looked at him as if he intended to pass him the ball, took one quick dribble to force Appleman backward, then picked the ball up and tossed it to Holder, who had quickly established position to the left side of the basket.

  Holder grabbed it, turned to his right, and had space to shoot. He was up in the air, open because Lesco wouldn’t dare go near him and risk a foul. Alex saw the clock above the backboard slide down to four seconds as Holder released the shot. Instinctively, he ran in the direction of the basket, right into a mosh pit of bodies trying to get position.

  Holder’s shot was too strong. It hit the back rim and bounced in the air, everyone scrambling for it. Someone got a hand on it, and Alex saw it, still well above everyone’s heads, spinning almost right at him. Without even thinking, he jumped as high as he could and tried to tip the ball to his left—to the wing, where he could see Max waiting.

  Max was always the designated “tip-back” guy. Coach Archer often repeated a quote he had read from Duke coach Mike Krzyzewski years earlier: “In a close game, if you can get three tip-back threes, you’ll almost always win the game.”

  Alex wasn’t thinking about that line or anything else as he tried to direct the ball to Max. All he knew was there was no way for him to get two hands on the ball and this felt like their only chance.

  Max took a step to his left to grab the spinning ball. Alex almost couldn’t look—or listen. He was turned away from the basket, so he couldn’t see the clock, and he was afraid he was going to hear the buzzer before Max could shoot.

  In one lightning-fast motion, Max got the ball into his hands and was in the air, and the shot was off his fingertips. At that instant, Alex did hear the buzzer, but the ball was already in the air. The ball seemed to float toward the basket in slow motion, and the air seemed to be sucked out of the gym while everyone held their breath.

  Finally, the ball hit the rim, sat there for a split second, and then crawled over the orange paint and into the basket. Alex heard screams coming from every direction. His arms were in the air and he started toward Max.

  But Max had turned his back on the basket and his onrushing teammates. He was facing the homophobe section, pointing and screaming. Then he threw his arms into the air and shouted above the din: “Hate loses!” It was an awesome line, but completely out of character for Max. But then, this game hadn’t been like any other they’d played.

  Jonas and the rest of the team were converging on Max, but before they could get to him, Alex saw something come hurtling out of the stands. It caught Max square in the head, and Max went down as if he’d been shot.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Alex saw something bouncing on the floor and realized it was a baseball. Someone in the stands had thrown a baseball at Max. A baseball? There was no time to think about that. Jonas and Alex were the first ones to get to Max, and Alex could see that he was out cold with blood trickling from his temple. He could hear screaming all around and heard someone—he didn’t know who—yell, “Get the EMTs out here!”

  Kneeling by Max’s head, Alex was suddenly aware of the stands emptying on both sides of the gym.

  “Oh my God!” he heard himself say. He and Jonas both turned their bodies to shield Max, and hoped they wouldn’t be trampled.

  Alex had never prayed much. Now he made an exception. “Please,” he said urgently in a voice he knew no one else could hear. “Please get us out of here alive.”

  The shouts grew louder. He felt Jonas put an arm around him and pull him closer as they tried to protect Max. “Help’s coming!” he heard Jonas shout. “It has to be coming!”

  Alex looked up and saw members of the opposing groups squaring off. Fortunately, other than the idiot with the baseball, no one seemed to have any weapons, but there was a lot of shoving and wrestling going on.

  Alex sensed that he, Jonas, and Max were in the center of some fight-free zone. He could see that most of his teammates had surrounded them and that some of the King of Prussia players had joined them. He heard Coach Archer’s voice above the din, yelling, “Clear a path, clear a path!”

  He looked down at Max and saw that his eyes were open and blinking.

  “You okay?” he shouted at Max, which was a ridiculous question. Clearly he wasn’t.

  Nonetheless, Max nodded—which was a relief.

  Alex felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see a man dressed in some kind of firefighter’s uniform.

  “We need some room, son,” the man said softly.

  Alex stood up and backed away, and Jonas did the same. As he stood, Alex could now see that the area of the court where they were had been ringed by a mixture of security guards and police. It looked as if all the players and coaches from both teams were standing inside the protected area.

  A woman made her way through security, waved in by Coach Archer: Max’s mom. She knelt next to the man in the uniform and said, “This is my son.” He nodded.

  “He’s conscious, which is good,” Alex heard the man say. “But we need to get him out of here. You can ride with us in the ambulance.”

  More police and security were arriving, and the rest of the crowd was being pushed farther from the ring of players. He wasn’t sure where the police had come from so fast, but he wasn’t complaining. Several people were in handcuffs. The fighting had stopped. Order had been restored. He could also see a number of TV crews jockeying to get a better shot of what was going on. They were being held at bay by the police and security too.

  “Is he conscious?”

  Alex heard a familiar voice right behind him. He turned and
saw Christine, who had somehow slipped inside the protected area.

  “Yes,” Alex answered. “He’s talking too.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She nodded, putting a protective arm around him anyway. Alex was fine, but he was still in a daze.

  “Did you see what hit him?” Christine asked.

  “I think it was a baseball.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “They got the guy who threw it.”

  “Really? Who is he?”

  “No idea. He was one of the crazies.”

  It suddenly occurred to Alex that he had no idea if they had actually won the game. The shot had been so close to the buzzer that it would normally have gone to automatic video review.

  “Hey,” he said. “I don’t want to sound thoughtless, but did we win?”

  “I have no idea,” Christine said. “There was no chance for the refs to review it. But they called it good when it went in.”

  Alex nodded. He had a vague memory of seeing one of the officials with his arms raised as Max’s shot was in the air.

  The EMTs had gotten Max onto a stretcher and were gently putting him onto a gurney to take him out of the gym. Coach Archer, who had been standing right behind them while they spoke to Max, walked over and waved all his players toward him.

  “He’s talking, and he remembers everything,” Coach Archer said. “The EMTs are encouraged, but they’re going to take him to the hospital as a precaution. His mom and I are going to go with him.”

  He turned to a man in a suit who was holding a walkie-talkie. “This is Lieutenant Daniels. He and some other officers and security people are going to get you guys to the locker room and then to the bus and escort you out of here back to school. The gym is being cleared right now.”

  “Coach, did we win the game?”

  It was Zane Wakefield. Alex wanted to be annoyed with him about it, but he had to admit he’d already asked Christine the same thing.

  “Not sure,” Coach Archer said. “One of the officials told me the video is going to be sent to the conference office, and they’ll review it in the morning. But he told me they called the shot good.”

  He held up his hand as Patton Gormley started to say something. “Fellas, I gotta go. I’ll text you when I know more.” He turned and followed the gurney that the EMTs were starting to slowly push in the direction of the exit. Those who remained in the gym—some still in the stands, some on the court—clapped as the gurney began rolling. Alex noticed a lot of them were sitting on the King of Prussia side of the court.

  Lieutenant Daniels moved into the circle of players. He was all business.

  “Boys, I’m going to ask you to walk behind me and let my men fall in around you while we take you to the locker room,” he said. “Don’t talk to anyone. The sooner we get you to the locker room and out of here, the better everyone’s going to feel. Once you’re in the locker room, feel free to text or call your parents to let them know everything is okay. But don’t take a lot of time down there. We want to get you all home quickly and safely.”

  Everyone complied. Alex did notice quite a few Chester Heights parents as they walked across the floor to the locker rooms—including his mom and Mrs. Ellington. The KOP players were also being led out at the other end of the gym.

  When they got to the locker room, almost everyone grabbed their phones.

  Coach Birdy stood at the front of the room. “Just want to check that you’re all okay,” he said. “Anyone need a trainer or a doctor?”

  When no one responded, he went on. “Can I just tell you guys one thing before you shower and get dressed?” he said. “You should be really proud of what you did tonight. Even if Max’s shot doesn’t count—which I believe it will—that was a really gutsy game you played. I’m proud of you, and I know the whole school will be proud of you.

  “Now let’s get out of here.”

  Holder held his arm up, and they all fell into a circle around him. He said, simply, “Max.”

  Alex happened to see Zane Wakefield on the other side of the circle, who leaned in and shouted just as loudly as all the others: “Max!”

  Alex heard his phone buzzing to let him know he had a text. He wasn’t quite asleep or awake at that moment, so he rolled over and picked up the phone.

  2:27 a.m.

  The text was from Coach Archer.

  Good news! it began. Max is doing well. He took 12 stitches but apparently has a very hard head. The docs say he shows no signs of a concussion. Docs want to keep him overnight, but they think he could be in school Thursday. AND, if he has no post-concussion symptoms, he might be able to practice with us Thursday! Great job by all tonight! Coach A.

  Alex breathed a sigh of relief and read the text a second time. Assuming they had won the game, which they still didn’t know, the Chester game on Friday would decide the conference championship. They had no chance without Max. But Coach Archer seemed to be saying he might be able to play.

  Now Alex couldn’t sleep for much better reasons.

  When he went downstairs in the morning, he was surprised to find his mom sitting at the kitchen counter with her laptop. Normally she read the paper with her coffee.

  “Well,” she said. “You want the good news or the bad news?”

  Alex wondered fleetingly if something had happened to Max since Coach Archer’s text, but she didn’t sound like it was that sort of news.

  “Start with the good,” he said.

  “You won the game,” she said. “I just checked the conference website. Apparently they reviewed the tape last night and ruled that Max’s shot beat the buzzer.”

  Alex had expected that but was still relieved to hear it.

  “So what’s the bad news, then?” he said.

  “Let me read it to you from the Daily News website,” she said. “This story didn’t make the print edition.”

  Alex sat down.

  “This is a quote from Mr. White,” she said. “Apparently they called him after the conference made it official that you guys won.”

  “Oh God, what in the world did he say?” Alex said.

  She put up her hand to quiet him. “Let me read it: ‘I’m very proud of our team for winning this game,’ Chester Heights Principal Joseph A. White said. ‘But what happened tonight can’t be repeated. I was told by Principal Block that the antigay group in attendance has been planning this for the last several weeks and is planning a repeat performance in our gym on Friday. We cannot allow that to happen.’ ”

  “Good for him!” Alex interrupted. “Finally showing some guts!”

  “Not exactly. Let me finish.”

  She went on: “ ‘I’ve already consulted with our conference commissioner, Alison Telco. She’s in agreement that the best thing for everyone involved is for Mr. Bellotti to not play on Friday. This may be a moot point because of his injury, but, either way, we’re in agreement that we can’t risk another scene like the one that took place at King of Prussia. I feel bad for our players and our coaches, but my first duty as principal is to ensure the safety of all our students and staff along with the spectators at our games.’ ”

  Alex was gaping at his mother. He thought she must be kidding, but clearly she wasn’t. “So he’s saying because these insane people might show up again on Friday that Max shouldn’t play? That he should be penalized? That we should be penalized?”

  “That appears to be what he’s saying,” his mom said. “I knew the man was spineless back in November when he couldn’t even look me in the eye after your false-positive on that drug test. But I didn’t think he was quite this much of a coward.”

  That’s exactly what he was, Alex thought, a coward. No way would Coach Archer allow this to happen. The question was: could he stop it from happening?

  Wired as he was, Alex almost fell asleep on the short car ride to school. Adrenaline was fighting with exhaustion. But he snapped awake when he got to the front door. It was blocked by both police officers and
security guards.

  “I need to see your student ID,” one of the cops said to Alex. He noticed other kids showing their IDs too. He was glad he had arrived early and gladder that he actually had his ID card in his backpack. The cop looked at his photo, then at Alex, and smiled.

  “Myers,” he said. “You’re the one who tipped the ball back to the gay kid for the winning shot.” He shoved the ID back at Alex and added, “Congratulations.”

  “His name is Max,” Alex said. “Max Bellotti.”

  “So?” the cop asked.

  “So his name isn’t ‘the gay kid.’ It’s Max.”

  The cop’s smile disappeared. “Whatever. Keep moving.”

  Alex found Jonas and Matt waiting inside the front doors. Matt didn’t even say hello or comment on the security.

  “Max has to play,” Matt said. “White has to be the biggest idiot on earth. You can’t give in to this kind of thing—”

  He was about to go on when Christine rushed up, a little breathless. “You’ve all heard?” she said.

  They nodded.

  “Max has to play,” she said. “The school can’t just cave like that—”

  She was cut off by the five-minute warning bell for first period.

  “Let’s talk at lunch,” Christine said. “I can’t believe I’ve got a math quiz right now!”

  They all ran through the crowded hallways to their first-period classes.

  “I just wish the Roar wasn’t out today,” Christine said when they were all in the cafeteria a few hours later. “If it were coming out tomorrow, we could embarrass Mr. White and the others by writing about what cowards they are.”

  “What about your friend Stevie Thomas?” Alex asked, suppressing a yawn. “You could contact the TV stations too. Remind them of how White was ready to let me get thrown under the bus in November….Maybe you can stir up trouble for White that way.”

  “He’ll have to back down before the game,” Jonas said. “Right?”

  “Don’t be too sure,” Matt said. “Remember, this is basketball, and football’s his one true love. Plus, I’ll bet there are some parents who would be just as happy if Max didn’t play Friday.”