by Mike Lupica
“It didn’t hurt to know I could save a few dollars,” he said. “We old guys have to watch how we spend our money.”
Zach and Zoe giggled the way they always did when he called himself old. Their dad came over and patted Grandpa Richie on the back.
“I know you keep saying that, Dad,” he said. “But when I watch you play basketball with your friends at the rec center, you sure don’t look old to me.”
“My friends at the rec center are part of the story, too,” Grandpa Richie said. “In fact, I was just getting to them.”
Everyone turned back to Grandpa Richie to hear the rest of the story.
“I was afraid I might get caught when I remembered I’d left behind my sports section after fixing up the benches,” he said. “But I was so focused on going home to get a Band-Aid for my finger after that old bench gave me a nasty splinter.”
“Mr. Clumsy,” Zach said.
Grandpa Richie went on. “At Wade’s, I figured I might as well pick up a can of paint or two while I was at it. It’s probably been years since that court was painted. I just knew I had to do it fast, before your championship game.”
Zoe wanted to know how he’d pulled that one off, especially so late at night. Grandpa Richie explained how some of his basketball friends from the rec center offered to help and even brought lights.
“And what about the lightning bolt?” Zach asked.
“I couldn’t help myself,” he said, “even if I was afraid your dad might figure things out.”
“I hadn’t looked at that old picture in so long,” their dad said. “Even I’d forgotten his youth league team was called the Bolts.”
“I was a little clumsy doing that, too, as it turned out,” Grandpa Richie said. “I didn’t notice the yellow paint on my shoe until Zoe did.”
“Wait,” Zoe said, a little confused. “You said it was mustard.”
“No,” he said, pointing to Zoe. “You said it was mustard.”
“You faked us out!” Zach exclaimed.
“I’ve still got a few moves left,” said Grandpa Richie.
It was getting late, and Grandpa Richie said it was time for him to go. But Zach and Zoe wouldn’t let him leave. At least not yet. There was still one more game to play.
“It’s for a different kind of championship,” Zoe said. “The championship of our driveway. An all-Walker showdown.”
As planned, the game would be Zoe and her dad against Zach and Grandpa Richie. The first team to reach seven baskets would win.
It figured there would be one last close game for the Walker family that weekend. Zoe and her dad were winning 6–5, but then Grandpa Richie made a long shot from the outside to tie the game at 6–6.
“Nice shot, Grandpa!” Zach said.
“You do still have a few moves left, Grandpa,” Zoe said.
They were playing winners’ outs, which meant you kept the ball if you scored. So Grandpa Richie and Zach would now have their chance to win.
But before Zach or his grandfather went for the winning shot, Grandpa Richie put on a little show with the basketball.
He dribbled with both hands, then bounced the ball between his legs. Then he dribbled behind his back with the ball, not just once but twice, before putting the ball between his legs again. It was all so much fun to watch that their dad actually started laughing.
Even Zoe turned her head to watch. And when she did, Zach made his move.
He took off for the basket. Without hesitating, and without even looking in Zach’s direction, Grandpa Richie whipped him a perfect pass. As soon as Zach caught the ball, it was his turn to sink a game-winning shot.
Zach ran straight toward Grandpa Richie as soon as his shot went through the net, ready to give him a high five. But his grandfather put out a hand to stop him. Then he smiled and spun the way Zach and Zoe did for their special high five. Zach spun, too. They bumped elbows and hips, and Zach jumped up to high-five his grandfather.
In that moment, Grandpa Richie didn’t look old at all. He looked young—as young as the boy in the picture with the lightning bolt on his jersey.
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