by Paul Volponi
I miss my mother and father in Croatia. But I feel that I am not alone. I believe Uncle Dražen is with me always. I feel him every time I touch a basketball or pick up a pen to write my thoughts in this journal. For my school newspaper, I just finished an article on the bad food served in the school’s cafeteria—succotash (corn and lima beans mixed together). I know that Uncle Dražen would be very proud of me being a reporter. At Troy it is possible to major in journalism. Maybe someday I will interview the great Michael Jordan and ask him how it feels to walk on air.
ON A CABLE SPORTS NETWORK PROVIDING LIVE UPDATES FROM THE FINAL FOUR
7:39 P.M. [CT]
Announcer: As the Trojan War heads into a second overtime period at the Superdome, we have another encore presentation of Rachel Adams’s interview series, One-on-One. This time, however, it’s actually One-on-Two, as Rachel sits down with the two players most responsible for their teams’ success tonight. Keep in mind that this segment was taped before the comments made yesterday by Malcolm McBride.
On screen, Malcolm McBride (left), Rachel Adams (center), and Roko Bacic (right) are sitting on stools, facing each other. In the background is a darkened gymnasium basketball court.
Rachel Adams: The two of you come from almost opposite ends of the world. Malcolm, you’re from the projects of Detroit, and Roko, you’re from Croatia, in what is essentially a postwar rebuilding period for that European nation. Both of you have experienced tragedy in your lives due to the violent loss of loved ones. Both of you have grown up to become incredible leaders on the basketball court. How much of your upbringing do we see on the court in your games? (Her eyes shift to Malcolm)
Malcolm: Every bit of it. I mean, who else am I? I learned to play in the streets. I learned to be somebody in the streets, all with a basketball in my hands. You want to walk down the sidewalk where I live and not have people mess with you? Then you better be somebody. Want to win on the courts so you don’t have to sit out the next game? Want to even survive on the courts, not get shoved around? Be somebody. Because where I live, the courts and the streets are right next to each other. They’re really the same, just a chain-link fence between them, and that won’t stop anybody from getting to you.
Adams: Malcolm, how has losing your older sister, the innocent victim of a drug-related drive-by shooting, influenced that?
Malcolm: Trisha—she’s my heart. That’s why I keep her close (tapping at his right biceps). She brings everything into focus for me, makes it all clearer. (The camera focuses on her tattooed portrait)
Adams: Roko, you lost your uncle, a Croatian journalist, in a horrific car bombing after he wrote a series of articles about organized crime in your country. He’s the one who first taught you how to play basketball. Do we see the emotion of that tragedy in your game?
Roko: I hope not, because that was a very sad time for my family. For me, playing basketball is all about joy, to be happy and free. I keep the love for my uncle and his memory inside of me (touching his chest). The war that’s in my country today, an economic war of poor honest people trying to survive, has nothing to do with how I play basketball. Sport is our escape from all of that. The emotion I play with comes from my love of the game, the love for my teammates, and for my opponents.
Adams: So you have love for your opponents, Roko?
Roko: Of course I do. My first basketball opponent was my Uncle Dražen. We’d play hard against each other and then go home to dinner. We’d talk all night about what happened on the court between us. When you play, you want to test yourself and give your very best. You can’t do that without an opponent also giving his best. So if you don’t have love for your opponent, you can’t have love for yourself. Your opponents make you a better person, a better player. That’s how my uncle taught me, and I believe that it’s right.
Adams: Malcolm, what do you think about that? Are you going to feel any love for the Troy Trojans this Saturday night at the Final Four?
Malcolm: Love? I can’t stand them. They’re wearing a different-color uniform than mine, and that’s enough. They want to take from me what I want—a college championship and a higher NBA draft spot. All of that equals money. So I consider them to be thieves. The Superdome’s going to be like my house on Saturday night, and I’m going to chase them out because they don’t belong there.
Adams: Talk about the NBA, Malcolm. You’ve made it no secret that’s where you’re headed next year.
Malcolm: Can’t wait to get there. It’s been my dream for the longest … since I first picked up a ball. I don’t know whose dream it is to play college ball. This is like the minor leagues. I’m beyond this. Tell LeBron and Kobe that I’m ready. I’ll be joining them soon. And that if I get on a different team from them, to watch out for me. I’m going to be hell to deal with on the court—in commercials, too.
Adams: Roko, it was your dream to play college basketball, wasn’t it?
Roko: Yes, first to play in high school, in Croatia, and then here in the U.S. After that, playing in college was my big dream. Coach Kennedy made that come true by offering me my only scholarship.
Malcolm: (To Roko) Man, that’s all you got? One? I got offered something like a hundred seventy-five scholarships to play ball. How are you ever going to beat me at this game?
Roko: (With subdued confidence) My team is going to beat you, not me.
Adams: Roko, there’s been talk among NBA scouts that through your play in this tournament, you’ve made yourself into a pro prospect. Will Roko Bacic be in the NBA one day?
Roko: It’s a dream I don’t let myself dream yet. I have a more important reality. I want to help bring a championship to my school, my coach, and my teammates. Something maybe nobody else in the country thought we could ever do.
Adams: I understand that you and your Trojan teammates have written the number seventy on the heels of your sneakers for this tournament. Explain to us why.
Roko: Before the season started, Coach Kennedy told us about Katie Spotz, a girl from Ohio who crossed the Atlantic Ocean alone in a rowboat. It took her seventy days. (On screen appears the image of a lean and blonde-haired Katie Spotz victoriously bringing her yellow rowboat ashore off the coast of South America) She’d never done anything like it before. She even failed to get across a big lake in her one practice try. But she believed she could do it when nobody else did. That was like us believing we could make the NCAA Tournament, even though in the history of Troy basketball the school had made it there only one time before, and didn’t win a game. So the day we made the tournament, we looked at the monthlong schedule from the beginning to the championship game. We figured that if Katie Spotz could make it seventy days alone in a rowboat, we could last those thirty days as a team. And we’re still here.
Adams: And finally, I want to ask you both, what has the college experience been like? What’s it like to juggle classes, practice, and the rigors of this tournament? Malcolm, you’re a freshman. How is college different from high school?
Malcolm: College has been a lot like high school, only without the deans of discipline and school security breathing down my neck (with a laugh). But seriously, I can’t even say I really go to college now. Once the tournament starts, it’s like you work in a basketball factory. It’s your job to play. You’re a pro without the paycheck. Right now basketball is my main job, not being a student. I’ve been living in hotel rooms on the road and practicing in gyms. I don’t even remember any professors’ names or what they teach.
Adams: All right, an honest answer. Roko, you’re a junior, but it’s your first time in the tournament. What has it been like for you?
Roko: Difficult. Malcolm is right—for the last few weeks I’ve felt like it’s my job to play, like I am already a professional. But I keep up with my schoolwork also. I major in journalism. I want to be a reporter one day, so—
Malcolm: You know what? I’ll let you interview me when I’m a pro legend.
Roko: That’s very kind of you. I accept for the future. Bu
t you are already a legend—a legend of the mouth (in a sharp tone).
Malcolm stares laser beams at Roko, who smiles slyly back.
Adams: (Speaking to the camera) As you can see, it’s a very interesting dynamic between these two. We’ll see what the future holds on the court Saturday night.
“Life is about growth. People are not perfect when they’re twenty-one years old.”
—Bill Walton, who won two NCAA basketball titles and three consecutive College Player of the Year Awards
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CRISPIN RICE
7:40 P.M. [CT]
The ref tosses up the ball. Crispin jumps with everything he has, but his legs are almost dead and Grizzly outleaps him by close to a foot, easily controlling the tap to one of his Spartan teammates.
Crispin tries to clear his mind. He knows the Spartans will be testing him, driving the ball in his direction, looking to get him out of the game with a fifth foul. He doesn’t want to back off an inch on defense. But there are nearly five new minutes of overtime left on the clock. And if Crispin gets called for a foul now, his team will be handcuffed without a true center for too long of a stretch.
Malcolm immediately works the ball down low to Grizzly, and Crispin confronts the big man. Since they’re connected at the hip and waist, Crispin can feel the tenseness in Grizzly’s body. He knows that Grizzly is getting ready to drive the rock right at him.
“Help defense! Help defense!” screams Coach Kennedy from the sideline.
But before an extra Trojan can get there, Grizzly makes his move.
Crispin backs off just enough to leave him with an open ten-footer. Grizzly takes the bait and settles for the jumper, putting all of the pressure on his own massive shoulders to make it.
When Grizzly’s shot comes up short, the Trojans grab the rebound.
“Drive it at him, not jumpers!” screams Malcolm. “Think about what you’re doing!”
Then Crispin sees Malcolm glare at Grizzly, rapping his knuckles at his temple, like the big man didn’t have a brain in his head.
MARCH, THREE WEEKS AGO
Crispin took a deep breath and pulled up every ounce of courage he owned. His heart and his knuckles felt as heavy as lead when he knocked at that apartment door.
And when he did, the laughing from inside stopped.
Then, a few seconds later, a man’s voice asked, “Yeah, who’s there?”
“Delivery,” answered Crispin flatly. “Flying Sushi.”
“Flying what?” asked the man, before the lock turned with a loud click.
When the door opened, Crispin looked right past him.
His eyes caught a flash of blonde hair bolting off of the couch.
“Hope?” said Crispin.
“Excuse me!” the man fired back.
That’s when Hope just froze.
Crispin watched her face tighten up like a stone statue. Then she took a stiff first step towards the door.
“John, this is Crispin, my fiancée—the one I told you all about,” Hope said hurriedly, like she was trying to piece a jigsaw puzzle together on the fly.
Crispin stared down at the man with the curly dark hair, who looked like he was in his early thirties. He saw that the top button of his dress shirt was open and so were the buttons at the cuffs around each wrist. Then Crispin noticed a gold wedding band on his left hand. But that didn’t ease any of the doubt in his mind. And after the introduction, the two never came close to shaking hands.
When Hope got to the doorway, Crispin never had a thought that they were going to hug or kiss.
“Anyway, what are you doing here, Crispin?” asked Hope.
“I was making a delivery when I heard your voice,” he answered. “What are you doing here?”
“John’s married to my second cousin, Iris,” explained Hope. “They’ve been separated for a couple of months now. I’ve mentioned that to you before. So I came over to see how everything was going for him. We were just watching a movie on cable, a comedy.”
Then Hope looked over at John.
He nodded his head to her story and then turned his eyes away from Crispin’s.
Crispin worked hard to keep his expression blank, waiting to hear more. He saw that there were two bottles of club soda on the table between the big screen TV and the couch. That all the lights were on and all the window shades were open.
As the three of them stood in a triangle at the doorway, Crispin got the message loud and clear that neither Hope nor her cousin’s husband was about to invite him inside.
But that was okay with Crispin. Because right then, he would have rather fallen three flights down into an empty elevator shaft than feel the floor beneath him inside of that apartment.
“You don’t believe me,” Hope replied to Crispin’s silence. “You think something’s going on here. That I’m cheating on you?”
“I didn’t say that. You did,” answered Crispin in a voice that cracked a little. “You told me you were going out with friends tonight, but he’s the only other one here.”
“You were absolutely right,” Hope said to John. “Relationships are all about trust, not manipulation!”
“Manipulation? What manipulation?” asked Crispin.
He did not get a direct response.
“You were out here spying on me or something, weren’t you?” asked Hope.
“No, I was making deliveries, trying to earn enough money to buy that diamond engagement ring you had to have,” answered Crispin.
“It’s always going to be about that now, isn’t it? The money for the ring. You’re going to make me resent even wearing it,” Hope said, giving the door a little shove as she walked off, back into the apartment.
John followed after her, nodding in agreement.
Crispin stood there alone for a moment with the door still open a foot or two.
And after a few seconds, when he decided it was time to leave, Crispin reached for the knob and pulled the door shut.
Part of Crispin thought that Hope might come running after him. Only that didn’t happen.
He walked down the three flights of stairs to get his legs solidly beneath him. Outside, Crispin unchained his moped and took off on it. He drove fast, feeling like he’d been shot out of a cannon without any nets for a safe landing.
As Crispin finally started to slow down and circle back around in the direction of the restaurant, he thought about the first time he’d really talked to Hope. It was almost five months ago, after a basketball practice in the Troy gym, and the cheerleaders were getting ready to practice next.
She was sitting alone at the end of the bleachers, tightening the laces of her sneakers.
In the two years she’d been on the cheerleading squad, Crispin had noticed her plenty of times. He liked the way her hair framed her face—like a gorgeous picture—and he could feel the energy jumping out of her body when she cheered. But he’d seen her around campus with other guys who looked to him like boyfriends. And she’d always worn a gold heart pendant hanging down around her neck.
As Crispin walked past the bleachers, Hope looked up and smiled. When he saw that the heart pendant was missing, Crispin finally made his move.
“Hey, your name’s Hope, right?” he’d asked, sitting down on the floor at her feet, trying not to look so freakishly tall. “I figure you’re an expert on the name, and I’ve got a question about it.”
“About my name? Hope?” she said, making her back straighter. “All right, what is it?”
“Well, you know how in that story about Pandora’s Box, the girl opens the box after she was told not to,” Crispin said.
“Yeah, she lets all of those plagues loose on the world,” Hope added.
“So how come the only thing left in the box was hope?” asked Crispin. “Hope’s supposed to be something good. What was it ever doing inside of there in the first place?”
“Are you trying to compare me to all of those terrible things?” asked Hope, with a grin. “Because that
wouldn’t be very flattering.”
“No. No. I was just thinking you might know the answer,” said Crispin, with his eyes on hers. “I was thinking you might be as smart as you are beautiful.”
When Hope blushed a little bit, Crispin felt like he’d won something. He’d felt the same way when Hope accepted his proposal on the court, after he made that game-winning shot.
But that feeling had turned on him now, like the wind slapping him in the face as he headed back to Flying Sushi on his moped.
“Pressure can burst a pipe or pressure can make a diamond.”
—Robert (Big Shot Rob) Horry, whose clutch late-game shooting helped win a combined seven NBA titles for three different teams
CHAPTER TWELVE
MICHAEL JORDAN
7:41 P.M. [CT]
MJ’s heart is still pounding from his last-second heave rattling out of the basket at the end of the first overtime. He’s breathing hard on defense as Troy moves the ball from man to man. Up on his toes, MJ dances around screens, reacting to the rhythmic thpp of each Trojan pass hitting its target.
Then, MJ hears the harsh slap of an open palm against the rock.
It was Malcolm deflecting a pass away.
The Spartans now have the ball, and MJ is on his horse, sprinting up court. Baby Bear whips the ball ahead to MJ, who spots Malcolm filling an open lane to the basket.
On one bounce, MJ delivers the rock into Malcolm’s hands before cutting to the hoop himself. Malcolm goes in for a layup, purposely angling his body at Crispin’s, trying to draw a foul.
There’s contact but no foul call by the ref.
Malcolm’s driving shot doesn’t go down, and MJ outfights his man for the rebound. He can hear Malcolm barking at the ref over that non-call.