by Paul Volponi
Coach Kennedy is screaming at the ref over the hit that Roko took.
“That should be a flagrant foul! They tried to take his head off!” argues Kennedy.
Dazed, Roko looks up at the scoreboard.
He sees the Trojans trailing 78–73 with 3:18 left to play. And that hurts worse than any pounding in his head.
“Bull, are you all right?” asks Coach Kennedy, as Roko reaches the bench.
Roko tries to nod his head and the pounding intensifies.
So he holds his head and neck completely still, answering, “I’m good, Coach,” as his teammates clear a spot for him and he sits down. “I’ll shake it off.”
A Trojan athletic trainer moves a finger from side to side in front of Roko’s face, asking him to follow it with his eyes. And Roko does.
“Do you know what day it is?” the trainer asks him.
“Yeah, a day for comebacks,” says Roko. “Now it’s our turn.”
The trainer gives Coach Kennedy a thumbs-up on Roko, so Kennedy begins to give his instructions to the team.
Roko tries to listen closely, but he has a hard time concentrating.
It’s all a smattering of words: “… defensive stops . . . shots . . . keep moving the rock …” And over and over again he hears, “McBride . . . McBride . . . McBride.”
Suddenly, Roko is fighting off a strong urge to vomit.
He works hard to give the impression that nothing is wrong, sipping water from a cup. When the team is ready to go back onto the court, Roko gets up from his seat. But now the Superdome is spinning all around him. The wooden floor seems to shift beneath his sneakers, and he drops down to one knee.
“I need a trainer here, fast!” Roko hears Kennedy’s voice, before feeling the coach’s steadying hand upon his shoulder.
May 23 (Grade 12)
I could not sleep well. I woke up very early this morning, before there was sun. It did not matter that it was Saturday. It did not matter that I could stay in bed as long as I wanted. I could find no rest in my mind and heart. The night before, I had no date, and passed on an invitation to a party with my teammates and friends. It was the first Friday night I stayed at home in a long time. I just did not want to celebrate anything. I wanted to be close to my family here—my aunt, uncle, and younger cousins. Today is the anniversary of Uncle Dražen’s death.
It was one year ago that those monster mafia criminals in Croatia put a bomb into his car. They killed him for the dirty stolen money they wanted more of. The money and facts that Uncle Dražen’s newspaper articles talked about. The anger builds up in me that no one has yet paid for this crime. I wish the movie heroes like X-Men were real. Then I could have the Wolverine chase them down like dogs.
Sometimes I scream out curses into the air or smothered into my pillow. I still cannot watch TV shows about crime families. I want to spit on the TV screen when I see old reruns of Tony Soprano’s fat face.
I called my parents in Croatia. They were going to church to light candles for Uncle Dražen’s resting soul in heaven. Only in the last few months has my father put away his gun, thinking the threat on our family is no more. I wish I could go to Uncle Dražen’s newspaper office and sit in the chair he once did. But I can’t. So I went to the Web and visited the home page for his newspaper and read the front page story about his memory. Then I went to YouTube and watched highlights of old Michael Jordan dunks. I remember how they made Uncle Dražen and me smile. I held my basketball tight as I watched. The same ball we played with in Croatia. The same ball I took to the park to show Uncle Dražen that I could dunk. I wish he could be here to read my high school newspaper articles and to see me graduate next month. I wish he could see me play basketball at Troy next year. To see me become a proud Trojan warrior on the basketball court the way he was at being a newspaper reporter.
Early this morning I took that basketball and went to the park courts. It was too early for anyone else to be there on a Saturday. I practiced alone and went through all of the drills Uncle Dražen taught me. I could almost feel him there looking over my shoulder. I could almost hear him saying, “More defense, Roko. Work harder on defense. It is the most important thing.”
I was there alone for maybe a half hour when a boy nine or ten years old showed up with his mother and little sister. His mother took the sister over to the swings and the boy watched me playing from a bench near the court. Soon the boy came over and asked if he could shoot the basketball too. At first I said no. I told him that I needed to practice by myself. He kept watching me from the bench and every time I looked over at him he dropped his eyes down to his shoes. After a while, I felt like the Grinch who stole Christmas morning. So I told him to come over and play. I could see the joy in his eyes every time he let the ball fly at the rim. But his form was not good. Without even thinking about it I started to coach him. I changed the way he held the ball and the way it came off his fingers. Then I showed him how to dribble without looking down at the ball. He started to get better right away. Suddenly, I felt a spark in my heart. I felt like I was giving back a little bit of what Uncle Dražen shared with me.
Then the mother came over to ask if her son was bothering me. I shook my head and told her that we were just two players sharing the court. That made her son really smile wide. Maybe fifteen minutes later the mother called for the boy to go home. I made sure he sank the last shot he took for good luck. Then I gave him a high five before he left. Later on, I realized that I didn’t even know that boy’s name. But that is how friendship happens on a basketball court. Names are not important. Everyone is the same with a basketball in their hands. All you can do is give to the other players, on your team or the other team. All you can do is your best, and that is giving. Playing basketball with that boy this morning made me feel better for the rest of the day. God bless you, Uncle Dražen.
“You need a teaching coach who understands the game of basketball, not just some guy coming on the court talking about Xs and Os.”
—Oscar Robertson, a two-time College Player of the Year and the only player in NBA history to average double digits in points, rebounds, and assists for an entire season
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CRISPIN RICE
7:46 P.M. [CT]
With Roko on the bench, Crispin digs his heels hard into the floor, like the load he’s been carrying is about to get even heavier.
“Stay in character. You can’t wear somebody else’s uniform,” Coach Kennedy calls to his players from the sideline. “Just do your own job. We’ve got a lot of pieces to this team and they all fit. Let’s put this puzzle back together.”
Crispin takes a deep breath, trying to cement Kennedy’s words into his mind.
The Trojans inbound the basketball, and with Roko out, forward Aaron Boyce helps the new point guard handle the rock.
Kennedy had called a set play during the time-out.
So the Trojans know exactly what they want to do on offense.
Crispin sets a screen along the baseline. Then Aaron cuts around him, freeing himself. But the ball doesn’t swing fast enough from left to right, and the pass to Aaron is a full beat too slow, allowing the Spartan defender to catch back up.
Without Roko at the point, the Trojans need to find a new rhythm.
But while they’re still trying to adjust, a pass sails off the court past Crispin’s outstretched arms, and the Spartans take possession.
“We’ll start our run with a stop on defense!” hollers Kennedy. “It’s all about making this stop, and nothing else!”
Crispin watches Malcolm walk the ball up slowly. He understands that for Malcolm it’s a game of cat and mouse against a new defender.
Then, nearing the top of the key, Malcolm flashes his speed, nearly exploding out of his shoes. He zips past his man and into the lane.
In a split second, Crispin makes the decision to challenge Malcolm’s open layup.
He can’t let his team fall behind by another basket.
Crispin plants h
is feet down an instant before Malcolm collides with him, knocking him over.
Malcolm’s shot goes in, and the ref blows his whistle.
It could be Crispin’s final foul, which would put Malcolm at the line for a free throw and a chance at a three-point play.
From the floor, Crispin sees the ref wind an arm back and then shoot it out in front of him, signaling Malcolm for a charging foul, his fourth of the game. A surge of adrenaline rushes through every part of Crispin’s body as he bounces back up to his feet.
ON A CABLE SPORTS NETWORK PROVIDING LIVE UPDATES FROM THE FINAL FOUR
7:47 P.M. [CT]
Announcer: With barely two minutes remaining in double overtime, the Troy players are fighting for their Final Four lives in the Superdome, trailing Michigan State by five points. The big man in the Trojans’ lineup, center Crispin Rice, has been walking a four-foul tightrope for several minutes now. Seconds ago, he was the beneficiary of a charging call. And just like that, Malcolm McBride picks up his fourth foul, joining Rice on that high wire. Recorded a few days ago, here’s a glimpse at Crispin Rice in a more relaxed setting, without those perilous foul winds blowing. Our Rachel Adams goes one-on-two again, this time with Crispin Rice and his fiancée, Hope Daniels.
On screen, Rachel Adams (left), Hope Daniels (center), and Crispin Rice (right) are sitting on stools, facing each other. Crispin is wearing his Trojans jersey, and Hope is in her cheerleader outfit (a sleeveless red and white one-piece ending in a short frilly skirt that shows off Hope’s shapely, athletic legs), and there is a good three feet in distance between their stools. In the background is a darkened gymnasium basketball court.
Rachel Adams: Well, not only is Troy the Cinderella team of the NCAA tournament, but they also have the Cinderella moment in college basketball this year. (Cutting to the video of Crispin’s game-winning basket and sideline marriage proposal to Hope) So, here we are with essentially the First Couple of college sports, Crispin Rice and Hope Daniels. Hope, let me ask you, when Crispin started over to you that night nearly eight weeks ago, what did you think was going to happen?
Hope: I (hesitating with her mouth open) thought maybe he was running over to me for a hug or something to celebrate that basket. I never dreamed it was going to be a marriage proposal.
Adams: Did you have any indecision when he asked?
Hope: I didn’t. The word yes popped out of my mouth before I could even think about it. Then everyone else standing right around us heard it. They all reacted and started cheering, before it had even sunk in for me (scratching at the painted red T on her right cheek). A few seconds later, my brain caught up to everything. I said to myself, “Hey, I’m engaged. I better start to get excited, too.” It was like being in a dream, and then thinking, Oh yeah, this is real.
Adams: Crispin, you’ve said before that this proposal wasn’t planned. So I guess you didn’t have the words ready either. Do you remember what you said when you asked Hope to marry you?
Crispin: I’ll probably never forget it. I said, “That basket I just scored would mean nothing to me without you. You’re my best friend. You’re my life. Marry me.”
Adams: That’s so beautiful. Tell me more about what the reaction has been. I’ve heard that plenty of businesses want to help you get started as a couple.
Hope: (Excitedly) Some hotels have offered us free honeymoons. A wedding dress company called to say I could choose any dress they had, and a cruise line wanted to give us a trip.
Adams: I suppose there are some NCAA regulations governing what you might be able to accept because of Crispin’s status as an amateur player.
Crispin: Just to make it clear, we haven’t accepted anything.
Hope: We don’t even have a wedding date yet. So if it’s after Crispin’s college career is over this year, it won’t be an issue.
Adams: What about a diamond engagement ring? Has any jeweler offered that? Hope walked in here, and I thought, She’s not wearing a ring. I hope everything’s all right with these two.
Hope: They’re expensive. Any jewelers out there, if you’re listening, this finger’s still bare (holding up her left hand for the camera).
Crispin: (Quickly) But that’s something we wouldn’t accept from anyone else. It’s my job to supply the ring (taking a playful poke in the ribs from Hope, which Crispin doesn’t smile over).
Adams: Now, as an athlete, Crispin is used to people cheering for him. But Hope, you’ve enjoyed a little bit of fame recently as well. It seems that since Crispin proposed to you, Troy hasn’t lost a single game. And especially with this upcoming Final Four contest against the Spartans, the media has taken to calling you Hope of Troy, alluding to Helen of Troy from the Trojan War of Greek mythology. How are you enjoying that role?
Hope: It’s been an incredible amount of fun. I’m very honored. Cheerleaders are supposed to be a source of pride for their team and school. So if people want to focus on me for some inspiration, it’s great. And wouldn’t every woman want a war fought over her (with a huge grin)? I think so.
Crispin: She’s the queen of Troy, Alabama, right now. She can go anywhere she wants and do anything she wants.
Adams: But isn’t it pressure, too, being the team’s good luck charm couple?
Hope: Well, if we were going to have a fight, we wouldn’t do it in public right now. We wouldn’t want to jinx the team, or let down the school or city of Troy.
Crispin: Yeah, we’d have to do it in private. Too many people would be disappointed in us.
Adams: Now Crispin, you have a nickname, too, correct?
Crispin: My teammates call me Snap-Crackle-Pop.
Adams: Is that because your last name is Rice and your first name sounds like “Krispies,” like the Rice Krispies cereal?
Crispin: I always thought it was because of my good shooting. That I could pop in shots anytime. But lately I don’t know. I’ve been in a little bit of a shooting slump. Maybe I’ve been distracted by the engagement.
Adams: Tell me the quality about the other person you love the most. Hope, tell me about Crispin first.
Hope: Definitely trustworthiness. I’ve told him lots of times that for me it’s the most important part of a relationship. And with Crispin, I have that trust in my life. I never doubt him.
Adams: Crispin, how about you?
Crispin: It’s like her name—hope. That’s what she brings into my life every day. There’s the hope that things are always going to get better. And the hope I’ll always be able to see things clearly with her in my life. It’s all positive.
Adams: Win or lose come Saturday night, I’m sure that Hope and Crispin will have plenty to celebrate in the future. I know America wishes you both the best of luck in your lives.
“At least on the basketball court [growing up] I could find a community of sorts, with an inner life all its own.”
—Barack Obama, the forty-fourth president of the United States
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
MICHAEL JORDAN
7:48 P.M. [CT]
MJ is shadowing his man on defense. Out of the corner of his eye, he checks the game clock. There’s just 2:43 to go, with Michigan State still in front by five points. MJ is used to watching the final minutes of a big game from the Spartans’ bench. He’s used to seeing the backside of Coach Barker stalk the sidelines, not the front of him. And whenever his team had the lead, MJ would wish for the seconds to tick off faster. But now that MJ is on the court and contributing, he’s in no hurry to push time ahead.
The Trojans are running a set play, and there is heavy traffic at the top of the key.
As a trio of Trojans crisscross, trying to lose their defenders behind multiple screens, MJ hears Malcolm holler, “Switch with me! Switch off!”
So instead of chasing his man through the stream of bodies, MJ stays put.
He picks up Malcolm’s man moving towards him.
Then Malcolm switches onto MJ’s man, running in his direction.
The defensive changes ha
ppen quick and seamlessly.
“Stay there for now!” Malcolm shouts.
“Got it!” counters MJ.
And suddenly, a part of MJ feels like he’s been playing side by side with Malcolm all of his life.
The Spartans continue to blanket the Trojans, who can’t find an open shot.
With the thirty-five-second shot clock winding down on them, the Trojans try to force the action. But the Spartans strip the ball away.
It’s rolling loose.
MJ sees it heading out of bounds off of Baby Bear. He sprints after the rock, diving through the air for it as he reaches the sideline.
He tries to save the ball, but can’t.
MJ goes flying into the opposing bench, with the Trojans’ reserves, including a recuperating Red Bull, forced to scatter. He finds himself draped over one of their chairs, off balance, and almost sitting down in it. Then he grasps a teammate’s hand, pulls himself up, and gets back onto the court as fast as he can.
NOVEMBER, FOUR MONTHS AGO
After MJ and Malcolm had run ninety-seven sets of steps side by side, Coach Barker gave them a little wave and a grin as he headed for the gym door.
“How many left?” Barker called to them over his shoulder.
“Thirteen,” answered MJ between short panting breaths.
“Well, you boys keep on climbing. I’ll see you both at practice tomorrow,” said Barker. “And no more fighting. Like I tell you before every game we play, be the agitator, not the retaliator. There are always penalties for retaliation.”
Less than a minute after Barker left, Malcolm told MJ, “I’d quit early, right here. But I know you’re going to finish every last one. And I’m not about to let you say that you beat me at anything.”
“How am I going to beat you?” asked MJ. “We’re supposed to be running these steps together.”
“Not anymore,” said Malcolm, sprinting away and leaving MJ to finish the punishment on his own. “See ya! Wouldn’t wanna be ya!”