The Final Four
Page 17
“Better get used to luxury. You’re going to be a multimillionaire in about three months,” said MJ, who addressed Malcolm’s reflection in the window without turning around. “But you’re not the only lucky one. I’ll be improving my living conditions, too, you know.”
“Yeah, how’s that?”
“I’m getting a room of my own in the dorms, doubling my space. I figure you’re moving out after the championship game on Monday night,” said MJ. “You’ll sign with a big sports agency, and they’ll rent you out a mansion and a sports car until the draft comes and you’ve got dough of your own to throw around.”
“I’ll move my parents into that mansion before you can blink,” said Malcolm, going over to the window himself and looking out beside MJ. “That’s a lot of lights from clubs and hotels. Do they have any project buildings here in New Orleans?”
“They’ve got plenty of poor people, so I’m sure they do—projects and homeless shelters,” said MJ. “Hey, I was impressed by what you said today to those reporters. I actually agree with you for once. The college basketball system is a rip-off for the players.”
“I don’t have time to think about that now,” said Malcolm. “It’s all about taking down Troy.”
“So from your comments I guess you won’t be donating a bunch of money to the MSU athletic department, as a thank-you for getting you into the pros,” said MJ.
“That’s right. Michigan State didn’t do a damn thing for me,” said Malcolm, with his voice gathering momentum. “I put money in the school’s pocket, in Coach’s pocket, the sneaker company’s. They ought to build a statue of me, instead of me ever giving them money.”
“Well, what are you going to do with all that money? Something for kids who live in the projects?” asked MJ.
“You know what? I’d really like to. But I don’t do favors for people,” said Malcolm. “Doing a favor’s what robbed us of my sister. That’s a line I can’t cross.”
“Yeah, but it’s like you said to me one time—it’s not a favor if they don’t ask. So you offer.”
Malcolm opened his mouth to argue, then he closed it again. He just looked out the window silently for a while.
“Well, I guess I could see kids all over Brewster-Douglass wearing my pro jersey if I built something like a rec center. Then they wouldn’t have to play ball on the street all the time, dodging the drama that jumps up out of nowhere. But still, I don’t like the idea of giving money away.”
“Freshman, think about it. The government is going to take at least thirty percent of what you make in taxes. Only they haven’t got a clue how to spend that money right. And I’ll prove it to you. Ever see anything change in your neighborhood? See things get any better?”
“Not where I’m from, and especially not for kids,” answered Malcolm. “Even when my sister went to China with her high school band, that money came from people all over the projects in ones, fives, and ten-dollar bills.”
“So you and your lawyers create a foundation. Most of that same money the government was going to take, you can spend it any way you want, like on that rec center you just thought about. You and your parents can do something in your sister’s name.”
“You know, I kind of like that idea. The Trisha McBride Foundation for Youth,” said Malcolm, tapping at his own image in the glass.
“Think about it.”
“I will,” said Malcolm, before he paused. “Not that I ever wanted a college roommate. But if I had to have one, you’ve been all right. You even made an impression on me here and there.”
“And I think I can say my respect for you has grown,” said MJ. “Anyway, the man your father named you after, Malcolm X—he probably would have been proud of what you said at that news conference today.”
“Why’s that?” asked Malcolm. “I know X didn’t play college ball.”
“Because you challenged the system, you stand for something now,” said MJ. “You know what X said?”
“No, what?”
“He said, ‘If you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything.’”
LIVE RADIO BROADCAST OF THE GAME
8:10 P.M. [CT]
There are three broadcasters: a play-by-play man, a color commentator, and sideline reporter Rachel Adams.
Play-by-Play Man: A new Michael Jordan making his own mark on this game with that shot! It’s Michigan State by a basket, ninety to eighty-eight. The clock down to a minute ten. Bacic with the ball for the Trojans.
Color Commentator: That’s seventy seconds, the same number on the Trojans’ sneakers. Is that some kind of fate?
Play-by-Play Man: Bacic passes to Rice down low. Rice passes out to the corner. Inside of one minute to play. The Trojans now get it back to Roko Bacic. McBride in front of him. Bacic on the drive. The running one-hander. It’s good! He banked it in off the glass with McBride all over him! We’re tied at ninety!
Color Commentator: Tremendous defense by McBride. I can’t fault it. Just a better shot by the Bull, taking the only option he was given.
Play-by-Play Man: The crowd is frenetic. Could we see a fifth overtime? McBride is on the dribble. Bacic confronts him, contesting McBride for every inch of court now.
Color Commentator: I have a feeling these two will—
Play-by-Play Man: And Bacic steals the ball! He just took it from McBride! He has a half-step on him for the hoop. He lays it in and scores. Bacic scores off the steal. The Trojans are in front ninety-two to ninety. Just thirty-four seconds remain. The shot clock is turned off.
Color Commentator: McBride blew that breakaway dunk early in this fourth overtime, and now that steal. He’s going to have a lot to live with if the Spartans can’t rally from here.
Play-by-Play Man: McBride with the ball. Bacic is hounding him. He got a hand on the ball and almost stole it again. Bacic nearly swiped the ball again, but McBride recovers. Now Baby Bear Wilkins screens for McBride. Bacic can’t fight through. Crispin Rice runs at McBride now. Sixteen seconds to play. A mismatch, with Rice guarding the smaller, quicker McBride. And now Michael Jordan bumps Rice. McBride’s free. He steps back for a long three. Bull’s-eye! The Spartans lead by one, ninety-three to ninety-two! There are eleven seconds left to play, and the Trojans call time-out.
Color Commentator: That’s guts. McBride’s still standing on the court talking to his right hand, with the game clock frozen on his uniform number—eleven. But instead of having a conversation with his hand, McBride should be thanking the rear end of Michael Jordan for bumping Rice. That’s what ultimately got McBride free.
Play-by-Play Man: If you’re coach Alvin Kennedy, if you’re coach Eddie Barker, what do you do now?
Color Commentator: I think you pray. You thank your lucky stars for being a part of this game. But beyond that, you want to keep your team alert. Anything can happen out there. It already has and it probably will again. You tell them—no spectators, no one standing around, everyone involved until the final whistle blows.
Play-by-Play Man: Both teams seemed exhausted at the end of forty minutes of regulation time. But now this game is more than three hours old. They’ve played just eleven seconds shy of four additional five-minute overtimes. That’s nearly sixty minutes of game clock, not to mention the emotional exhaustion as well.
Color Commentator: At this point there’s no such thing as exhaustion for these players. There’s just the will to win. One team is going on to the National Championship Game in forty-eight hours; the other team is going home. That’s enough to carry them forward. I just feel sorry that the poet Homer didn’t get a chance to chronicle this Trojan War.
Play-by-Play Man: The Spartans and Trojans are exiting their respective huddles, and the crowd gives them both a tremendous round of applause. Come to think of it, the fans of these two schools must be as drained as the players. And I’m told we have an update from Rachel Adams on the sidelines.
Rachel Adams: Yes, I had a chance to listen in a bit on both huddles. It was calm and relaxed
on the Trojans bench with coach Alvin Kennedy diagramming several options for plays. But on the other bench, coach Eddie Barker was pushing the last of his voice to the limits. And he said something I’ve never heard a coach say before: “Their team doesn’t know how to win a game this big. They only know how to lose.” In just trying to interpret the feeling on each bench, if I didn’t know the score, I’d think the Trojans were ahead by a point and not the Spartans.
Play-by-Play Man: Interesting stuff, Rachel.
Color Commentator: We’ll see if that Trojan calmness, inspired by Alvin Kennedy, translates into something big for his squad.
Play-by-Play Man: The referee’s ready to begin play. The crowd is up on their feet. The reserves from both benches are standing as well. In the tunnel, the players from Duke and North Carolina are straining to see who survives this epic war.
Color Commentator: Some of the players on this court have lived their whole lives to bring something special to these eleven seconds.
Play-by-Play Man: Here we go. Crispin Rice to inbound. He gets the ball to Roko Bacic. Bacic drives left. McBride’s glued to him. We’re down to eight seconds. Bacic with a small seam. He attacks the rim and arches a shot high over McBride’s reach. It doesn’t go. Three seconds. The rebound is batted around, tapped loose by Jordan. One second. Tapped by Rice—no. A second tap at it by Rice (buzzer sounding). It’s in! Rice tipped it in! Oh my! But did he beat the buzzer? One referee’s saying yes it counts. Another referee is waving it off, saying no, it doesn’t count. The players don’t know what to do—celebrate or mourn. Everything’s on hold. It’s suddenly turned stone silent here in the Superdome, with everyone waiting for the replay and for the officials to confer.
Color Commentator: Rice hasn’t run over to Hope Daniels, like he did when he made that game-winning basket at the buzzer earlier this season. He’s probably not sure if he got it off in time either. In fact, there’s only one thing for sure: there won’t be another overtime. Either the Spartans or the Trojans have won this game by a single point.
Play-by-Play Man: Here’s the replay on the scoreboard. Rice tips it just as the game clock reads zeros across the board. Boy, that’s close. The officials are now huddled at a television monitor at the scorer’s table, watching it in slow motion.
Color Commentator: And right behind those officials are Crispin Rice, Roko Bacic, Michael Jordan, and Malcolm McBride. Those players have seen the scoreboard replay. They’re not sure either. And now they’re looking at each other, the four of them. There’s nothing between them except a few feet of space. No more pretenses. No more posturing. It doesn’t get any purer than this. They don’t know who won or who lost. They just know they’ve been through some incredible journey together.
Play-by-Play Man: I was just a spectator to it all and I feel it. I can only imagine what it’s like for them.
Color Commentator: They’ve been a part of something much bigger than themselves. Something you can’t put a label on. If I could freeze this moment in time for them, I would. I’d let them walk away with what they share right now, before it gets fractured by an outcome. But that’s not how we play this game. There’s always a winner, and there’s always a loser.
Friday, April 5: From a national newspaper:
PHENOM FACES PAST
AND A FRESH START
NEW ORLEANS, La.—For 18-year-old basketball phenom Malcolm McBride, the past week has been a roller-coaster ride of tremendous highs and lows.
Last Saturday night, McBride, a freshman at Michigan State, led the Spartans to a dramatic 93–92 quadruple-overtime win over the Trojans of Troy at the Final Four in the Louisiana Superdome. But the celebration didn’t last long. The next morning, an article appeared in a Michigan newspaper detailing how a Detroit-based sports agent named Rodney Crowell had footed the bill for a lavish headstone at the grave site of McBride’s sister, Trisha, who was killed in a drive-by shooting nearly three years ago.
That gift may eventually cause McBride to be deemed ineligible under NCAA rules for receiving improper benefits, and possibly result in Michigan State forfeiting part or all of their wins this season, as well as suffering future penalties.
Then, on Monday, the day of the National Championship Game between North Carolina and Michigan State, the NCAA announced it would formally investigate the connection between the McBride family and Crowell, whose brother is a member of the same church choir as Malcolm’s mother, Florence McBride.
“My mother would never do anything wrong like that. Never. If anything, she was a target, and got fooled,” said Malcolm McBride, who has already left Michigan State and relocated with his family to Florida to train for the upcoming NBA combine (where coaches and scouts evaluate top college prospects) and enter the league’s draft this June.
“I’ve never even met this Rodney Crowell dude,” said McBride, as he stood inside a Miami gym, dressed in shorts and a tank top, with a basketball tucked beneath one arm. “And I’ve just signed with a different agent, so there never was a connection, or a bribe gift by him. But that whole story was a distraction for my team.”
Whether it was because of the distraction of the impending NCAA investigation or the four overtimes against the resilient Trojans, the Spartans showed up at the National Championship Game without their legs. They were blown out by the North Carolina Tar Heels from start to finish in a 91–64 defeat, a game in which an exhausted-looking McBride scored only 14 points, his lowest output of the tournament.
“I tried my best for Michigan State and my teammates. I care about Coach [Eddie Barker] and all of those guys. I’m sorry if they’ll have to deal with any of this in the future. It’s not right,” said an emotional McBride. “In the end, my time there meant more to me than I thought it would. I guess that’s what happens when players suffer together. And that’s what our last two games together were—suffering to win, and suffering to lose.”
Then McBride pulled a bandage from his left biceps, revealing a brand-new tattoo, one opposite the portrait of his sister’s face, which occupies his right biceps. The tattoo reads SPARTANS FOREVER IN THE TROJAN WAR, with the letters encircling a flaming basketball.
“Success is never final, failure is never fatal. It’s courage that counts.”
—John Wooden, a Hall of Fame basketball player and coach who
guided UCLA to ten NCAA Championships over a twelve-year span